#fluff wlw

POV: You're a senior at Miami University. Rumor has it going that a very talented figure skater has joined the University. Will you two cross paths or will things go unnoticed?

-- around 10k words -- link to ch2. -- link to ch3.

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warnings: academical stress; toxicity; arguing; rivaly; banter; eventual smut - kidding there will be ; switch!amber; switch!reader; flirting; drinking; smoking; angst; fluff

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-------YOUR POV--------

The late August sun beat down on the University of Miami campus like it had a personal grudge against anyone trying to move in. You wiped sweat from your brow as you hauled the last box of gear up the stairs of your familiar dorm house - Hurricane Hall, the athletic dorm that housed a mix of scholarship athletes from various sports.

Same single room as the last three years, same creaky door, same tiny window overlooking the practice fields. It felt like home, even if “home” smelled faintly of old cleats and protein powder.

You’d just finished unpacking when your phone buzzed with a group chat notification from the soccer team.

Mia: Yo, did y’all hear? That famous figure skater chick is moving into our hall. Amber Glenn. Like, the Amber Glenn. Olympic hopeful or whatever. Jade: No way. What’s a ice princess doing at UM? We don’t even have a serious rink here. Taylor: Probably here for the “college experience” or some scholarship Bullshit. Bet she cries if she breaks a nail during warm-up. You: Lmao. As long as she stays on her side of the hall and doesn’t hog the laundry room with sparkly costumes, we’re good. Soccer season starts soon anyway.

You tossed the phone on your bed and grinned. Figure skating. At a school known for football, baseball, and your beloved women’s soccer team that had made it to the Sweet Sixteen last year.

The idea of some delicate ice dancer sharing space with a bunch of sweaty, grass-stained athletes was almost funny. You’d heard the rumors all week at training: she was apparently a big deal in the skating world, multiple national titles, viral routines, the whole package. But to you? Just another prim princess who probably thought soccer was “too rough” and athletes like you were beneath her.

You changed into shorts and a Miami Hurricanes soccer tee, lacing up your old sneakers for a quick evening jog to shake off the travel stiffness. As you stepped into the hallway, the door directly opposite yours swung open.

Out came a girl carrying a large garment bag that shimmered faintly with sequins even in the dim hall lighting. She was tall,maybe 5’7”? with long blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, sharp cheekbones, and an effortlessly elegant posture that screamed “I belong on a podium.” She wore fitted black leggings and a cropped UM hoodie, but even in casual clothes she moved like every step was choreographed. Ice skater. Had to be.

You paused, arms crossed, sizing her up. She did the same, her gaze flicking over your grass-stained soccer shorts, the athletic tape still wrapped around your ankle from last week’s pickup game, and the faint bruise on your shin from a bad tackle.

Her nose wrinkled slightly. “Great. They put me across from a soccer player.”

You let out a short laugh, the kind that wasn’t amused. “And they put me across from a figure skater. Lucky me. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to track mud into the hall. Wouldn’t want to ruin your… whatever that is.” You nodded at the sparkling bag.

Amber - because who else could it be - shifted the garment bag higher on her shoulder, her expression cool and unimpressed. “It’s a competition dress. Not that you’d understand the difference between actual athleticism and kicking a ball around like a bunch of overgrown kids. Some of us train on ice, not dirt.”

Your jaw tightened. Immediate dislike flared hot in your chest. You’d dealt with plenty of stereotypes in your years here - people assuming soccer girls were just “aggressive tomboys” or whatever - but something about her tone, that superior little tilt of her chin, made it personal right away.

“Oh, sorry.” you shot back, stepping closer so you were eye-level.

“Didn’t realize spinning in circles in sparkly outfits counted as ‘real’ sport. At least when we take a hit, we get back up and keep playing. You fall once and it’s national news and a thousand excuses about ‘edge quality’ or whatever bullshit terminology you use to sound important.”

Amber’s eyes narrowed, a spark of genuine annoyance flashing across her face. She set the garment bag down carefully against her doorframe, crossing her arms to mirror your stance.

The hallway suddenly felt smaller.

“Edge quality?” she repeated, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

“Cute. You probably think a triple axel is something you order at Starbucks. Let me guess, you’re one of those soccer players who trash-talks everything that isn’t brute force and sweat. Newsflash: precision, grace, and control under pressure are harder than chasing a ball and slide-tackling your own teammates because you can’t aim.”

You scoffed, heat rising to your cheeks. The rivalry between “elegant” winter sports and “gritty” field sports wasn’t new, but it hit different when it was literally living across the hall. You’d seen enough skating clips online - yeah, the jumps looked impressive, but it was still dancing on frozen water while your team ran suicides in 90-degree humidity and fought for every inch of turf.

“Grace?” You laughed again, sharper this time. “Try playing 90 minutes with someone cleating your ankles every five seconds. Or heading a ball that feels like a brick. We don’t get to wear pretty costumes and smile for judges. We win ugly and we like it that way. But sure, keep telling yourself your little ice ballet makes you superior. Just don’t come crying to the athletic trainers when you twist something because your ‘artistic expression’ didn’t account for real physics.”

Amber took one step forward, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo mixed with whatever expensive skincare she probably used.

Her voice dropped, low and cutting. “Real physics? Says the girl whose sport involves more fake injuries and referee arguments than actual skill. I’ve seen your games - half the time it’s just pushing and shoving. At least when I fall, it’s because I pushed my limits, not because someone deliberately tried to take me out. Maybe if soccer players had half the discipline figure skaters do, your team wouldn’t choke in the playoffs every other year.”

That one stung. Your team had come close last season but fell short in a brutal semifinal. You felt your fists clench at your sides, the easy banter from the group chat turning into something hotter, more personal.

“Yeah? Well, at least we have actual fans who show up for games instead of bored parents and a couple of TikTok watchers. Enjoy your ‘famous’ status while it lasts, Glenn. Here at Miami, we care about championships, not sequins and sad little spins.”

She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The dislike was mutual, instant, and crackling in the air between you like static before a storm. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle from all that unnecessary hostility. Some of us have actual Olympic dreams. You… well, good luck with whatever regional trophy you’re chasing this year.”

You opened your mouth for another retort, but the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made both of you pause. A couple of your soccer teammates rounded the corner, laughing about something, and the moment shattered.

Amber picked up her garment bag with deliberate grace, gave you one last withering look, and disappeared back into her room, the door clicking shut with finality.

You stood there for a second longer, heart pounding with irritation. Across the hall. Of all the rooms in this building, they had to put the arrogant figure skating prodigy right opposite you.

This year was going to be long.

Later that evening, after your jog turned into an angry sprint around the quad, you collapsed onto your bed and stared at the ceiling. The thin walls did nothing to muffle the faint sound of music coming from her room - something classical and elegant that made your teeth grind. You blasted some pump-up hip-hop from your speaker just to spite her, volume turned up enough to rattle the shared wall.

Your phone lit up again.

Jade: So? Did you meet the ice princess yet? You: Yeah. She’s exactly what you’d expect. Stuck-up, thinks she’s God’s gift to athletics because she can twirl without falling. Immediate hate. Mia: Rivalry unlocked 😂 Don’t let her get to you. Soccer girls run this campus. Taylor: Bet she can’t even kick a ball straight. Challenge her to something.

You smirked at the screen, already imagining the pettiness that was about to unfold. Shared kitchen. Shared laundry. Shared study lounge. And that damn hallway where you’d have to see her every single day.

The soccer-skating tension was real now, and it had a face; Amber Glenn’s annoyingly perfect one.

The first week of classes blurred by in a haze of syllabus days, early morning weight sessions, and your team’s first official practices under the blazing Florida sun. You threw yourself into it, loving the burn in your legs as you sprinted drills, the satisfying thud of your cleats against the turf, the way your teammates hyped each other up with trash talk and high-fives. Soccer was raw, team-driven, full of grit and glory earned through sweat and bruises. It was everything figure skating apparently wasn’t.

You avoided Amber as much as possible, but the dorm made it impossible. Mornings, you’d catch her leaving for what you assumed was an early skate session at the nearby rink the university partnered with - always perfectly put together, earbuds in, ignoring your existence unless you happened to be in the kitchen at the same time.

One morning, you were making protein oatmeal when she walked in, grabbing a bottle of some fancy electrolyte drink from the fridge. She was in her skating gear now: sleek black leggings, a fitted long-sleeve top, and her hair in that signature tight bun. You couldn’t help but notice the way she moved-fluid, controlled, like she was conserving energy for something far more precise than your chaotic warm-ups.

“Morning, princess.” you said without looking up, stirring your oats a little too aggressively. “Off to practice your twirls? Try not to slip on the way there. Wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect record.”

Amber closed the fridge with a soft click, turning to face you. Her expression was ice-cold. “Morning, dirt magnet. Off to roll around in the grass with your little friends? Try not to get red-carded for being too aggressive. Again.”

You set the spoon down harder than necessary. “At least we play as a team. You skaters are all solo acts - must be lonely up there on the ice with only your ego for company.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “Lonely? Says the sport where half the players are substitutes warming the bench. I compete against the best in the world. You compete against other colleges that barely fill the stands. Different leagues, soccer girl.”

The rivalry simmered every time your paths crossed. In the laundry room, you “accidentally” used the last of the pods when she was waiting. She retaliated by blasting her classical playlists at 7 a.m. when you had a late night recovery session. You left your cleats drying in the hall; she left her skate guards conspicuously placed like a warning.

Your teammates ate it up, turning it into hall-wide entertainment. “Ice vs. Turf” became a running joke. They started a group chat betting on who would snap first.

But beneath the constant barbs, there was something else brewing - an awareness. You hated how graceful she looked even when she was being insufferable. She hated how unapologetically confident you were in your rough-and-tumble world.

One evening, after a particularly brutal practice where you’d taken a cleat to the thigh (nothing new), you limped back to the dorm, ice pack in hand. Amber was in the shared lounge, stretching on the floor in front of the TV, her long legs extended in a split that made your hamstrings cry just looking at it.

You dropped onto the couch, pressing the ice to your leg with a wince.

She glanced over, eyebrow raised. “Rough day in paradise? Or did one of your own teammates finally have enough of your attitude?”

“Funny...” you muttered. “At least my bruises come from trying to win, not from trying to look pretty while spinning.”

Amber sat up fluidly, pulling one knee to her chest. For a second, her eyes lingered on the growing bruise visible below your shorts. “You know, for someone who claims to be so tough, you sure complain a lot when you get hurt. In skating, we tape it up and keep going because the program doesn’t stop for minor pain.”

You glared at her. “Minor pain? This is from someone who actually hits hard. Not a gentle kiss from the ice because you under-rotated your precious lutz or whatever.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of something-respect? No, probably not. Just more fuel for the fire. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll understand what real discipline looks like.”

You didn’t respond, just turned up the volume on whatever mindless show was playing. The silence between you was thick with dislike, but also with the unspoken knowledge that this year was going to test both of you in ways neither expected.

Hurricane Hall had never felt so charged.

The alarm on your phone had been screaming for what felt like forever, but your body refused to cooperate. After a brutal evening practice the night before - full-field sprints, tactical drills until your legs felt like jelly, and a particularly aggressive scrimmage where one of the freshmen had accidentally (or not) clipped your ankle - you’d crashed hard.

Senior year as captain of the University of Miami women’s soccer team meant extra responsibilities: leading warm-ups, reviewing film, texting the group chat about nutrition plans, and somehow still squeezing in recovery. Sleep had won the battle.

You bolted upright, heart already racing as you checked the time: 9:17 a.m. .

English Literature 201 started at 9:00 sharp. Professor Elena Ramirez did not tolerate tardiness, especially from athletes who she liked to “keep humble.” You cursed under your breath, throwing on the first clean clothes you could find - a pair of athletic shorts, a faded team hoodie, and mismatched socks - while shoving your laptop and notebook into your bag.

No time for coffee. No time for breakfast. Just pure panic mode.

You sprinted across campus, the humid Florida air already thick even this early. Your cleat bag from yesterday still banged against your hip, and the bruise on your shin throbbed with every step. By the time you reached the liberal arts building, sweat was dripping down your back. You slipped into the lecture hall at 9:28, the door creaking loudly enough to draw every eye in the room.

Professor Ramirez paused mid-sentence, her sharp gaze landing on you like a spotlight. She was a no-nonsense woman in her forties, known for her love of Shakespeare and her zero-tolerance policy for excuses.

“Well, well...” she said, her voice carrying that dry, academic sarcasm that could cut glass. “If it isn’t our esteemed soccer captain, gracing us with her presence. Late? I suppose the turf waits for no one, but apparently literature does. Or perhaps you were too busy strategizing your next slide tackle to remember that class starts at nine?”

A few snickers rippled through the room. Your teammates who shared the class - Jade in the back row and Mia two seats over - gave you sympathetic grimaces mixed with barely contained laughter. You felt your face heat up, but you kept your chin high. “Sorry, Professor. Overslept after practice. Won’t happen again.”

Ramirez raised an eyebrow. “Famous last words from every athlete I’ve ever had. Take a seat, Captain. And try not to track grass clippings in.”

You scanned the room desperately. Most seats were filled. The only empty one was in the middle row, right next to… of course. Amber Glenn.

The skating princess herself, sitting with perfect posture, her long blonde hair slightly wavy today, wearing a simple but elegant black top and jeans that somehow looked runway-ready. She had her notebook open, pen poised neatly, and she didn’t even glance your way at first.

You hesitated for half a second, weighing the humiliation of standing there longer versus sitting next to her. Reluctantly, you slid into the chair, dropping your bag with a thud that made her flinch slightly.

Amber turned her head slowly, her sharp eyes narrowing the moment they landed on you. Her voice was low, just loud enough for you to hear, dripping with that familiar icy disdain. “Of course it’s you. Late to class and still managing to make an entrance like you’re charging the goal. Do soccer players have any concept of punctuality, or is showing up fashionably late part of your ‘team spirit’?”

You dropped into the seat harder than necessary, crossing your arms. The rivalry that had been simmering in the dorm hallway for the past weeks flared instantly. “Says the girl who probably times her spins to the millisecond. Some of us were out until 10 p.m. running actual conditioning instead of gliding around on frozen water pretending it’s art. Oversleeping happens when you’re captain and actually push your body.”

She let out a soft, mocking laugh, not bothering to lower her voice much. “Pushing your body? Please. I saw your team’s highlight reel online - half of it is just shoving and dramatic falls. At least when I ‘fall’ it’s because I’m attempting a triple axel, not because someone cleated me on purpose. And for the record, I was at the rink at 6 a.m. this morning. Discipline, soccer girl. Look it up.”

You turned slightly in your seat, glaring. “Triple axel? Cute. Try playing 90 minutes in this heat with eleven opponents trying to take you out every play. No judges giving you style points for looking pretty while you do it. We earn our wins with sweat and actual teamwork, not solo performances for a panel of bored critics.”

Amber’s lips curved into a tight smirk, but her eyes flashed with irritation. She leaned in just a fraction, the vanilla scent of her shampoo cutting through “Teamwork? Your sport has more yellow cards for unsportsmanlike conduct than actual goals some games. I compete against the best in the world - Grand Prix Finals, U.S. Nationals, Olympics. I’ve got three consecutive national titles now. What’s your big achievement? Making it to the Sweet Sixteen before choking?”

That hit a nerve.

Your team had come close last season, and the semifinal loss still fucking stung. “At least we don’t need sparkly costumes and sad little music to make our sport watchable. People actually cheer for us because it’s exciting, not because we’re twirling like it’s the Ice Capades.”

Professor Ramirez cleared her throat loudly from the front. “Ladies in the middle row. If you’re quite finished with your… spirited discussion, we’re moving on to today’s analysis of The Great Gatsby. Unless you’d like to share your insights on American dreams with the entire class?”

You both snapped forward, muttering simultaneous “Sorry, Professor.” under your breath. The rest of the lecture dragged on, but the tension between you and Amber crackled like static.

Every time Ramirez mentioned themes of rivalry or social divides, you could feel Amber’s side-eye. You doodled aggressively in your notebook - little soccer balls and cleats while she took meticulous, color-coded notes like the overachiever she was.

Halfway through, when Ramirez dimmed the lights for a short video clip on 1920s symbolism, Amber leaned over slightly, her voice a whisper. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a leader on the field, you sure lead with your mouth instead of strategy. Late to class, loud entrance… maybe your team needs a captain who can actually manage time.”

You shot back without missing a beat, keeping your voice equally low. “And maybe your skating needs less ego and more actual risk. I heard you landed some big jumps at Nationals, but here you are, hiding in a college English class like the rest of us mortals. What’s the matter - Olympic pressure too much without your coaches holding your hand?”

Amber’s pen paused mid-note. “Hiding? I chose UM for the academics and the training facilities. Not everyone needs a stadium full of screaming fans to validate their sport. Some of us have international medals and don’t need to prove anything by body-checking opponents.”

The video ended, lights came up, and class continued with group discussions on character motivations. You and Amber avoided direct eye contact, but the proximity made every shift in your seat feel like a battlefield.

When Ramirez called on your row for input, you both spoke at the same time - her with a polished analysis of Gatsby’s illusion of success, you with a gritty take on the working-class struggle mirroring soccer’s underdog fights. Ramirez looked mildly amused. “Interesting perspectives. Opposites attract… or clash, apparently.”

The clock finally hit 10:45.

As everyone started packing up, Professor Ramirez clapped her hands. “Before you go, a quick announcement. For the major project this semester - a 15-page comparative analysis on themes of ambition and rivalry in two American novels - you’ll be working in pairs. I’ve already assigned them to encourage… diverse viewpoints.”

She began reading off the list from her tablet. Your stomach dropped as names paired up. Jade with some guy from the baseball team. Mia with a theater major. Then-

“Captain Y/LN and Amber Glenn.”

The room went quiet for a beat before a few muffled laughs and whispers broke out - mostly from your soccer friends who knew exactly who Amber was and the dorm hallway war that had been brewing.

You froze, staring at the professor. “Wait, seriously?”

Amber turned to you at the exact same moment, her expression a perfect mix of horror and disbelief. “You paired me with her?”

Ramirez smiled sweetly, the kind that said she knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes. I think the contrast will make for compelling work. Soccer captain and national figure skating champion - ambition in very different arenas. Due in six weeks. Use the time wisely. Office hours if you need mediation.”

Class ended in a flurry of movement. You stood up slowly, slinging your bag over your shoulder, already dreading the next hour. Amber rose with that graceful fluidity that always annoyed you, gathering her perfectly organized notes.

In the hallway outside the lecture hall, the confrontation exploded.

“This is a joke, right?” you said, blocking her path slightly as students streamed around you. “Six weeks stuck with the ice princess? I’d rather write the whole thing myself than listen to you lecture me about ‘grace’ for 15 pages.”

Amber crossed her arms, her ponytail swinging as she tilted her head. “Oh, please. You think I’m thrilled? I’ve got early morning ice time, choreography sessions, and actual elite training. The last thing I need is to babysit a soccer player who can’t even show up to class on time. What are you going to contribute - quotes from motivational locker room speeches?”

You stepped closer, voice low but heated. “At least my sport builds real resilience. You fall on your ass during practice and it’s ‘oh no, the program!’ We get fouled, we get up, we keep playing. For the project, I’ll handle the grit and reality sections. You can do the pretty illusion parts - fits your whole aesthetic.”

Her eyes narrowed, that competitive fire you’d seen glimpses of in the dorm now fully lit. “Illusion? I’ve won three straight U.S. Nationals, a Grand Prix Final, and helped the team take Olympic gold in the team event. I land triple axels that most skaters dream about. You chase a ball around grass and call it ambition. Fine. We’ll meet tomorrow evening in the study lounge. 7 p.m. sharp. Don’t be late again, or I’ll assume soccer captains can’t handle basic commitments.”

You scoffed. “7 p.m.? After my evening weights and film session? Make it 8:30. And don’t show up in your sparkly warm-ups expecting me to be impressed.”

“8:30 it is.” she snapped. “Try not to smell like turf and regret. Some of us have standards.”

You both stormed off in opposite directions, but the damage was done. The pairing was official. Your phone blew up immediately.

Jade: OMG PROFESSOR SHIP OR SABOTAGE?! 😂 Ice vs Turf group project incoming Mia: Bet you two kill each other before page 3. Record it. Taylor: This is gold. Make her watch full match footage as “research.”

The rest of the day blurred into soccer obligations. Afternoon practice under the relentless sun: you led the team through possession drills, barking encouragement even as your mind kept drifting back to that smug smirk. “Triple axels.” you muttered during water break. “Big deal.”

Your assistant coach noticed your distraction. “Everything good, Captain? You seem fired up today.”

“Just a class project pairing...” you grumbled. “With the new figure skater in the dorm.”

He chuckled. “Glenn? Heard she’s a big name. Olympic stuff. Might be good for you - learn some discipline from the precision crowd.”

You shot him a look. “Discipline? We’ll see.”

Evening came, and after a quick dinner in the athletic dining hall - grilled chicken, rice, veggies - you headed back to Hurricane Hall.

The shared study lounge on the first floor was empty when you arrived at 8:25, claiming a table by the window overlooking the quad. You spread out your laptop, a couple of books on American lit you’d grabbed from the library, and your notebook full of half-formed ideas about rivalry in sports mirroring literary ambition.

Amber arrived at exactly 8:30, carrying a sleek backpack and her own stack of neatly tabbed resources. She wore comfy but stylish loungewear - black joggers and a cropped hoodie that showed a sliver of toned midriff from years of core work. She sat across from you without a word at first, pulling out her laptop and a color-coded planner.

“Glad you could make it on time for once.” she said coolly, opening a document. “Let’s get this over with. I suggest we divide the novels: you take The Great Gatsby, I take Death of a Salesman. Compare ambition’s destructive side. You handle the athletic parallels since that’s apparently your expertise. I’ll cover the artistic and performative elements.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Who died and made you project manager? We’re doing both novels together, or it’ll be obvious we hate each other. And no, I’m not letting you ‘cover the artistic’ like skating is some superior form. Both our sports have ambition, pressure, and fallout. Let’s actually research instead of assuming your spins are deeper than a match.”

Amber’s fingers paused on the keyboard. She looked up, eyes locking with yours in that intense way that made the air feel thicker. “Fine. Joint research. But I’m not watching hours of grainy soccer footage where half the players are rolling on the ground faking injuries. I’ve seen enough memes about that.”

You laughed sharply. “Faking? Says the sport where falls get 10.0 for ‘artistic impression’ even if you bailed on the jump. At least our pain is real - no judges deciding if your edge was ‘clean’ enough. Tomorrow after my morning practice, we hit the library. Bring actual notes, not just your ego.”

She smirked, but there was a reluctant edge to it. “Library at 11 a.m. My skate session ends at 10. Don’t show up sweaty and gross.”

The session stretched for nearly two hours. Dialogue flew back and forth, laced with barbs but slowly building actual content. You argued over thesis statements:

“You can’t just say ambition in skating is ‘pure’ because it’s individual.” you insisted, typing aggressively. “It’s cutthroat - politics in judging, rivalries with other skaters gunning for the same spots. Same as us fighting for starting positions or scholarships.”

Amber countered, voice steady but passionate. “At least we perform under objective scrutiny plus subjective beauty. No referee blowing a whistle because someone looked at them wrong. I’ve trained since I was five. Landed my first triple axel in competition years ago. The pressure to be perfect every single time - no substitutions, no timeouts - is insane. Your team has 11 players to share the load.”

You leaned forward. “Share the load? Try being captain when a key forward gets injured mid-season and the whole attack falls apart. We adapt on the fly. You rehearse the same program for months. Predictable.”

“Not predictable when you’re pushing for that fourth rotation or fighting for Olympic selection.” she shot back. “I’m 26 nowold for the sport. Made the team for Milano Cortina, first openly queer woman in U.S. singles. That comes with extra eyes on you. Don’t lecture me about pressure.”

The conversation veered personal for a moment before snapping back to the project. By 10:30, you had a rough outline: sections on personal ambition vs. team glory, the cost of failure (your bruises and her falls), and societal perceptions - soccer as “tough” and skating as “delicate.”

You packed up, both exhausted but neither willing to admit the other had good points.

“Same time tomorrow?” Amber asked, standing with that effortless poise.

“Only if you stop calling my sport ‘kicking a ball around’. ” you replied.

“Only if you stop calling mine ‘ice ballet’ .” she countered.

The week continued in this pattern of reluctant collaboration mixed with dorm hallway sniping.

Tuesday morning: You overslept again, rushing to weights. Amber was in the hallway stretching when you emerged, and she couldn’t resist. “Late to the gym too? Shocking.”

“Late to nothing. Just optimizing recovery, princess.”

Tuesday evening project session: Debate turned heated over dinner breaks. You brought protein bars; she had fancy fruit and yogurt. “Real fuel.” you teased. She rolled her eyes. “Balanced nutrition. You should try it instead of whatever processed junk your team scarfs.”

Wednesday: Practice ran long because of an upcoming exhibition game against a local rival. You limped back to the dorm with fresh turf burn on your knee. Amber was in the lounge again, foam rolling her legs after her own session. “Rough day on the battlefield?” she asked, almost sounding concerned before adding, “Don’t bleed on the project notes.”

You sat heavily. “Better than twisting an ankle because your blade caught an edge. We play through it.”

Thursday brought the first real breakthrough - and more sparks. In the library, surrounded by stacks of literary criticism, you both read passages aloud. Amber’s voice was smooth and articulate when discussing Willy Loman’s delusions; yours grounded when tying it to the pressure of captaincy and team expectations.

At one point, she admitted grudgingly, “Your take on collective vs. individual failure isn’t terrible. Soccer does force adaptation in ways skating can’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Was that almost a compliment?”

“Don’t push it.” she said, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

Friday afternoon: Your team had a light scrimmage. Afterward, in the locker room, the girls grilled you.

“So, how’s the ice queen?” Jade asked, toweling off.

“Annoying as hell.” you said, but then paused. “But… she’s actually smart. And dedicated. Three national titles, Olympic gold in the team event. Lands triple axels. It’s impressive, even if I hate admitting it.”

Mia grinned. “Sounds like the rivalry is evolving.”

“Shut up. Still dislike her.”

That evening, the final session of the week. You met in the lounge again. The outline was shaping into something solid - 12 pages drafted in shared Google Doc, arguments balanced but with your gritty voice and her precise one clashing productively.

As you wrapped up around 10 p.m., Amber closed her laptop. “Not the worst partnership. For a soccer brute.”

You stood, stretching your sore shoulders. “High praise from the twirling Olympian. See you in class Monday. Try not to gloat too much when Ramirez asks for updates.”

She paused at the lounge door, turning back. “Same. And… don’t be late again. It reflects on both of us now.”

You watched her walk away, that elegant stride echoing down the hall toward her room opposite yours. The dislike was still there - sharp, immediate, fun in its pettiness - but underneath it, something had shifted. A grudging respect born from forced proximity and shared ambition.

The week at Miami University had been long, sweaty, argumentative, and unexpectedly productive. Soccer practice, skating sessions, classes, and now this project pairing had thrown you and Amber Glenn into each other’s orbits whether you liked it or not.

The weekend hit like a freight train after the chaotic week of classes, practices, and that cursed group project. Saturday morning had been dedicated to recovery-light yoga for the team, foam rolling that felt more like torture than relief, and watching film of upcoming opponents until your eyes crossed.

By afternoon, the women’s soccer team was back on the turf for a full scrimmage under the blazing Miami sun. You pushed hard as captain: calling plays, motivating the freshmen who still looked terrified of the intensity, and taking a few solid hits that left new grass stains on your shorts and a dull ache in your left quad. The final whistle blew around 5:30 p.m., and you were drenched in sweat, cleats caked with dirt, hair sticking to your forehead.

You slung your gear bag over your shoulder and started the familiar trek back to Hurricane Hall, the old athletic dorm that had seen better decades. The building was charming in that rundown way - high ceilings, creaky wooden floors, and zero elevators, which meant three flights of stairs for anyone unlucky enough to live on the upper levels.

Your legs burned from the day’s exertion, but the endorphin high kept you moving. Thoughts of a long shower, some leftover grilled chicken, and maybe crashing with a movie drifted through your mind. The project with Amber loomed in the background too - another library session planned for Sunday - but you shoved that aside for now.

As you approached the stairs, you spotted her.

Amber.

She was halfway up the first flight, moving slower than usual. Her signature sleek ponytail was slightly disheveled, strands escaping like she’d been through a tough session. She wore her typical skating attire: black leggings that hugged her long legs, a fitted long-sleeve top, and skate guards still clipped to her bag.

But something was off. She favored her right ankle, limping noticeably with each step. Her hand gripped the railing tighter than necessary, knuckles pale. Every upward movement looked painful, her usual graceful posture replaced by careful, measured effort.

You couldn’t resist. The rivalry was still very much alive, even after the week’s reluctant collaboration. A smirk tugged at your lips as you started up the stairs behind her, your cleats clacking against the wood.

“Well, well...” you called out, voice echoing in the stairwell with mock sympathy. “Look who’s finally experiencing what real athletes deal with. Limping up the stairs like a wounded gazelle. What happened, princess? Did the ice bite back during one of your fancy spins? Or did you just trip over your own ego?”

Amber glanced over her shoulder, her sharp eyes narrowing despite the obvious discomfort. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her breathing was a bit labored.

She didn’t stop moving, but her retort came quick and biting. “Oh, shut up, soccer brute. At least my injuries come from pushing actual limits... quad attempts - not from rolling around in the dirt with a bunch of aggressive teammates trying to take each other out. You probably got cleated again and called it ‘part of the game.’ Pathetic.”

You chuckled, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up closer, your bag thumping against your hip. “Pathetic? Says the girl who makes national headlines every time she falls. I saw the tiktoks - graceful until you’re not. At least when we get hurt, we shake it off and keep playing for the team. No dramatic pauses for the judges. Need a hand, or are you too proud to admit the ice isn’t as forgiving as it looks?”

She huffed, gripping the railing harder as she hauled herself up another step. “I don’t need anything from you. Especially not your fake concern wrapped in trash talk. Go shower off that turf stench and leave me alone. Some of us have real training schedules that don’t involve chasing a stupid ball.”

The banter felt familiar, comfortable even in its sharpness.

But as you reached the landing between the first and second floor, something shifted. Amber’s foot slipped on the worn wooden step - maybe from fatigue, maybe from whatever was wrong with her ankle. Her balance, usually impeccable from years on the ice, betrayed her. She let out a sharp gasp, body tilting backward.

Instinct kicked in before you could think. You dropped your gear bag with a thud and lunged forward, arms wrapping around her waist and upper back just as she started to fall. The momentum nearly took both of you down, but you braced your legs - still strong from today’s sprints - and steadied her against your chest. She was lighter than you expected, all lean muscle and controlled power from skating, but the contact sent a weird jolt through you. Her vanilla shampoo mixed with the faint scent of rink chill and sweat. For a split second, the rivalry paused.

Amber stiffened immediately in your hold, her hands pushing against your shoulders. “What the... let go! Fucking drop me right now, soccer girl!” Her voice was a mix of embarrassment and fury, cheeks flushing pink. She squirmed, but her injured ankle clearly couldn’t support her weight properly. “I swear, if you don’t put me down this second-”

You adjusted your grip, one arm under her knees in a proper bridal carry, the other supporting her back. Being the gentlewoman you were - captain instincts, team-first mentality, and yeah, maybe a tiny bit of that grudging respect from the project sessions - you didn’t drop her.

Instead, you started climbing the remaining stairs with careful, steady steps. Your soccer-honed legs handled the extra weight without much strain, though the ache in your quad protested mildly.

“Nope...” you said firmly, a hint of amusement creeping into your tone despite the situation. “Not dropping you. You’d just tumble down and make it worse, then blame me for ‘distracting’ you or whatever excuse skaters use. Consider this a temporary truce. Or community service. Whatever helps your pride.”

She continued arguing the whole way up, her body tense in your arms, hands still pressing against your chest like she could will herself free. “This is humiliating. Put me down! What if someone sees us like this? The soccer captain carrying the figure skater like some damsel in distress? My reputation - your stupid rivalry crap - everyone on this floor would never let it go. The team chats would explode. Drop me. Now.”

You kept climbing, passing the second-floor landing. Luckily, the hallway was empty - no teammates lingering, no other athletes hauling laundry or snacks. Saturday evenings were often quiet as people scattered for dinners, parties, or recovery. “Relax, Glenn. Floor’s deserted. No audience for your dramatic rescue scene. And honestly? After watching you limp like that, I’m not risking you face-planting on my watch. Even if you are the most annoying project partner on campus.”

Amber let out a frustrated groan, her head turning away as if refusing to look at you directly. But her arguing didn’t stop. “Annoying? You’re the one who’s been trash-talking my sport since day one... calling it ice ballet, twirling, sparkly nonsense. Now you’re playing hero? Hypocrite. I bet this is just so you can hold it over me later. ‘Remember when I had to carry your fragile skating ass up the stairs?’ I can already hear the smugness.”

You reached the third floor, your breathing a little heavier but controlled. The familiar hallway stretched out, doors lining both sides, including yours and hers directly opposite.

You kept your voice light but with that underlying edge. “Smug? Please. I’m just being decent. Unlike some people who’d probably leave a rival bleeding on the turf if it meant winning. And for the record, your sport isn’t all nonsense - I’ll give you that after our library sessions. Those triple axels look brutal. But don’t think this changes anything. You’re still the princess who thinks precision beats grit.”

She shifted slightly in your arms, wincing as her ankle moved. The movement brought her face closer, and for a moment you noticed details you’d ignored before: the faint freckles across her nose from outdoor training, the way her eyes weren’t just annoyed but tired, the subtle tension in her jaw from pushing through pain. “Grit? Your version of grit is just brute force and bad calls. But… fine. The project showed me you’re not completely brainless. Still, this carrying thing is crossing a line. My coaches would lose it if they knew. Put me down before we reach the door. I can hobble the last few feet.”

You ignored the request, walking straight to her door. The wood was marked with a small, elegant name tag she’d probably added herself - nothing like the chaotic soccer posters and team flags on yours.

You stopped gently, lowering her until her good foot touched the floor first. One arm stayed around her waist for support as she tested her weight, the other hand steadying her elbow. She leaned against the doorframe, breathing out sharply.

“There. Safely delivered, Your Highness.” you said, stepping back but not fully letting go until she was stable. “You okay? What even happened? That ankle looks sketchy. Ice? Elevation? I’ve got some wraps in my room if you need-”

Amber cut you off, brushing imaginary dirt from her leggings, though her cheeks were still flushed. “I’m fine. Twisted it during a flip combination at practice. Landed weird on the toe pick. Happens. Don’t act all concerned now - it’s weird. We’re rivals, remember? Or at least we were before this forced project turned us into reluctant study buddies.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the opposite wall - your own door just a few feet away. The rivalry still simmered, but something had undeniably shifted.

The banter felt less venomous, more like familiar sparring between competitors who respected the game. “Rivals, yeah. But even rivals don’t let each other eat shit on the stairs. And about the project… we can’t keep meeting at the library like planned. Not with you limping around like this. You need to rest that ankle, ice it properly, or you’ll be out for weeks. Skating waits for no one - trust me, I know from watching my teammates push through injuries.”

She tested her weight again, grimacing but managing a few small steps toward her door. “Don’t tell me what I need. I’ve skated through worse - stress fractures, tendonitis, the works. Olympic cycle doesn’t pause for a stupid twist. But… yeah. Library’s probably off the table for a couple days. My room has a desk, though. Or yours, if it doesn’t smell like old cleats and protein shakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk returning. “My room? Bold offer from the girl who complained about turf stench earlier. But fine. We can adapt. Bring your fancy notes and color-coded planner. I’ll handle the gritty analysis parts while you elevate that princess ankle. Just don’t expect me to carry you around campus next week. This was a one-time gentlewoman act.”

Amber unlocked her door, pushing it open to reveal a surprisingly tidy room - skating posters on the walls, a small keyboard in the corner (probably for music practice), and stacks of books that matched the ones you’d been using for the project.

She turned back, leaning on the frame with a mix of irritation and something softer. “One-time act? Sure. And don’t think this makes us friends. You still owe me for all the trash talk about sequins and spins. But… thanks. Reluctantly. For not letting me fall. Even if your carrying technique was terrible - too much soccer muscle, not enough finesse.”

You laughed outright, the sound echoing lightly in the empty hall. “Finesse? From the girl who just slipped on perfectly good stairs? Pot, kettle. Get some rest, Amber. Ice it, wrap it, whatever skaters do. Text me if you need anything for the project or if you want actual advice on not re-injuring that ankle. We’ve got five more weeks to finish this thing without killing each other.”

She paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob, her expression a complicated blend of annoyance, exhaustion, and that new, unspoken shift. “Advice from a soccer captain? I’ll pass. But yeah… text me the updated outline tonight. And don’t be late to class Monday. If I have to suffer through this pairing, you’re not dragging my grade down with your oversleeping habits.”

You nodded, picking up your abandoned gear bag from where you’d dropped it earlier. “Deal. Try not to dream about quad axels tonight. Or me carrying you - might bruise that ego further.”

Amber rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips before she hid it. “Goodnight, brute. And seriously! Don’t mention this to anyone. Especially not your loud teammates. The last thing I need is ‘Soccer Hero Saves Ice Princess’ becoming dorm legend.”

“Secret’s safe.” you promised, backing toward your own door. “For now.”

You slipped into your room, the click of her door following shortly after. Inside, you dropped your bag and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The weekend had taken an unexpected turn.

The rivalry was still there- sharp comments, defensive pride, the constant comparison of soccer grit versus skating precision - but it felt different now. Lighter. Layered with reluctant concern and the tiniest spark of mutual understanding. She’d pushed through pain the same way you did on the field. You’d caught her without thinking, captain instincts mixing with something more personal.

Tomorrow, the project would continue, probably in one of your rooms with her ankle propped up. Banter would fly, arguments over thesis statements would spark, but the dislike had softened into something closer to competitive camaraderie.

The Miami weekends quiet settled in, but across the hall, the air between you and Amber Glenn had changed. Senior year at Miami was shaping up to be far more interesting than expected - and a twisted ankle had somehow made it even more so.

The rest of Saturday evening passed in a blur of recovery routines. You showered off the practice grime, applied your own ice packs to sore muscles, and fired off a few texts to the team group chat about tomorrow’s optional film session.

Then, true to your word, you sent Amber a quick message with the updated project outline, adding a casual “Elevate that ankle, princess. Don’t make me carry you again.”

Her reply came faster than expected: “Already elevated. And if you mention carrying one more time, I’ll make you write the entire conclusion section alone. Thanks… again. Reluctantly.”

You grinned at the screen, shaking your head. Rivals. Project partners. And now, something else neither of you was ready to name.

Sunday dawned bright and humid. You woke early for a light jog around campus - nothing intense, just clearing the head - before grabbing breakfast and heading to the athletic center for some upper-body work.

By mid-morning, you texted Amber again to check in.

You: Ankle status? Still planning project work today?

Amber: Swollen but manageable. I can hobble. Your room or mine? Yours better not reek.

You: Mine. Cleats are aired out. 2 p.m.? I’ll bring snacks that aren’t “fancy fruit.”

Amber: Deal. But if you comment on my limp, I’m leaving.

The afternoon session in your room was predictably charged. Amber arrived with her backpack, leaning on the wall for support as she made her way across the hall. You helped her to your desk chair without fanfare (and without carrying this time, earning an eye-roll from her). She propped her ankle on a stack of pillows you’d prepared, and the work began amid the usual dialogue.

“See? I’m not completely useless.” you said, sliding over a printed article on literary ambition. “Even brutes can anticipate needs.”

“Don’t flatter yourself superstar.” she replied, highlighting a section with precise strokes. “This doesn’t erase the fact that your sport glorifies violence. But… the pillows are appreciated. Marginally.”

Hours passed with back-and-forth on themes, occasional laughter when arguments circled back to “ice ballet vs. turf wars” and a growing ease. The injury had cracked the armor just enough.

The Monday morning sun poured through the thin curtains of your dorm room, casting long golden stripes across the floor. You’d set three alarms this time, each one louder and more obnoxious than the last just to make sure you didn’t oversleep again.

After the weekend’s unexpected events, you were determined to keep your word. No more late entrances. No more giving Professor Ramirez ammunition. And definitely no more fuel for Amber’s endless “soccer players have no discipline” lectures.

You were up at 7:45, showered, dressed in fresh Miami Hurricanes athletic shorts and a team hoodie, and out the door by 8:20 with your backpack slung over one shoulder and a protein bar in hand. The hallway was quiet, most athletes still stirring or already gone for early training.

Amber’s door remained closed as you passed it, but you could hear faint Madonna music drifting through the wood - probably her warming up mentally for the day. You smirked to yourself but didn’t knock. Let her wonder if you’d actually show up on time.

You made it to the liberal arts building with ten minutes to spare, sliding into English Literature 201 at 8:58. The lecture hall was filling up slowly. You claimed the same middle-row seat as last week, dropping your bag with a controlled thud instead of your usual chaotic entrance. Jade and Mia were already there, giving you surprised thumbs-ups from a few rows back.

“Captain’s actually early?” Jade whispered loudly as she leaned over. “Did hell freeze over?”

“Or did the ice princess threaten you?” Mia added with a grin.

You shot them a look. “Shut up. I promised someone I’d be on time. Don’t make it weird.”

Professor Ramirez arrived right on the dot at 9:00, setting her tablet on the podium with her usual crisp efficiency. She scanned the room, her eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. A small, approving nod followed. “Nice to see some athletes remembering that punctuality isn’t optional, Captain. Let’s hope it sticks.”

You gave a mock salute, earning a few chuckles from the class. The lecture kicked off smoothly - today’s focus was on symbolism in Death of a Salesman and how it tied into broader American themes of success and failure.

You took actual notes this time, your pen moving steadily across the page. Every so often your gaze drifted to the empty seat beside you. Amber wasn’t there yet. Her ankle must have been worse than she’d let on over text yesterday.

About fifteen minutes into class, the overhead speakers crackled to life with that familiar static pop that signaled a campus-wide announcement.

Everyone paused, pens hovering, as the principal’s voice - deep, authoritative, and slightly echoing, filled the room.

“Good morning, University of Miami students, faculty, and staff. This is Principal Torres with a quick reminder and exciting announcement for our fall athletic season. The women’s soccer team, under the leadership of our senior captain, opens their home schedule this Friday night at 7:00 p.m. against Florida Atlantic University. Come out and support our Hurricanes as they look to build on last year’s strong showing. Let’s pack the stands and show them what Miami pride looks like! Go Canes!”

A ripple of cheers and clapping broke out across the lecture hall, especially from the handful of other athletes and your teammates. Jade whooped loudly, pumping her fist.

You felt a surge of pride mixed with that familiar pre-game adrenaline. First game of the season as captain. The turf, the lights, the crowd - it was what you lived for.

You leaned back in your chair, unable to hide the smug grin spreading across your face. The seat next to you was still empty, but you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Even with the new, slightly softer dynamic after the weekend, the rivalry was too ingrained to ignore completely.

Just as the announcement ended and Professor Ramirez tried to regain control of the class, the door to the lecture hall opened. Amber Glenn slipped in as quietly as she could, moving with obvious care. She was limping more noticeably than on Saturday, her right ankle wrapped tightly in a black compression bandage that peeked out from under her leggings. She wore a simple UM shirt and jeans, her wavy hair impeccable as always, but her posture was stiffer, less fluid. She carried her bag on one shoulder and a travel mug of something that smelled like herbal tea.

She scanned for a seat and, of course, the only open one was still right next to you. With a barely concealed sigh, she made her way over, lowering herself into the chair with a small wince that she tried and failed to hide.

You turned your head slightly toward her the moment she settled, voice low but dripping with that signature smugness. “Well, look who decided to join us. And right after the big announcement too. Did you hear that, princess? First home game this Friday at 7. You should come watch - if that delicate little ankle of yours can even handle sitting in the stands for ninety minutes. Wouldn’t want you to re-twist it from all the excitement of watching real athletes in action.”

Amber set her bag down carefully, turning to face you with an arched eyebrow and that familiar cool glare. Her voice matched yours in volume - quiet enough not to disrupt the lecture, but sharp enough to cut. “Oh, please. Spare me the captain bravado. I heard the announcement loud and clear while I was hobbling across campus because someone decided the old dorm needed three flights of stairs and no elevator. Real athletes? You mean a bunch of girls kicking a ball while pretending every foul is a conspiracy against them?”

You chuckled softly, leaning a little closer so only she could hear. The proximity brought back the memory of carrying her up those exact stairs - her weight in your arms, the way she’d argued the whole time.

Something had definitely changed since then, but the banter still flowed easily, almost comfortably now. “Hey, at least we don’t need sparkly costumes and judges to decide if we’re winning. Friday’s going to be electric. Crowd, lights, actual stakes. You skaters just spin in circles hoping for style points. Come watch. Maybe you’ll learn what real pressure looks like when the whole stadium’s chanting your name instead of polite clapping from three bored parents.”

Amber shifted in her seat, carefully extending her injured leg under the desk to keep weight off it. She winced again but masked it quickly with a scoff. “Pressure? You have no idea. I’ve competed with a fractured foot before - Nationals years ago. Landed a triple lutz clean even when every landing felt like fire. Your ‘pressure’ is just loud fans and bad refereeing. And as for watching your game… I’ll pass. My ankle needs rest, not two hours of watching you and your teammates shove each other around like it’s a contact sport. Which, let’s be honest, it basically is half the time.”

Professor Ramirez paused her lecture for a moment, glancing toward your row with a raised eyebrow, but continued when neither of you spoke louder. You dropped your voice even more, the smugness still there but tempered with a hint of genuine invitation now. The weekend had cracked the ice - literally and figuratively.

“Come on, Glenn. It’s the first game of the season. As captain, I’m basically required to invite people. Plus, it’d be funny to see the famous figure skater in the stands wearing our colors instead of sequins. Bet you can’t even handle the noise level. Or are you scared you’ll actually enjoy watching something that isn’t choreographed to classical music?”

Amber turned her head fully toward you, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. There was irritation, yes, but also that new undercurrent - the reluctant respect from your project sessions and the stairwell rescue.

She lowered her voice to match yours, the words coming out in a heated whisper. “Scared? Of your little turf war? Hardly. I’ve performed in front of thousands at Grand Prix events with cameras everywhere. Your stadium probably holds what, a couple thousand max? And half of them are probably just there for the concession stands. If my ankle wasn’t acting up, maybe I’d consider it - just to see if your ‘leadership’ actually translates to the field or if you’re all talk like in class.”

You grinned, unable to stop the spark of competitiveness. “All talk? Says the girl who still hasn’t admitted that carrying her up three flights was necessary. Friday at 7. Bring your fancy iced tea and that superior attitude. I’ll make sure the team knows the ice princess might grace us with her presence. Who knows - maybe watching actual teamwork will inspire your next routine. ‘The Soccer Slide-Tackle Waltz.’ Has a nice ring to it.”

She let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she opened her notebook. “You’re impossible. Even with a twisted ankle, I have more grace in my pinky toe than your entire team combined. And no, I’m not coming just so you can gloat if you win. But… if I happen to be bored and my ankle cooperates by Friday, maybe I’ll limp over. Purely for research purposes. Our project does need more real-world examples of ambition and rivalry, right? Your dramatic pre-game huddle could count as performance art.”

The lecture continued around you, but the whispered conversation didn’t stop. Every few minutes one of you would fire off another line, keeping the volume low enough that only the two of you (and maybe Jade and Mia, who kept stealing glances) could hear.

You leaned in again during a group discussion prompt. “Seriously though... how’s the ankle today? Looks worse than Saturday. You sure you should even be in class hobbling around like that? Skaters are supposed to be smart about injuries, aren’t they?”

Amber shot you a sideways glare, but her tone had lost some of its earlier bite. “It’s swollen and angry, thanks for noticing, Captain Concern. I iced it all weekend like you suggested and wrapped it this morning. But Olympic cycles don’t stop for minor twists. I have rink time later today, even if it’s just light stroking and choreography without jumps. And don’t think this means I’m weak. I’ve pushed through worse. You probably play with broken toes and call it ‘toughness.’ ”

“Broken toes are basically a rite of passage in soccer.” you replied with a shrug, your voice still hushed. “But yeah… don’t push it too hard. We’ve got that project due in a few weeks, and I’m not writing the whole thing alone because you decided to turn your ankle into a full-blown injury. Plus, it’d be a shame if the famous Amber Glenn missed her first college soccer game because she was too stubborn to rest.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward for a split second. “First college soccer game? Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen plenty of sports in my life - just none as chaotic as yours. And for the record, if I do show up on Friday, it’s not because you invited me so smugly. It’s because I want to see if your team can actually back up all the trash talk you throw around the dorm hallway. No sparkly costumes, no judges - just raw effort. Think you can handle an audience that actually understands precision?”

You nodded, the smugness fading into something warmer, more genuine. “We can handle it. And hey - if your ankle’s still bad, I’ll even save you a seat near the front so you don’t have to climb any stairs. No carrying required this time… unless you twist the other one trying to cheer too hard.”

Amber huffed a quiet laugh, turning back to her notes as Professor Ramirez called the class back to attention. “You’re never going to let the carrying thing go, are you? Fine. Maybe I’ll come. Maybe. But only if you promise not to point me out to your entire team like some trophy. And if we lose the game, I reserve the right to mock you mercilessly in our next project session.”

“Deal.” you whispered back, settling into your seat with a satisfied grin.

“But we’re not losing. Not with the captain motivated by the possibility of the skating princess in the stands.”

The rest of the lecture passed in a comfortable rhythm of notes, whispered jabs, and the occasional shared eye-roll at Ramirez’s dramatic readings of key passages. When class finally ended at 10:45, you both packed up slowly. Amber stood with care, testing her weight on the bandaged ankle before slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You fell into step beside her as you left the hall, keeping your pace matched to her limp without making it obvious. “Need help down the stairs outside? Or are we pretending you’re perfectly fine again?”

She shot you a warning look, but there was no real heat in it anymore. “I’ve got it, brute. But… thanks for being on time today. Shocking, really. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

You laughed as you held the door open for her, the humid Florida air hitting you both. “Don’t get used to it. But seriously - think about Friday. It could be fun. Rivals supporting rivals. Or whatever we are now.”

Amber paused at the top of the outdoor steps, glancing at you with that mix of irritation and something softer. “We’re project partners who occasionally don’t hate each other. That’s it. But… I’ll consider the game. Now go to practice or whatever you do to prepare for your ‘big night.’ Try not to get cleated before Friday.”

You grinned, watching her carefully navigate the first step. “No promises. See you in the dorm later for project work? Your room this time - mine’s still airing out from yesterday.”

“Only if you bring actual useful notes and not just more smug comments.” she called back over her shoulder, limping away with as much dignity as she could muster.

You stood there for a moment longer, the excitement for Friday’s game mixing with an unexpected anticipation. The rivalry was still alive - smug comments, defensive pride, constant comparisons between turf and ice - but it had evolved. The banter felt lighter, almost playful. And the thought of Amber, even injured, possibly showing up in the stands added a new layer of motivation.

The week had flown by in a whirlwind of classes, practices, project sessions with Amber, and the growing buzz around campus. By Wednesday, the news had spread like wildfire through the athletic circles: Mia and Jade - your loud, rich, and endlessly chaotic teammates - had decided to throw a massive pre-season party at their off-campus frat-style house (technically a sprawling Spanish-style villa their parents had bought them as a “college investment”).

Invitations went out to pretty much every athlete on campus - soccer, basketball, volleyball, track, baseball, and yes, even the smaller groups like swimming and, apparently, the figure skaters who trained at the partnered rink.

Mia had announced it dramatically in the locker room after Tuesday’s practice: “Friday night after the game - if we win, we celebrate. If we lose… we still celebrate because it’s our house and we’re rich. Everyone’s invited. No excuses. Bring your teammates, your rivals, your situationships. There will be a pool, a DJ, and my dad’s tequila collection that we’re definitely not supposed to touch.”

Jade had chimed in, grinning wickedly: “And yes, ice princesses are welcome too. We want to see if Amber Glenn can loosen up without her skates on. Captain, you make sure she shows up.”

You’d rolled your eyes at the time but couldn’t deny the excitement rippling through the team. The house parties at Mia and Jade’s were legendary - huge backyard with string lights, multiple kegs, a sound system that could rattle windows, and enough food to feed an army. The whole campus athletic community would be there, turning the night into one big melting pot of rivalries, flirtations, and post-game chaos.

But first came Friday.

Game day.

The women’s soccer team arrived at the stadium around 5:30 p.m. for warm-ups, the Florida sun still blazing hot even as it dipped lower in the sky. The stands were already starting to fill with students, families, and fellow athletes wearing Miami Hurricanes gear. The energy was electric - first home game of the season, senior year, you as captain.

Your cleats clicked against the concrete tunnel as the team spilled onto the turf, the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and rubber filling your lungs.

Coach gathered everyone in a tight circle near the sideline bench for the pre-game talk. “Alright, ladies. FAU is physical tonight. They press high and they’re coming for blood after last year’s loss. Y/LN, you set the tone. Possession, quick transitions, and no stupid yellow cards in the first half. Let’s start this season right. Hurricanes on three!”

The team roared together: “One… two… three… HURRICANES!”

Warm-ups began immediately. You led the group through dynamic stretches - high knees, butt kicks, lunges, and lateral shuffles, your voice barking out encouragement and corrections. The squad was buzzing, voices overlapping in that chaotic, loving way only a tight team could manage.

“Yo, Cap!” Taylor called from the back of the line as she did her hamstring stretches. “You nervous? First game as official captain. Big shoes to fill after last year’s senior class.”

You laughed, dropping into a deep lunge beside her. “Nervous? Nah. Excited. We’ve trained harder than ever. Just don’t let their forwards bully you in the box tonight. Stay compact.”

Mia, already sweating and grinning like an idiot, jogged in place next to you. “Speaking of bullying - did you see the group chat? Half the basketball team is coming to the party later. And I heard some of the volleyball girls are bringing their own playlist. This is gonna be insane. You inviting the ice princess officially, or are we just hoping she limps her way over?”

You shot her a look, but couldn’t hide the small smirk. “She knows about it. We’ve been texting about the project all week. Her ankle’s still wrapped, but she said she might show up to the game first. Don’t make it weird when she gets here.”

Jade bounced over, doing quick footwork drills with a soccer ball at her feet. “Make it weird? Too late. I already told the whole house that the famous Amber Glenn might grace us with her presence. People are dying to see if the skating diva can party like the rest of us. Bet she shows up in sequins and heels.”

“Sequins to a turf party?” Taylor snorted, passing a ball to you. “That’d be hilarious. Cap, you gotta get her on the dance floor. Imagine her trying to keep up with our horrible dancing after all those perfect spins.”

You trapped the ball under your foot, juggling it lightly as the team spread out into pairs for passing drills. “She’s not a diva. Well… she kind of is. But she’s tough. Twisted her ankle pretty bad last weekend and still came to class every day. And she’s smart - our project is actually coming together because of her notes. Just… don’t overwhelm her tonight. Rivalry’s still there, but it’s different now.”

Mia waggled her eyebrows as she received your pass. “Different how? You carrying her up the stairs different? The whole hall heard about that heroic moment, by the way. Hero captain saves the princess. Romantic.”

Your face heated slightly under the sweat already building. You sent a sharper pass her way. “How did you even-? No one was on the floor if i remember correctly. Also! It wasn’t romantic. She was about to eat shit on the stairs and I caught her. End of story. And if any of you bring it up at the party, I’ll make you run suicides until you puke.”

Jade laughed loudly, her pass sailing cleanly to Taylor. “Too late. It’s already team lore. But seriously, Cap - if she shows tonight, be nice. Or at least nice enough that she doesn’t freeze us out with that death glare of hers. We need all the athletic crossover vibes for this party to be epic.”

"Sure thing."

The warm-up continued with more intensity: cone drills, small-sided possession games, and shooting practice on the goal. Coach called out adjustments while the stands filled further. You kept glancing toward the sideline bench area every few minutes, a strange mix of focus and anticipation building in your chest. The rivalry with Amber had softened into something warmer over the week, more layered - banter that felt almost affectionate now, shared project hours where you actually listened to each other’s perspectives on ambition and pressure.

Then, during a quick water break around 6:20, you caught the glimpse.

You were standing near the team bench, towel around your neck, gulping from your bottle, when movement in the lower stands caught your eye.

There, a few rows up from the field but close enough to the sideline that you could see her clearly, was Amber Glenn. She had found a seat near the front, her right ankle still visibly wrapped in the black compression bandage and propped carefully on the empty seat in front of her. She wore a simple Miami Hurricanes t-shirt (someone on your team must have given it to her or she’d bought one) tucked into dark jeans, her long blonde hair flying flawless with the wind. No sequins, no skating elegance, just a regular college student supporting… well, whatever this was between you two.

She looked slightly out of place among the rowdy students, but her posture was as poised as ever. In her hands was a small sign- handmade, surprisingly - which read in neat, bold letters: “GO HURRICANES - TRY NOT TO SLIDE TACKLE YOUR OWN TEAM.”

You nearly choked on your water.

A grin broke across your face as you lowered the bottle. Without thinking, you jogged a few steps closer to the sideline, cupping your hands around your mouth. “Glenn! You actually came! And with a sign? That’s almost cute. Didn’t think your ankle could handle the walk from the dorm.”

Amber looked up, spotting you immediately. Even from the distance, you could see her eyes roll, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. She raised her voice just enough to carry over the growing crowd noise. “Don’t get too excited, Captain. I’m only here for research purposes. Our project needs real examples of ‘ambition under pressure,’ and watching you boss everyone around seemed fitting. Plus, Mia and Jade threatened to drag me here if I didn’t show.”

You laughed, hands on your hips, cleats sinking slightly into the turf. “Research, huh? Sure. Admit it - you wanted to see if soccer is as chaotic as I say it is. How’s the ankle holding up? Need me to carry you to the concession stand later?”

She shook her head, the smile widening despite herself. “The ankle is fine if I don’t move too much. And no carrying. Ever again. That story stays between us. If your teammates start chanting ‘hero captain’ tonight, I’m leaving immediately.”

From behind you, Mia’s voice rang out as she jogged over with Jade in tow. “Ice princess in the house! Look at that sign - savage! You here to scout our weaknesses or actually cheer?”

Amber leaned forward slightly, careful with her leg. “Both. Mostly to make sure your captain doesn’t embarrass herself after all the trash talk she’s thrown at figure skating all week. Win this game and maybe I’ll consider showing up to your fancy house party later. Lose, and I’m mocking you for the rest of the project sessions.”

Jade clapped you on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. “Hear that, Cap? She’s coming to the party! This night just got legendary. Amber, you better dance. No excuses about ‘edge quality’ or whatever skating bullshit you use.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, her tone dry but amused. “Dancing? With this ankle? I’ll watch from the couch and judge your terrible moves instead. But fine… if the team wins convincingly, I might attempt one slow song. No promises on keeping up with your chaotic energy.”

Taylor joined the small group, bouncing a ball on her knee. “One song? We’ll get you on the table doing the Cupid Shuffle by midnight. Welcome to real athletics, Glenn. None of that quiet classical music crap.”

You waved them off, still smiling at Amber. “Ignore them. They’re hyped. But seriously - thanks for coming. Means more than you think. Even if it’s just to spy on our ‘brute force’ tactics. Now go rest that ankle. Game’s starting soon, and I’ve got a win to deliver so you have no excuse not to party later.”

Amber settled back into her seat, adjusting her propped leg with a small wince she tried to hide. “Just win, brute. I didn’t limp all the way here for a loss. And don’t point me out to the entire stadium - I’m not your mascot.”

The referee’s whistle blew in the distance, signaling the end of warm-ups. You gave Amber one last grin and a quick salute before jogging back to the team huddle. The girls immediately swarmed you with questions and teasing.

“Cap’s got a cheerleader!” Mia laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “And it’s the skating star herself. This rivalry is evolving into something cute.”

“Shut up Mia.” you said, but you were laughing too. “It’s not cute. It’s… complicated. She’s still annoying. Calls our sport shoving and slide-tackling.”

Jade bounced on her toes. “Annoying but hot. And she made a sign. That’s investment. You better score tonight just to impress her.”

Taylor nodded seriously as the team lined up. “Real talk... if she comes to the party, don’t let her sit in the corner judging us. Drag her into the fun. We need to see if figure skaters can let loose.”

Coach clapped her hands, breaking up the chatter. “Enough gossip, ladies. Focus. This is our night. Captain - lead us out.”

You took your place at the front of the line, heart pounding with game-day adrenaline and a new, unexpected layer of motivation. The glimpse of Amber in the stands - sign in hand, banter ready, ankle carefully managed - had lit a fire.

As the team jogged onto the field to roaring cheers, you glanced back one more time. Amber was watching, her expression a mix of skepticism and quiet support.

The game was about to begin.

And later, the party at Mia and Jade’s house promised to be unforgettable - full of athletes, music, pool splashes, and whatever happened when soccer grit collided with figure skating grace under the Miami night sky.

The week’s announcements had set the stage. Now it was time to play.

The referee’s whistle pierced the humid evening air, and the game exploded into motion.

From the opening kickoff, FAU came out aggressive, pressing high and physical the way Coach had warned. Your team matched their intensity, but within the first twelve minutes, disaster struck.

A quick counter from FAU’s speedy right winger caught your defense flat-footed. A perfectly timed through-ball split your center-backs, and their forward slotted it coolly past your keeper. 0-1.

The stadium groaned.

“Shit!” you barked, jogging back to reset. Sweat already poured down your face. “Heads up! We’re not losing the opener like this. Talk to each other!”

Mia wiped her forehead with her jersey sleeve as she jogged past. “They’re playing dirty already. That shoulder charge on Taylor was bullshit.”

Jade, breathing hard, clapped her hands. “We got this, Y/N. Next one’s ours. Let’s pin them in their half.”

The first half turned into a grinding battle. FAU packed the box and launched long balls, forcing your team to chase shadows. You won most of the duels in midfield, but every time you pushed forward, a crunching tackle stopped momentum. Cleats flew. Elbows clipped. The referee was lenient at first, letting the physicality slide.

At the 28th minute, you nearly equalized. You drove a low cross from the left that Mia volleyed first-time, but their keeper tipped it onto the post. The rebound fell to Jade, who smashed it goalward - only for a desperate block on the line.

“Come on!” you shouted, frustration rising. “We’re better than this! Move the ball faster!”

Halftime approached with the score still 0-1.

In the 44th minute, your persistence paid off. You won the ball deep in their territory after a sloppy clearance, dribbled past one defender, and played a quick one-two with Taylor. She laid it back perfectly. You took a touch to set yourself and rifled a shot from 22 yards that curled beautifully into the top corner.

The net bulged.

The stadium erupted.

“YES!” you roared, sliding on your knees across the turf as your teammates piled on you.

Mia jumped on your back, screaming in your ear. “That’s our captain! That’s why you wear the armband!”

Jade yanked you up, grinning wildly. “1-1! We’re back, baby! Now let’s finish them in the second half.”

In the locker room at halftime, Coach was fired up but calm. “Good response. But they’re going to come out even nastier. Stay disciplined. No retaliation. Y/LN, keep them organized. We win this with smart football, not revenge.”

You nodded, wiping sweat and grass from your face. “We’ve got them. They’re tiring. Let’s exploit the wide areas.”

The second half kicked off with even more bite. FAU clearly didn’t want to lose the opener either. Tackles flew in hard and late. Your shins collected bruises. Jade took a nasty studs-up challenge that earned the first yellow card of the game for their defensive midfielder.

“Ref, that’s a red!” Mia yelled, arms wide. “She could’ve broken her ankle!”

The referee waved her away. “Play on!”

You pulled Jade up, checking her quickly. “You good?”

“Fucking fine-” she hissed through gritted teeth. “But they’re asking for it.”

The game turned ugly. Every 50/50 became a war. You were in the thick of it, winning headers, shielding the ball, and distributing quickly. The crowd noise grew louder with every crunching tackle, the boos raining down whenever FAU committed another foul.

Around the 68th minute, you launched another attack down the right. Taylor beat her marker and cut inside, laying the ball into the channel for you. You took it in stride, driving toward the penalty area. Two defenders closed in fast. The first one lunged, missing the ball but catching your trailing leg with a heavy slide. You went down hard just outside the box, rolling once before pushing yourself up.

The whistle blew immediately.

Free kick.

Yellow card to the FAU defender.

The home crowd exploded in screams and boos, the noise deafening. You could’ve sworn you heard a sharp, familiar voice cutting through the chaos - Amber’s unmistakable tone, laced with anger: “That was dirty! Come on, ref!”

You glanced toward the stands as you stood, brushing dirt from your shorts. There she was, leaning forward in her seat, her wrapped ankle still propped up, face flushed with indignation. Your eyes met for a split second. She gave a small, sharp nod, like she was willing you to punish them.

Your teammates swarmed.

Mia grabbed your arm. “Cap, that’s a perfect spot. You taking it?”

Usually you didn’t. Taylor or Jade handled set pieces better. But tonight something felt different. The score was still 1-1. The clock showed 82 minutes - practically overtime in feel. This was a now-or-never moment. You felt it in your gut.

“I got it!” you said firmly, voice low but decisive. “Everyone back. Give me space.”

Jade raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “You sure? You’ve been everywhere tonight.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

The referee placed the ball. The wall formed - four Florida Atlanta players lined up, arms linked, faces tense. The crowd noise swelled into a roar that vibrated through your chest. You took three steps back, eyes locked on the right corner of the goal. The keeper shifted nervously.

You could still hear the boos echoing. And again, faintly but clearly over the din, Amber’s voice: “Make them pay!”

You exhaled once, blocked everything out, and ran.

Your planted foot dug into the turf. Your striking leg whipped through with perfect timing. The ball left your foot with a satisfying thump, curling viciously over the wall. The keeper dove desperately to her right, but she was a fraction too late.

The ball slammed into the net - top right corner, unsaveable.

Goal.

2-1.

The stadium detonated.

Teammates sprinted toward you from every direction. Mia tackled you in a bear hug, nearly knocking you over. “You absolute legend! That was filthy!”

Jade was screaming, jumping up and down. “Captain clutch! That’s why we follow you! Upper 90, baby!”

Taylor grabbed your face with both hands, forehead to forehead. “You egoistic genius! I love you! We’re winning this!”

The entire bench was on their feet, Coach pumping her fist. The crowd chanted your name in waves. You looked toward the stands again. Amber was standing - carefully, favoring her good leg, clapping hard with a rare, genuine smile breaking through her usual composed expression. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “Nice shot, brute.”

You allowed yourself one fist pump toward her direction before your teammates dragged you back into celebration.

FAU tried to push for an equalizer in the final minutes, but the wind had been knocked out of them. Your defense stayed organized, winning every important header and clearance. The referee added four minutes of stoppage time, but nothing came of it. When the final whistle blew, the score stood 2-1.

Victory.

The team exploded onto the field in pure joy. You dropped to your knees in the center circle, hands covering your face for a second as the relief and pride washed over you. Then your teammates piled on again laughing, shouting, sweaty hugs everywhere.

Mia pulled you up, arm slung around your shoulders. “Season opener, baby! And that winner? Chef’s kiss. The party tonight is going to be insane because of you.”

Jade was already chanting. “Captain! Captain! Captain!”

You laughed breathlessly, adrenaline still surging. “We did it as a team. Every single one of you fought like hell. Now let’s enjoy it - but don’t get too crazy at the house. We’ve got recovery tomorrow.”

Taylor grinned wickedly. “Too late for that plan. Mia and Jade already told everyone the tequila is flowing. And your ice princess better show up. She saw that goal - she owes you at least one dance.”

You glanced back toward the stands. Amber was still there, slowly making her way down the steps with careful steps, her sign rolled up under one arm. She caught your eye again and gave a small, reluctant thumbs-up, the kind that said she was impressed despite herself.

The team started the traditional post-game lap to thank the fans, high-fiving hands reaching over the barrier. When you passed Amber’s section, you slowed for a second.

“You were here...” you called up, voice hoarse from shouting all game. “And you screamed at the ref. Didn’t know you had it in you, princess.”

Amber leaned on the railing, a smirk playing on her lips even as she favored her ankle. “Don’t let it go to your head. It was a decent goal. For a brute who usually lets others take the set pieces. That free-kick was… acceptable. Maybe even impressive.”

You laughed, sweat dripping down your face. “Acceptable? That was world-class. Admit it - you enjoyed watching real pressure for once.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. “I enjoyed watching you prove your point about grit. Now go celebrate with your team. I’ll see if my ankle lets me make an appearance at the house later. But if anyone tries to make me dance before I’ve had painkillers and a drink, I’m blaming you.”

Mia appeared at your side, grinning ear to ear. “Ice princess confirmed for the party! This night keeps getting better. Amber, you better bring that competitive energy. We’re doing shots for every goal we scored tonight.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “Shots? With this ankle? I’ll stick to one drink and judge your terrible dancing from the couch. But… good game, all of you. Even if soccer still looks like organized chaos.”

Jade clapped you on the back. “Cap, you heard her. She’s coming. Now let’s get to the locker room, shower, and head to the house. The whole athletic department is showing up because of that winner you just banged in.”

As the team headed toward the tunnel, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you felt the perfect blend of exhaustion and euphoria. The game had been brutal - tackles, comebacks, physical battles - but that final free-kick had sealed it. And having Amber there, screaming with the crowd, added a layer you hadn’t expected.

Later that night, the party at Mia and Jade’s sprawling house promised to be unforgettable. Athletes from every sport would pack the place -music thumping, pool lights glowing, rivalries melting into celebration. You already knew the banter with Amber would continue, sharper now that she’d seen you deliver under pressure.

But for the moment, walking off the field with your team chanting your name, all you could think was:

Senior year was off to one hell of a start. And the night was only just beginning.

The bass from the oversized speakers inside Mia and Jade’s sprawling house thumped so hard it vibrated the wooden deck under your feet. The party was in full swing, exactly the kind of chaotic celebration your team had earned after that gritty 2-1 win.

String lights crisscrossed the massive backyard, casting a warm glow over the pool where a few volleyball players were already splashing around fully clothed. Inside, the living room had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, bodies moving to a mix of reggaeton, hip-hop, and the occasional throwback track that made everyone scream the lyrics.

You were deep in the zone at the beer pong table in the dining room, sleeves of your Miami Hurricanes hoodie pushed up to your elbows, a red Solo cup in one hand. Your team had claimed the table early, and the energy was electric.

“Left cup, Cap!” Taylor shouted, pointing dramatically as she lined up her shot. She sank it perfectly, the ping-pong ball splashing into the cup with a satisfying plop. The basketball guys on the opposite side groaned.

You laughed, taking a slow sip of your own beer - cold, crisp, and just enough to take the edge off the post-game soreness without dulling your senses too much. “That’s how we do it. Drink up, fellas.”

Mia was already hyped, bouncing on her toes next to you. “We’re undefeated tonight! Two more and they’re done. Cap, your turn make it rain.”

You set your cup down, focused, and tossed. The ball bounced once on the rim before dropping cleanly into the far-left cup. The table erupted in cheers from your side.

“Captain clutch again!” Jade yelled, throwing an arm around your shoulders and nearly spilling her drink. “Just like that free-kick earlier. You’re on fire, dude.”

The losing team chugged their cups while your teammates trash-talked good-naturedly.

“Another round?” Tim, one of the baseball players asked, already resetting the cups.

You shook your head with a grin, wiping sweat from your brow. “Give me ten. I need some air. You guys keep the streak alive.”

“Pussy!” Taylor teased, but she was smiling. “Don’t be gone too long. We’re defending the table.”

You grabbed a fresh beer for the road and slipped through the crowded kitchen, nodding at a few swimmers and track athletes along the way.

The party was packed - every sport seemed to be represented, rivalries temporarily forgotten in the haze of music, laughter, and cheap alcohol. Someone had even convinced a couple of the figure skating girls to join a drinking game in the corner, though they looked slightly overwhelmed by the volume.

Outside on the back deck, the air was cooler, the Miami night breeze carrying the faint scent of chlorine from the pool and distant ocean salt.

You leaned against the wooden railing, pulled a slightly crumpled pack of Red Marlboros from your hoodie pocket, and lit one with the small blue lighter you only carried on party nights. You didn’t smoke often - just on these rare celebration nights when the adrenaline needed an outlet and the nicotine helped you unwind. The first drag tasted sharp and familiar, the smoke curling lazily into the dark sky as you exhaled slowly, watching it disappear.

The deck wasn’t empty, but it was quieter than inside. A few couples talked in low voices near the stairs, and some guys from the soccer team were smoking weed a little further down. You took another drag, letting the buzz of the win settle in your chest along with the beer.

Footsteps approached from behind - uneven, careful. You turned your head and there she was.

Amber.

She had made it after all. Still limping noticeably, her right ankle wrapped tightly under a pair of dark skinny jeans that somehow looked effortlessly stylish. She wore the same Miami Hurricanes t-shirt from the game, now paired with a light denim jacket, her long hair down like early. It fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the string lights. In her hand was a plastic cup with what looked like sparkling water - typical Amber, staying somewhat responsible even at a raging athlete party.

She spotted you immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing at the cigarette between your fingers. That familiar spark of disdain flashed across her face as she limped closer, stopping just a few feet away and leaning against the railing with deliberate poise.

“Well, look at that.” she said, her voice low and edged with that cutting superiority you’d grown used to. “The big hero of the night, celebrating by slowly killing herself. How predictable. You score one pretty free-kick and suddenly you’re out here puffing away like some rebellious teenager who thinks it makes her look tough. Real athletes don’t need to poison their lungs to feel alive, Y/LN.”

You took a deliberate, slow drag, holding her gaze as you exhaled the smoke in a thin stream away from her, the corner of your mouth curling into a challenging smirk. The tension crackled instantly between you, sharper than it had been all week. “Look who decided to grace the peasants with her presence. Limping all the way here just to lecture me? Careful, princess. That ankle’s already betrayed you once this week. Wouldn’t want it giving out while you’re busy judging my bad habits from your high horse.”

Amber’s eyes narrowed further, her posture stiffening even as she favored her injured leg. She crossed her arms tightly, the movement pulling her denim jacket snug across her shoulders. “High horse? At least I have standards. You train like a beast all week - sprints, tackles, all that brute force nonsense, and then you undo it with this?” She gestured sharply at the cigarette. “Nicotine destroys endurance. It cuts oxygen delivery. You’re the captain, supposed to be setting an example, and here you are, sucking on tar and chemicals like it’s a reward for winning a glorified playground game. Disgusting.”

You chuckled darkly, taking another drag just to provoke her, the smoke curling between you like a dare. Your voice dropped lower, laced with heat. “Playground game? Says the girl who glides around on frozen water in sparkly outfits and calls it elite sport. And the smoking? It’s one night. One pack a month, tops. Don’t act like you’re my coach or my conscience, Glenn. You don’t get to show up looking all perfect and superior after I had to carry your ass up flights of stairs because your precious ice betrayed you.”

Amber stepped closer despite the limp, close enough that you could smell her vanilla shampoo cutting through the smoke and night air. Her cheeks flushed with irritation, eyes flashing. “Carry me? Don’t remind me. That was humiliating, and you loved every second of it, didn’t you? Playing the big strong soccer savior while I argued the whole way. And now you’re throwing it in my face while you stand here destroying your lungs? Typical. You talk about grit and toughness, but you can’t even handle one night of celebration without a crutch. If you really had discipline, you’d put that disgusting thing out instead of using it to look cool in front of me.”

The tension thickened, the air between you charged with the old rivalry and something sharper, hotter - frustration mixed with an undeniable awareness.

You stubbed the cigarette out slowly on the railing, flicking the butt away, but you didn’t back down an inch. Your voice came out rougher, eyes locked on hers. “Cool? Please. I don’t need to look cool for you, Glenn. You’re the one who showed up to my game, made that snarky little sign, and screamed at the ref like you actually cared. Then you limp all the way here just to find me and start this lecture. If my smoking bothers you so much, why not just stay inside with your skating friends and your boring sparkling water? Or are you enjoying the view too much to leave?”

Amber’s breath hitched slightly, her gaze flicking down to your mouth for a split second before snapping back up, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

She leaned in, voice dropping to a heated whisper that cut through the muffled party noise. “Enjoying the view? Of you reeking of smoke and bad decisions? Hardly. I came because your teammates wouldn’t shut up about it, and because our stupid project means I’m stuck with you for weeks. But seeing you out here like this - acting like one goal makes you invincible - it pisses me off. You’re better than this. Or at least I thought you were after watching you fight through that entire match. All that fire on the field, and then you waste it on cigarettes? Pathetic.”

You pushed off the railing, closing the distance until you were inches apart, towering just slightly with your soccer-built frame while she held her ground with that effortless skating poise.

The banter had turned electric, every word laced with challenge and something neither of you wanted to name. “Pathetic? That’s rich coming from someone who still winces every time she puts weight on that ankle. You push your body to the absolute limit on ice - triple axels, pain, pressure - and then you stand here judging me for one smoke on a victory night? Maybe you’re just jealous that I can let loose without worrying about ‘perfect edges’ or what the judges think. Or maybe…” You let the pause hang, voice lowering dangerously. “Maybe you’re mad because part of you likes seeing me like this. Raw. Not some polished ice doll.”

Amber’s eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly as she stared you down, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself was crackling. She didn’t step back. Instead, she tilted her chin up defiantly, her voice a low, venomous purr. “Likes seeing you like this? Don’t flatter yourself, brute. You’re still the same grass-stained soccer girl who trash-talks my sport every chance she gets. The only reason I’m still standing here is because walking away would feel like losing. And I don’t lose. Not to you. Not ever. Now put whatever’s left of that disgusting habit away before I make you regret inviting me here. Or better yet - prove you actually have some control and stop hiding behind nicotine when the real high should be from that win you barely earned.”

You held her stare, the pull between you magnetic and infuriating all at once. The old dislike still burned hot, but it had twisted into something far more dangerous - something that made your pulse race faster than any sprint on the field. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across your face as you finally broke the stare, voice rough with challenge.

“Make me put it out, Glenn. You talk a big game for someone who can barely stand straight tonight. Come on - tell me exactly how weak I am while you’re wearing my team’s shirt and limping after my game. I dare you.”

Amber’s jaw tightened, her eyes darkening with the same charged heat. She opened her mouth to fire back, leaning in even closer-

“Yo! There you two are!”

Jade’s loud, cheerful voice sliced through the thick tension like a cleaver. She burst onto the deck from the sliding doors, grinning ear to ear with a red Solo cup in each hand. “We’ve been looking everywhere for the ice princess! Mia’s got the beer pong table on lock and she’s demanding fresh victims. Amber, you gotta come inside - everyone wants to see if the famous figure skater can handle watching us destroy the basketball team again. Cap, you coming? Your beer’s getting warm.”

You both froze mid-stare, the electric argument snapping off instantly. The heat between you lingered in the air like smoke, but the moment was broken. You cleared your throat, stepping back first and dropping the half-smoked cigarette into a nearby ashtray with more force than necessary.

“Yeah… we’re coming...” you muttered, voice still rough around the edges.

Amber straightened quickly, smoothing her denim jacket and forcing a composed expression back onto her face, though her cheeks remained faintly flushed.

She shot you one last sharp, lingering look that promised the conversation wasn’t over. “Fine. Lead the way, Jade. Someone has to make sure this one doesn’t light up another one the second my back is turned.”

Jade laughed, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere she’d interrupted. “Whatever you say, princess. Come on, the night’s young and the tequila’s calling!”

You picked up your still-half-full beer from the railing and fell into step beside Amber as the three of you headed back inside. Your shoulder brushed hers deliberately on the way through the door, the contact sending another spark through you. She didn’t pull away, but she did elbow you lightly in retaliation, her voice dropping to a heated whisper only you could hear.

“This isn’t over, brute. We’re talking about that disgusting habit later-whether you like it or not.”

You smirked, lifting your beer in a mock toast as the loud music and cheers swallowed you both again. “Looking forward to it, Glenn. Try not to enjoy the party too much. Wouldn’t want you forgetting how superior you are.”

Amber grabbed a fresh cup of something stronger from a passing tray - vodka soda, by the look of it - taking a pointed sip as she glanced at your beer with clear disapproval. “At least I know when to stop. Unlike some people.”

The party had stretched well past midnight, the energy inside Mia and Jade’s sprawling house shifting from rowdy celebration to that hazy, late-night vibe where the music thumped a little slower and conversations got louder and sloppier.

You’d lost count of how many beers you’d had after the initial few - enough that the edges of everything felt softer, warmer, the post-game high mixing dangerously with the alcohol buzzing in your veins. Your cheeks were flushed, your laughter came easier, and the usual sharp focus you carried as captain had dulled into something looser, more reckless.

You were leaning against the wall in the crowded living room, half-listening to Taylor and Mia recount the winning goal for the tenth time to a group of track athletes, your half-empty beer dangling from your fingers. The room smelled like spilled drinks, sweat, and whatever cologne the basketball guys had drowned themselves in. Bodies moved on the makeshift dance floor, the bass vibrating through the floorboards.

Then you spotted her.

Amber, across the room near the staircase.

She’d clearly had more to drink than she’d planned. Her usual perfect posture was a little looser, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink that stood with her blonde hair. The denim jacket was gone, tossed somewhere, leaving her in just the Miami Hurricanes t-shirt that clung slightly to her frame from the heat of the party. She moved with that signature grace.

Amber held an empty cup in one hand, and as you watched, she set it down on a side table and started heading for the stairs, one hand lightly brushing the railing for balance.

Something in your gut twisted - instinct, protectiveness, the memory of her nearly falling last week on the dorm stairs, and the unresolved heat from your argument on the deck.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You pushed off the wall, muttering a quick “Be right back” to your teammates, and followed her through the throng of bodies. The stairs were narrower and steeper than the ones in Hurricane Hall, worn wood that creaked underfoot.

Amber was already halfway up by the time you reached the bottom, her limp more pronounced with each step as the alcohol made her balance wobblier than usual.

You took the stairs two at a time, closing the distance quickly. When you caught up, you invaded her space without hesitation - your body pressing close behind her on the step below, one hand sliding firmly around her waist to steady her, the other hovering near her elbow.

The contact was immediate and electric, your chest almost brushing her back, your hips aligned dangerously close. She smelled like vanilla, fruity vodka, and the faint heat of the party, and the alcohol made you hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched.

“Easy, princess.” you murmured low against her ear, voice rough from drinking and the lingering tension. Your fingers tightened slightly on her waist, thumb brushing the hem of her t-shirt. “You’re wobbling more than you were last week. I’m not letting you eat shit on these stairs again. Not in front of half the athletic department.”

Amber tensed instantly under your touch, her body going rigid, but she didn’t shove you away. She glanced over her shoulder, dark eyes glassy from the drinks yet still burning with that sharp, defiant fire. Her breath hitched, and when she spoke, her voice came out breathier than usual, the words slightly slurred but laced with venom.

“Of course it’s you again. Always crawling into my space like you own it. Get your hands off me, brute. I don’t need your pathetic hero act tonight. I can handle a few stairs without you groping me like some conquest.”

You didn’t loosen your grip. Instead, you stayed glued to her, guiding her up the next step with insistent pressure, your chest now fully brushing her back as you leaned in closer.

The alcohol made everything feel amplified - the warmth of her body, the way her breathing quickened, the charged silence between your sharp words. “Groping? Please. Last week you argued the whole way while I carried your stubborn ass, and now you’re pretending you hate this? You’re limping worse with all that vodka in your system, and you know it. Where the hell are you even going? Upstairs at a party like this is asking for trouble, especially for someone who can barely walk straight without falling into me.”

She huffed, but the sound lacked its usual bite, the alcohol softening her edges while the rivalry kept sparking hotter. She continued climbing slowly, your hand never leaving her waist, bodies moving in a tense, reluctant rhythm. “Trouble? The only trouble here is you invading my personal space every chance you get. I came up here because I need somewhere quiet. The music is pounding in my skull, everyone downstairs is screaming about your ‘clutch’ goal like it’s the highlight of the century, and my head is spinning from one too many drinks I swore I wouldn’t have. Happy now? That’s all it is. No escape. Just… quiet. Now stop pressing against me like you’re trying to prove something.”

You reached the top of the stairs together, the second floor noticeably calmer - doors lining a dimly lit hallway, the noise from downstairs muffled but still thrumming through the floor. A couple of people were talking in one of the open bedrooms, but most rooms seemed empty or closed off.

You kept your hand on her waist a second longer than necessary, fingers splaying possessively against her side, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing through the thin fabric. Only then did you let go, but you immediately stepped into her space again, backing her gently but deliberately toward the wall so she could lean if she needed to. Your free hand braced on the wall beside her head, caging her in without quite touching, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet your eyes.

Your own head felt fuzzy from the beers, but the instinct to stay close hadn’t faded. The deck argument flooded back - every heated word about smoking, weakness, and control - now amplified by alcohol and proximity.

Your voice dropped lower, rougher, thick with challenge. “Quiet, huh? After all that fire you were spitting downstairs about how weak and pathetic I am for smoking? Now you’re running away because the party got too loud for the perfect ice princess? Typical. You can’t handle real chaos when it’s not scripted to your little madonna music. Or maybe…” You leaned in another inch, eyes locked on hers, voice turning dangerously soft. “Maybe you just wanted me to follow you. Maybe you like me this close, getting in your face, because it’s the only time that perfect control of yours cracks.”

Amber leaned back against the wall, her wrapped ankle carefully lifted slightly off the floor. Her cheeks were flushed deeper now, eyes glassy but blazing as they stared up at you.

She didn’t push you away. Instead, she placed one hand flat on your chest - not hard enough to shove, but firm enough to feel your heartbeat racing under her palm.

Her voice came out low and venomous, breath warm against your jaw. “Like it? Don’t make me laugh, Cap. You’re still the same arrogant soccer captain who thinks throwing your body around makes you superior. You invade my space on the stairs, press against me like you have any right to, and now you’re cornering me in a hallway acting like I chased you up here on purpose? Pathetic. I came for quiet because my ankle hurts, my head is spinning from drinks I never should’ve had, and I’m tired of everyone downstairs treating you like some hero for one lucky shot. But you… you just can’t stop, can you? Always needing to prove you’re the strong one, the one in control, even when you’re half-drunk and reeking of beer.”

The tension crackled between you like electricity, thick and suffocating in the dim hallway. The alcohol made every sensation sharper - her hand still on your chest, the way her body heat radiated toward you, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed harder. You didn’t pull back. Instead, you shifted closer, your thigh brushing hers lightly, voice rough and low.

“Lucky shot? We both know that free-kick was clean and you screamed for it. And yeah, I’m in your space because the last time you were on stairs you almost fell, and I’m not risking that again. But keep telling yourself you hate it. Keep pretending your hand isn’t still on my chest while you lecture me about control. You’re the one who can’t stop pushing back, Glenn. You like the fight. You like me crowding you because it’s the only time you let yourself feel something that isn’t perfectly choreographed.”

Amber’s breath hitched audibly, her fingers curling slightly into your hoodie. Her eyes darkened, flicking down to your mouth for a long, heavy beat before snapping back up. The flush on her face had nothing to do with the climb anymore. “Feel something? The only thing I feel is irritation that you’re still here, still thinking you can corner me and win whatever this twisted game is. You talk about control while you’re the one who can’t even stop smoking for one night, can’t stop drinking, can’t stop following me like a lost dog. Get out of my space, Captain. Or admit that you followed me up here because you wanted this - wanted me pressed against a wall, arguing with you, because it turns you on more than any win on the turf ever could.”

You held her stare, the pull between you magnetic and dangerous, the air thick with unresolved heat. Your free hand finally moved, hovering just above her hip, close enough that the threat of touch hung heavy.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, rough and challenging. “Turns me on? Careful, princess. Keep talking like that and I might start believing you want me to prove exactly how little control you have right now.”

Amber’s lips parted, her hand pressing harder against your chest, the tension so thick it felt like the hallway had shrunk around you both.

Before either of you could push further, footsteps creaked on the stairs behind you.

But for now, the moment stretched - charged, breathless, and far from resolved.

You straightened slightly, giving her the tiniest bit of space, but your eyes never left hers. The night wasn’t over. And whatever this was between you had only grown more volatile.

“Find your quiet room, then.” you said, voice still low and rough. “I’ll make sure you get there without falling. Whether you like it or not.”

Amber didn’t answer right away. She just held your gaze, the heat between you simmering dangerously as the muffled party noise continued below.

The door to the first empty room on the second floor clicked shut behind you both with a soft, final sound that somehow made the muffled bass from downstairs feel even more distant, like the party had suddenly been sealed away in another world.

It was one of the guest bedrooms in Mia and Jade’s sprawling off-campus house - a surprisingly tidy space for a place that hosted so many athlete gatherings. A single lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, golden glow across the neatly made queen bed with its crisp white comforter, a small wooden desk pushed against one wall with a few scattered notebooks and chargers, and a large window overlooking the backyard where the pool lights still shimmered and distant laughter floated up from the remaining partygoers.

The air inside smelled faintly of fresh laundry detergent mixed with a light citrus air freshener someone had sprayed to cover the inevitable scent of spilled beer and sweat that clung to every surface in the house during these nights.

You leaned back against the closed door, arms crossed over your chest, the wood cool against your shoulders through your hoodie. The alcohol buzzed warmly in your veins, making your thoughts feel loose and bold, the sharp edges of sobriety blurred just enough to let the ass in you take the wheel. Your cheek still tingled faintly from the earlier tension on the deck, but the sting only fueled the need to keep pushing, to maintain that familiar upper hand in whatever this twisted dynamic with Amber had become.

Across the small room, Amber limped a few careful steps toward the foot of the bed, her wrapped ankle making each movement deliberate and slightly pained. The Miami Hurricanes t-shirt she wore hugged her frame from the humid party heat, blonde hair slightly tousled from the stairs, caught the lamplight in soft waves. Her cheeks were still flushed a pretty pink from the vodka sodas she’d had more of than she’d admitted, and her breathing was a touch uneven - part alcohol, part the climb, part the unresolved heat that had followed you both up here.

You couldn’t resist. The words spilled out before you could think better of them, laced with that mocking captain smirk you knew drove her crazy.

“Is this what you do every time?” you asked, voice low and teasing, but with an edge that cut through the quiet room. “Find some ‘peace’ and quiet the second things get too real at a party? You show up looking all put-together in my team’s shirt, drink more than that one responsible sip you promised yourself, then bail upstairs like some fragile ice princess who can’t handle the chaos downstairs. What’s the matter, Glenn? The music too loud for your delicate ears? The sweaty athletes and their shouting about my goal too beneath your polished standards? Or are you just scared you might actually let loose and enjoy something that isn’t perfectly choreographed to classical music and judge’s scores?”

Amber stopped near the bed, turning slowly to face you. For a split second, her eyes flashed with the familiar fire - the sharp, superior spark that had defined every hallway encounter and project session since she’d moved in across from you. She straightened as much as her ankle allowed, one hand resting lightly on the bedpost for balance, and fired back immediately, her voice carrying that cutting precision she wielded like a blade on the ice.

“Scared? Don’t make me laugh, Y/LN.” she shot back, her words coming out a little faster, a little breathier from the drinks, but still laced with disdain. “You’re the one projecting your own mess onto me. I came upstairs because my head is pounding like someone’s doing axels inside my skull, and my fucking ankle feels like it’s on fire from hobbling around this overgrown frat house you all call a ‘celebration.’ Not everyone needs to drown themselves in beer and bad decisions to feel alive, Captain. Some of us have actual discipline. Some of us know when to step back before we turn into the sloppy, loud idiots shouting about turf wars like it’s the Olympics. You think you’re so tough out there on the field, but up here? You’re just another athlete hiding behind alcohol and ego because you can’t handle a single night without turning everything into a competition.”

She took a shaky breath, the alcohol making her gestures a bit more animated than usual - her free hand waving vaguely toward the door as if gesturing at the party below. But then something shifted. The fire in her eyes didn’t die completely, but it softened around the edges, vulnerability creeping in like a crack in perfect ice.

She rubbed her temple with two fingers, limping back another small step until the back of her knees bumped the bed. Her voice lowered, losing some of its venom and gaining a tired, almost pleading undertone that you weren’t used to hearing from her.

“But… just stop for once, okay?” she continued, her tone quieter now, the words coming slower as if she was forcing them out. “Stop with the constant jabs. Stop acting like every single conversation has to be a battlefield where you have to win. The game today was intense enough - the tackles, the pressure, the crowd. Then the deck with your smoking lecture back and forth, the stairs where you crowded me again, and now this. I drank more than I should have tonight because Mia and Jade kept pushing shots ‘for the team’ and I wanted to prove I could fit in with all you turf warriors for once. My ankle’s throbbing, my head’s spinning, and everything feels too loud, too much. For once, can you not be an ass? Can you just… let it go? Let me have five minutes of quiet without turning it into another war about how ‘fragile’ I am or how superior you think your grit is?”

You heard the shift. You saw the way her shoulders sagged slightly, the way her usual poised skating posture cracked under the weight of the night. Part of you - the captain part, the one that noticed when a teammate was pushing through injury - recognized that she was trying to open up, even a little.

She wasn’t attacking this time; she was admitting overwhelm. But the beer in your system, the lingering adrenaline from the game, and the weeks of charged banter had you locked in defensive mode. You didn’t stop. Instead, you pushed off the door and stepped closer, invading her space again with that same deliberate closeness from the stairs, your body heat meeting hers in the small room.

“Oh, now you want me to stop?” you laughed, short and sharp, the sound harsher than you intended.

You crossed your arms tighter, looking down at her with that smug smirk that had become your default weapon against her. “After you spent half the night on the deck riding my ass about smoking being ‘disgusting’ and how I have no control? After you showed up to my game in my team’s colors, made that snarky sign, and screamed at the ref like you actually gave a damn about whether we won? Come on, princess. You don’t get to run up here and play the victim card when I call you out on your patterns. This is classic you - retreat to your little quiet bubble the second things get messy or real. Just like on the ice: nail the routine in practice, but the moment something’s not perfect or the pressure hits different, you bail or hide behind ‘grace’ and ‘precision.’ Admit it. You like when I push back. It’s the only time that perfect, untouchable Amber Glenn lets herself feel anything that isn’t judged on a scoreboard.”

Amber’s expression flickered. The initial defensive spark dimmed further, replaced by something heavier - hurt mixing with exhaustion. She rubbed her temple again, harder this time, and limped back until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her wrapped ankle extended carefully in front of her.

Her voice, when it came, was quieter still, the alcohol and the emotional drain making it waver slightly at the edges. She looked up at you, eyes glistening but not quite tearing, her perfectionist skater facade cracking in a way that revealed the pressure she carried every day - the early mornings on the ice, the fear of falls, the constant chase for Olympic-level excellence.

“Stop.” she said again, the word softer, almost a plea wrapped in lingering frustration. “Please, just stop for once. I’m not retreating because I’m scared of the party or because I think I’m better than everyone. I’m retreating because tonight everything piled up. The game was brutal to watch - even for me, with all the physicality you love throwing in my face. Then the deck where we went at each other about your smoking, your ‘weakness,’ my ‘superiority.’ I came to the party because your teammates kept texting me, because part of me was curious about this world you live in, because after the project sessions and the stair incident… I don’t know, maybe I wanted to see if we could exist in the same space without it turning into war. I drank the vodka because I was trying to loosen up, to not be the stiff figure skater in the corner. My ankle hurts from the walk and the standing, my head is fuzzy, and I feel out of place among all the shouting and dancing. For once, can you not turn that into a joke about me being fragile or running away? I was trying to say I’m overwhelmed. That’s all. Not attacking you. Just… asking for space.”

The room felt smaller with her words hanging there. You could see the vulnerability now - the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, the slight tremble in her voice that no amount of skating poise could hide. Figure skaters like her were built on perfectionism and resilience; they got up after falls that would sideline others, they pushed through pain that most athletes masked with team support.

But alone, or in moments like this, the pressure cracked them in ways that weren’t graceful. She had tried to let the wall down, even a crack, and here you were, still swinging.

But the alcohol and the habit of rivalry had you locked in. You didn’t back down. You stepped even closer, looming over where she sat on the bed, your voice taking on a mocking lilt that you knew was crossing the line. “Space? That’s cute. You want space after weeks of invading mine - moving in across the hall, pairing up for the project, showing up at my game with that sign just to get under my skin. Now you’re sitting there looking all wounded because I called you on running away? Please. This is what you do, Glenn. You push with your lectures and your superiority complex, then when someone pushes back, you fold and hide. Maybe if you stopped pretending your sport makes you above it all, you wouldn’t need these little escapes. Maybe you’d actually enjoy the party instead of acting like it’s beneath you. Or are you just waiting for me to offer to carry you again? Because that seemed to work last time - got you all flustered and argumentative the whole way.”

The words landed like cleats to the shin. Amber’s face changed in an instant. The vulnerability shattered, replaced first by shock, then by a flash of deep hurt that made her eyes shine brighter. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands clenching the edge of the bed.

For a long moment, she just stared at you, breathing uneven, the perfectionist in her warring with the raw emotion the night had stirred up. Then her hand moved - quick, decisive.

The slap connected with your left cheek with a sharp crack that echoed in the small room. It wasn’t a light tap; the force snapped your head slightly to the side, the sting blooming hot and immediate across your skin. The alcohol dulled the pain a fraction, but not the shock.

Amber’s hand hovered in the air for a split second after, trembling visibly. Her eyes widened, regret flooding in almost instantly as she lowered her arm. “I… shit, I didn’t mean to hit that hard.” she whispered, voice cracking.

But the regret didn’t erase the hurt. It fueled it. She stood up shakily, limping a step away from you, her face a mix of anger, pain, and exhaustion. “You asshole. I tried to open up to you. For once, I wasn’t fighting or lecturing - I told you I was overwhelmed, that I drank too much trying to be part of this, that I just needed quiet because the pressure of fitting in, the ankle, the noise, everything was too much. And you? You turned it into another joke. Mocked me for needing space, threw the carrying incident back in my face like it was funny, called me fragile again. You know how hard it is for someone like me to admit that? We skaters push through falls, through fear, through perfectionism that eats us alive, and we don’t show weakness because the sport doesn’t allow it. I let the wall down a crack with you tonight, and you stomped on it. Fuck you for that.”

Tears weren’t falling, but her voice was thick with them, the kind of raw emotion that came from someone who rarely let it show.

She limped past you toward the door, shoulder bumping yours with more force than necessary. “Don’t follow me. I mean it this time. I’ve had enough of your ‘concern’ and your pushing for one night. Go back downstairs to your team and celebrate your win without ruining someone else’s night. Just leave me alone.”

The door opened with a creak, and she slipped out into the hallway, her uneven footsteps fading as she headed for the stairs. The room felt suddenly cavernous and empty, the lamp’s glow too harsh on the silence.

You stood there, dumbfounded, the sting on your cheek throbbing in rhythm with your pulse.

The guilt hit like a late tackle - hard, unexpected, and leaving you breathless. You rubbed the spot where her hand had connected, feeling the heat rise on your skin.

What the hell had you done?

She had tried - actually tried to be vulnerable. Figure skaters were wired for resilience; they got up after brutal falls, they managed anxiety before every jump, they hid the mental toll of perfectionism behind graceful routines.

But tonight, in this random room at a loud party, she had admitted the overwhelm, the effort to fit in, the spinning head and aching ankle. And you, fueled by beer and the habit of rivalry, had mocked it. Turned her attempt at honesty into another round of “ice princess vs. turf brute.”

“Fuck!” you muttered aloud, the word heavy in the quiet. The captain in you - the one who checked on teammates after bad games, who led by example even when it hurt - knew you’d crossed a line.

The rivalry had been fun, charged, even electric at times. But this felt different. Personal. You had pushed too far because you didn’t know how to handle the shift when she stopped fighting back.

Guilt gnawed deeper as the seconds ticked by. You couldn’t just stay here. No matter how much of an ass you’d been, the protective instinct wouldn’t let you leave her to navigate the party and the dark campus walk alone.

Not with her ankle, not after the drinks, not when the paths back to Hurricane Hall could be uneven and poorly lit at this hour. You had to make sure she got back safe, even if she hated you for it right now.

You moved quickly but quietly, slipping out of the room and down the hallway. By the time you reached the top of the stairs, Amber was already descending carefully, one hand gripping the railing tightly, her limp more obvious now that the emotional adrenaline had worn off. You stayed several steps behind, giving her space but close enough to intervene if she stumbled.

The party noise swelled as you reached the first floor - laughter, slurred shouts, the clink of cups, the thump of music that now sounded too loud and grating after the quiet room.

Amber weaved through the thinning crowd without looking back, ignoring a couple of half-hearted calls from drunk athletes (“Hey, skating girl! One more drink?”). She headed straight for the front door, pushing it open and stepping into the cool Miami night air. You followed a moment later, the breeze hitting your flushed face and making the slap mark sting sharper.

The campus paths were quiet now, only occasional streetlamps casting pools of yellow light on the sidewalks lined with palm trees and manicured grass. Amber’s pace was slow and deliberate, every other step causing a small wince she tried to hide.

You kept your distance - about twenty feet at first - hands shoved deep in your hoodie pockets, the guilt a heavy knot in your stomach that no amount of beer could numb anymore. The walk felt endless, each limping step she took a reminder of how badly you’d misread the moment upstairs.

After several minutes, she seemed to sense the footsteps behind her. She stopped under one of the lamps, turning sharply. When her eyes landed on you, her expression hardened, but the exhaustion was clear - shoulders slumped, eyes shadowed.

“I told you not to follow me.” she said, her voice flat and tired, the earlier fire banked down to embers. “Go away Y/N. You’ve done enough damage for one night. I don’t want your fake concern or your apologies right now.”

You stopped where you were, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace, but you didn’t turn around. “I know. I was an asshole up there. I pushed when you asked me to stop. The alcohol, the weeks of back-and-forth… it got away from me. But I’m not letting you walk back alone. Not with your ankle, not at this hour. Just let me follow at a distance. Make sure you get to the dorm safe. Then I’ll leave you alone like you want. I promise.”

She stared at you for a long, heavy moment, her gaze flicking to the red mark on your cheek visible even in the lamplight. Something like regret flickered across her face again, but it was drowned out by the hurt. “Safe? You think trailing me after mocking me for needing space makes you noble? You’re unbelievable. I let myself be honest for five seconds - told you the party was too much, that I was trying to fit in despite feeling like an outsider, that my body and my head were done... and you laughed it off. Called me fragile again. Threw the carrying thing in my face like it was some punchline. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to admit weakness? Skating is all about control, about getting up after every fall without showing the fear or the pain because the judges and the cameras are always watching. I don’t get a team to rally around me like you do on the field. I open up a little, and you stomp on it. Fine. Walk behind me if your guilt won’t let you leave. But don’t talk. I don’t want to hear your voice.”

She turned and continued walking, slower now, as if the emotional weight had added to the physical one. You followed in silence, the only sounds the soft scuff of her footsteps, the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze, and your own heartbeat thudding with regret.

The guilt expanded with every step - replaying her words upstairs, the way her voice had cracked when she said she was overwhelmed, the slap that she’d immediately regretted. You wanted to say sorry properly, to explain that the banter had become a shield because the tension between you felt too real, too confusing. But you respected her request and stayed quiet.

The walk stretched on, the familiar route back to Hurricane Hall feeling longer than ever under the weight of the night. You passed the athletic center, the quad with its sleeping palm trees, the occasional late-night student stumbling back from their own parties. Amber never looked back, but you caught the occasional small wince when her bad ankle bore weight on an uneven patch of sidewalk. Each one twisted the knife of guilt deeper.

Finally, the old brick building of Hurricane Hall came into view, its familiar creaky stairs waiting under the exterior lights. Amber gripped the railing tightly as she ascended the three flights, one careful step at a time. You stayed several steps below, ready but not intervening. She made it to your shared floor without incident, limping straight to her door.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment, the metal jingling in the quiet hallway. Then she unlocked it and paused in the open doorway, turning to face you one last time. Her expression was a complex mix of exhaustion, lingering hurt, and a faint trace of the regret from the slap. The party flush had faded, leaving her looking drained but still strikingly composed despite everything.

“You’ve done enough for today.” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with finality. There was no fire left, just quiet resignation. “Go to your room. Sleep it off. I don’t want to see you or talk to you tonight. Just… leave me alone.”

The door closed with a quiet but definitive click, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. You stood there alone, dumbfounded, staring at the wood grain of her door like it held answers. The slap mark on your cheek had cooled to a dull throb, but the guilt in your chest burned hotter. You had pushed too far.

She had tried to bridge something - vulnerability from a sport that demanded perfection and solitude - and you had responded with mockery because it was easier than admitting the tension between you had evolved into something you didn’t know how to handle.

You lingered for another long minute, debating whether to knock, to apologize through the door, to explain that your words had come from a place of defensiveness rather than cruelty. But you respected the boundary she had set. You gave her the space she demanded, even if it left you standing there feeling like the biggest asshole on campus.

Finally, you turned and crossed the short distance to your own door, unlocking it and stepping into the familiar single dorm. The room felt colder and emptier than usual - the same creaky bed, the same window overlooking the practice fields, the same faint scent of old cleats and protein powder. You didn’t bother changing or turning on the main light. You collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the night replayed in an endless loop.

The deck banter turning heated. The stairs with your hand on her waist. The room where she had asked you to stop. The way her voice had softened when she tried to open up. Your cruel responses. The sharp crack of the slap. Her hurt eyes. The long, silent walk back.

Guilt kept sleep at bay for hours. You tossed and turned, the beer haze long gone, replaced by clear-headed regret. Amber Glenn was tough - she landed jumps that terrified most people, she competed under international pressure, she hid the mental load of perfectionism behind elegance. But tonight you had poked at the cracks in that armor, and it had hurt her in a way that felt irreversible in the moment.

Thoughts on the first chapter??

not proveread!

i was 16, she was 17. we chatted for a couple of days and she suggested we can go out. i was nervous at first as im a huge introvert and after lockdown i wasnt out with a friend for so long.

we met in the underground, huged each other and went to the neighbourhood she lives in. we sat on an old empty playground and started talking. i felt like she was looking at my lips a little but assumed its just my feeling and im overthinking it.

after some time we headed to her home and picked a movie to watch, turned it on and laid down with the laptop on her lap. she told me about her bad habit of biting her nails before so i took her hands and hold it. as we watched she turned to me and starting looking at my face, after a while of me looking back, mostly at her mouth, she asked me if i want to kiss her.

suddenly i felt the warmth of her hands on my face and the softness of her lips on mines. we kept kissing for about an hour, then made food and ate it together while finally paying attention to the movie. i kept repeating what happened in my mind, feeling my heartbeat in my throat, too shy to even look at her i was munching and watching the movie.

I had problems with chemistry so she tried to help me, explaining it to me, but i wasnt really able to concentrate, anytime our hands touched on accident i felt the butterflies in my stomach and when we made eye contact we both smiled shyly.

POV: You're a senior at Miami University. Rumor has it going that a very talented figure skater has joined the University. Will you two cross paths or will things go unnoticed?

-- around 13k words -- link to ch1. - link to ch3.

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warnings: academical stress; toxicity; arguing; rivaly; banter; eventual smut - kidding there will be ; switch!amber; switch!reader; flirting; drinking; smoking; angst; fluff

Find more stories on my masterlist. Pinned Post

-------YOUR POV--------

The days following the party blurred into a painful, silent stretch that felt longer than the entire semester so far. Amber Glenn had become a ghost.

She finished the group project entirely on her own. You discovered this the morning the submission deadline hit, when you checked the shared Google Doc out of habit and found it complete - fifteen polished pages, meticulously formatted with color-coded sections, precise literary analysis, and balanced comparisons of ambition and rivalry in the two novels.

Her sections on performative pressure and artistic illusion were elegant and insightful; yours remained untouched from the last time you’d both edited. She had submitted it solo through the portal, listing both names but adding a private note to Professor Ramirez that she had handled the final compilation alone. No explanation. No accusation. Just cold efficiency.

The grade came back a few days later: an A-. Solid, but you knew it could have been higher if you’d contributed. Amber didn’t care anymore. That one grade - the one that had forced you together in the first place - meant nothing to her now.

She ghosted you everywhere.

In English Literature 201, she arrived exactly on time but chose a seat on the opposite side of the lecture hall, surrounded by a small cluster of theater majors. She never looked your way. When Professor Ramirez called on your row for discussion, Amber contributed smoothly and articulately, her voice carrying that familiar precise tone, but she spoke as if you didn’t exist. No side-eye. No whispered barbs. Nothing.

In the hallways of Hurricane Hall, she timed her exits perfectly to avoid you. If you stepped out for morning practice, her door was already closed and silent. If you returned sweaty and exhausted in the evening, she was either already inside or had slipped past while you were in the shower. The shared kitchen and laundry room became neutral zones she navigated like a minefield - always when you weren’t there.

Your texts went unanswered. Simple apologies at first “I’m sorry about the party. I was an ass. Can we talk?”, then longer ones explaining the guilt that kept you up at night, then desperate ones admitting you missed the banter even if it was sharp. Read receipts appeared sometimes, but never a reply.

The small gifts you left at her door - a new compression wrap for her ankle (even though it had healed), a protein bar pack she liked from the athletic dining hall, a handwritten note on team stationery saying “I was wrong. You’re not fragile. You’re tougher than most of us on the turf. Please talk to me.” - disappeared without acknowledgment. She took them inside, but offered nothing back.

You were going crazy.

The guilt had settled into a constant, low-level ache that made every soccer drill feel heavier, every team laugh ring hollow. Practices suffered in small ways - you were distracted, barking orders with less fire, missing easy passes during scrimmages. Your teammates noticed.

“Cap, you good?” Jade asked one afternoon after you’d flubbed a simple through-ball. “You’ve been off since the party. That slap mark faded days ago, but you’re still acting like someone kicked your puppy.”

Mia piled on during water break. “It’s the ice princess, isn’t it? She hasn’t been around the hall much. You two have a fight or something?”

You brushed it off with a forced grin and extra suicides to punish yourself, but inside it ate at you.

You wanted - needed - to talk to her.

To apologize properly, face to face, without alcohol or adrenaline fueling the fire. To explain that the rivalry had become something else for you, something that scared you enough to lash out when she showed vulnerability. But she had shut the door completely, and every attempt to pry it open only made the silence louder.

By the following Wednesday, you couldn’t take it anymore. Afternoon training was scheduled - full-field tactical work, fitness testing, film review - but you made the impulsive call. You pulled Coach aside after morning weights, voice steady despite the nerves.

“Coach, I need to miss this afternoon’s session. Family thing came up - nothing serious, but I have to handle it. I’ll make it up with extra work tomorrow and Friday. Promise.”

Coach studied you for a long moment, eyebrows raised. You were the captain; skipping wasn’t your style. But you’d never given her a reason to doubt your commitment before. She nodded slowly. “Handle your business. But be back sharp tomorrow. We’ve got that exhibition game coming up.”

You thanked her and left the athletic center without changing out of your practice gear - sweatpants, red hoodie, sneakers. Your heart hammered as you headed across campus toward the university’s partnered ice rink, a modest but well-maintained facility about fifteen minutes away by foot. The rink served the small figure skating club and a few serious athletes like Amber who trained there under private coaches while balancing college classes.

You had looked up the schedule days ago, pretending it was for “research” on the project that no longer mattered.

Amber’s session was from 3:30 to 5:00 p.m. , freestyle time on the main sheet, mostly solo since the club was small. You arrived early, slipping into the spectator stands unnoticed. The rink was cold, the air sharp with that unmistakable frozen bite that made your breath fog slightly. A few younger skaters were finishing up on one end, their coaches calling out corrections, but the main ice was clearing for the next block.

You sat in the back row, hood up, trying to blend into the sparse audience - mostly parents or coaches waiting for their athletes. Your stomach twisted with nerves and guilt. This was impulsive. Borderline stalkerish. But the silence had driven you here. You needed to see her, even if she told you to leave again.

The Zamboni finished resurfacing, leaving the ice smooth and gleaming under the bright overhead lights. Then she stepped onto the surface.

Amber , her ankle was clearly fine now - no wrap, no limp, full range of motion as she glided out with effortless strokes. She wore simple white leggings and a fitted long-sleeve training top in deep navy, her hair pulled into that signature sleek ponytail that swayed with each movement.

No competition costume, no sequins, no mask of performance perfection for judges or cameras. Just her, the cold ice, and the music starting softly through the rink’s speakers - a powerful, emotional instrumental piece with rising strings and a driving beat that felt both intimate and expansive.

For the first time since the party, you saw her without the irritation, without the guarded walls she’d built against you. No irritation directed at the “soccer brute” across the hall. No forced politeness in class. Just Amber - raw, focused, and breathtakingly alone with her craft.

She started with easy stroking, warming up the edges of the ice with long, powerful pushes that covered the full surface. Her blades carved clean lines into the fresh ice, leaving delicate traces that caught the light.

You watched, mesmerized, as she transitioned into off-ice elements translated perfectly onto the blades: deep edges, crossovers that built speed effortlessly, backward skating with perfect posture. There was no audience pressure here, no rival skaters watching for weaknesses. Just her and the cold.

The music swelled, and she began her program elements in earnest. A triple axel - her signature - launched with explosive power from the back outside edge. She rotated tightly in the air, three-and-a-half revolutions, landing with a soft, controlled edge that barely disturbed the ice. No wobble. No hesitation. The speed carried her into a flying camel spin, her body extended like a living sculpture, the rotation fast and centered.

She followed with a combination spin - sit, upright, then a complex change of foot that showcased incredible flexibility and control. Her arms moved with deliberate artistry, telling a story even without words.

You leaned forward in your seat, breath caught. This wasn’t the polished competition version you’d seen in clips. This was practice - raw, repetitive, sometimes imperfect. She fell once on a triple lutz attempt, the blade catching wrong on the toe pick. Instead of frustration or the irritation you’d grown used to seeing directed at you, she simply got up, shook it off with a small exhale, and tried again. The second attempt was cleaner, the landing secure. She circled the ice, breathing visibly in the cold air, then launched into footwork sequences - intricate turns, twizzles, and steps that covered the ice with musical precision.

Her face during these moments was stripped of any performance mask. When the music hit a somber swell, her expression softened into quiet intensity - eyes focused inward, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, lips parted as she breathed through the effort. During the more powerful sections, determination sharpened her features, jaw set, eyes bright with that competitive fire you recognized but had never seen so unguarded.

No fake smile for judges. No irritation at the world. Just pure presence: joy in the glide, frustration at a slight under-rotation, satisfaction at a clean landing. She was skating for herself, the cold ice her only audience, and it was the most beautiful, honest thing you’d ever witnessed.

You sat there for the full session, unable to look away. The guilt from the party mixed with a new ache - admiration, respect, and something deeper that made your chest tight. This was the Amber behind the rivalry: the athlete who trained alone for hours, who pushed through pain and perfectionism without a team chanting her name, who made the impossible look graceful. You had mocked that world, called it “ice ballet” and “twirling,” and she had still shown up to your game, still tried to meet you halfway upstairs that night.

When the music faded and she slowed to cooldown strokes, gliding in lazy circles with her head tilted back and eyes closed for a moment, you knew you couldn’t leave without trying.

The session ended. She skated to the boards, grabbing her guards and a water bottle, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. A coach said something brief to her - she nodded, smiled faintly, genuinely - and then she headed toward the exit gate.

You stood up, heart pounding, and made your way down to the rinkside area. She spotted you as she stepped off the ice, guards on her blades. Her expression closed instantly - the mask snapping back into place, the walls rebuilt higher than before. The unguarded beauty you’d witnessed vanished behind cool detachment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice low and even, but edged with exhaustion rather than anger. She didn’t stop walking toward the locker room hallway, forcing you to fall into step beside her. The cold from the rink clung to her skin, making her cheeks pink and her breath still visible.

You swallowed, the words you’d rehearsed on the walk over tumbling out in a rush. “I skipped training. Told Coach it was family stuff. I… I needed to see you. You’ve been ghosting me everywhere - class, the hall, texts, even the notes and gifts at your door. I know I deserve it. What I said upstairs at the party was cruel. I was drunk and defensive and I pushed when you asked me to stop. You tried to open up and I mocked you for it. I’m sorry, Amber. Really sorry. I’ve been going crazy not being able to talk to you. The project, the hallway silence, everything… it’s killing me.”

She kept walking, not looking at you, her skate guards clicking softly on the rubber matting. For a long moment she said nothing, the silence stretching as you passed a few other skaters heading onto the ice. When she finally spoke, her tone was quiet, controlled, but the hurt lingered underneath.

“I finished the project alone because I didn’t want to deal with you anymore. Not for a grade. Not for anything. You made it clear that night that any attempt at honesty just turns into another opportunity for you to win the argument. I don’t have the energy for that right now. My ankle’s healed, training is ramping up for the next competition block, and I need focus. Not whatever this back-and-forth is with you.”

You stopped walking, gently reaching for her arm but not quite touching. “I know. And I saw you out there just now - on the ice, alone. No mask, no irritation at me or the world. Just you and the cold. It was… incredible. The triple axel, the spins, the way you got up after that fall and tried again without drama. I’ve been an idiot about your sport. Calling it twirling or whatever. It’s not. It’s brutal and beautiful and you do it mostly alone. I respect that. More than I’ve shown. Please… can we talk? Not fight. Just talk. I’ll listen this time. No pushing.”

Amber paused at the entrance to the locker area, finally turning to face you fully. Her ponytail was slightly damp from effort, strands sticking to her neck. She looked tired but strong, the raw version you’d glimpsed on the ice still faintly visible beneath the guarded expression.

Her voice was softer than you expected, but firm. “You saw me skating for real. Good. That’s what I do when no one’s turning it into a competition or a joke. I don’t know if I can trust you not to do that again. The party… that hurt more than the slap I gave you. But skipping your training to come here? That’s… something. I need time. Don’t ghost me back or leave more gifts. If you really want to talk, give me space until I’m ready. Then maybe. But right now, I’m going to change and go home. Alone.”

She turned to go, but paused one last time, glancing over her shoulder. “And… thanks for skipping practice. Even if it was impulsive and stupid. It shows you’re at least trying.”

Then she disappeared into the locker room, leaving you standing there in the cold hallway outside the rink, the chill seeping through your hoodie and the weight of her words settling deep.

You had seen the real her on the ice - unguarded, powerful, human. And for the first time, you understood how much damage your words had done. The ghosting wasn’t just punishment; it was self-protection. Now it was your turn to wait, to prove you could give her the space she asked for while still showing you cared.

The walk back to campus felt longer than the one after the party, but this time the guilt was mixed with a fragile thread of hope. She hadn’t told you to never speak to her again. She had noticed the effort. That had to be enough for now.

The conversation at the skating rink lingered in the air like frost on the boards - brief, raw, and unfinished. Amber hadn’t given you much, but she hadn’t slammed the door completely either. “Give me space until I’m ready.” she had said. Those words became your quiet mantra in the days that followed.

You respected it.

No more texts. No more small gifts left at her door. No more hovering in the hallway hoping for a chance encounter. You gave her the distance she asked for, even when every part of you wanted to bridge it. The guilt from the party still sat heavy in your chest, but it had shifted into something steadier: patience. You would wait as long as she needed. You owed her that.

English Literature the following Monday felt different.

You arrived early, claiming your usual seat in the middle row out of habit. The lecture hall filled slowly with the familiar mix of athletes, theater kids, and literature majors. When Amber walked in at 8:58 - exactly on time, ponytail sleek, red top and jeans, carrying her notebook with that effortless grace - you expected her to head to the far side again, where she had been sitting since the party.

She didn’t.

Instead, after a brief hesitation at the doorway, she walked straight down the aisle and slid into the empty seat right next to you.

No greeting. No eye contact. No whispered barb. She simply set her bag down, opened her notebook to a fresh page, and focused forward as Professor Ramirez began speaking about symbolism in modernist literature.

You froze for half a second, heart kicking against your ribs. The proximity brought back everything: the vanilla scent of her shampoo, the memory of her hand on your chest in the upstairs hallway, the sharp crack of the slap, the raw vulnerability she had shown before you ruined it. But you didn’t push. You didn’t speak. You respected the boundary.

Class unfolded in heavy, loaded silence between the two of you.

Professor Ramirez lectured on themes of isolation and communication - or the lack thereof. The irony wasn’t lost on you. Every time she paused for questions or small-group discussion prompts, you kept your mouth shut unless directly called on.

When Ramirez asked the middle row for thoughts on emotional barriers in literature, Amber answered first in her clear, articulate voice, analyzing a character’s inability to express vulnerability. You listened without interrupting, without adding your usual gritty sports parallel. When it was your turn, you gave a short, neutral response and left it there.

Amber stayed beside you for the entire ninety minutes.

She didn’t look at you once. Not when you shifted in your seat. Not when you accidentally brushed her elbow reaching for your water bottle. Not even when the lecture touched on “missed opportunities for reconciliation.”

After class ended, she packed up with the same quiet efficiency, stood, and walked out without a word. You let her go, watching her ponytail disappear into the stream of students. The ache in your chest sharpened, but you swallowed it. This was what she needed. You would wait.

The pattern repeated itself over the next several days.

Tuesday’s class: same seat next to you. Same silence. Same respectful distance on your part.

Wednesday: she arrived a minute later than usual, but still chose the seat beside yours. When a group discussion required pairing up briefly, she turned her body slightly away and partnered with the person on her other side. You worked alone. You didn’t complain.

Thursday: Professor Ramirez assigned a short reflective journal entry on personal experiences with ambition and rivalry - the very theme that had started your forced partnership. You wrote honestly about the pressure of captaincy and the fear of letting your team down. Amber wrote something too - you caught a glimpse of her neat handwriting - but she never shared it. When class ended, she lingered for half a second longer than necessary, as if weighing whether to say something, but ultimately stood and left without a word.

You respected it.

In the dorm, the silence continued, but it felt less like deliberate avoidance and more like a fragile truce. You still heard her classical music drifting faintly through the shared wall in the evenings - sometimes soft and melancholic, sometimes powerful and driving, the same kind she skated to. You never knocked. You never left notes. When you passed each other in the hallway (rare, but inevitable), you offered a small, neutral nod. She returned it once - barely perceptible, but there.

The waiting was harder than you expected.

Practices suffered in subtle ways. You pushed yourself harder during drills to burn off the restless energy, but your mind kept drifting back to the rink, to the unguarded version of Amber you’d seen gliding across the ice.

The way her face had softened during the music swells. The quiet determination after her fall. The brief “thanks” she had given you outside the locker room. You wanted to tell her you understood now - how much discipline her sport demanded, how lonely the pursuit of perfection could be. But you waited.

Your teammates noticed the change.

“You and the ice princess still not talking?” Jade asked one evening in the locker room after a tough conditioning session. She was unlacing her cleats, shooting you a knowing look.

You shrugged, wiping sweat from your face with a towel. “She’s sitting next to me in class again. That’s something.”

Mia grinned from the bench across the way. “Progress! At least she’s not avoiding the entire row anymore. You gonna make a move or keep staring at her like a lovesick puppy?”

“It’s not like that.” you muttered, though the denial felt weak even to your own ears. “I fucked up. Bad. She asked for space, so I’m giving it. As long as it takes.”

Taylor clapped you on the shoulder as she walked past. “Respect. But don’t wait forever, Cap. Life’s short and rivalries can turn into… other things pretty quick around here.”

You didn’t reply. You just laced up your sneakers tighter and headed out for extra sprints on the turf, trying to outrun the quiet ache that had settled in your chest.

Friday’s English class arrived under a gray Florida sky that threatened rain. You took your seat early again. When Amber entered, she didn’t hesitate this time. She walked straight to the spot beside you and sat down, closer than she had earlier in the week - her elbow nearly brushing yours as she arranged her notebook. Still no words. But the proximity felt intentional now, like a small crack in the ice she had built around herself.

Professor Ramirez dove into a lively discussion on unreliable narrators and self-deception. Halfway through, she assigned a quick think-pair-share on a short passage. The room buzzed with voices. You turned slightly toward Amber out of habit, then caught yourself and looked away, respecting the boundary.

To your surprise, she turned toward you first.

Not fully. Just enough that her shoulder angled in your direction. She didn’t speak, but she slid her notebook slightly closer so you could see the notes she had written on the passage - clean bullet points analyzing the character’s internal conflict and fear of vulnerability. It wasn’t an invitation to talk, exactly, but it was the first deliberate gesture toward you in over a week.

You didn’t push. You simply nodded once, acknowledging it, and wrote a short, honest response in your own notebook about how ambition can blind people to the harm they cause others. You left it visible on the desk between you. No commentary. No attempt to force conversation.

Amber read it. You saw her eyes scan the lines. For a fleeting second, the corner of her mouth twitched - not quite a smile, but not the cold detachment from before either. Then she looked forward again as the professor called the class back together.

When class ended, she packed up slowly. You did the same, giving her the chance to leave first if she wanted. She didn’t. Instead, she stood at the same time as you, slinging her bag over her shoulder. For the first time since the party, she spoke - quiet, almost under her breath, but directed at you.

“Still waiting?”

The words were simple. No warmth. No forgiveness yet. But they were spoken. To you.

You kept your voice low and steady, matching her tone. “Yeah. As long as it takes.”

She didn’t reply. She just gave the smallest nod, barely there and walked out of the lecture hall. You let her go, watching her ponytail disappear into the crowd once more.

But something had shifted.

She was present again. Sitting beside you. Acknowledging your existence, even if only with a few words and a shared notebook glance. The silence between you wasn’t quite as frozen anymore.

You respected it.

You would keep waiting - through more silent classes, through the awkward hallway nods, through the quiet evenings where her music drifted through the wall. You would prove you could give her space without disappearing. You would show up consistently without pushing.

Because after seeing her on the ice - raw, unguarded, magnificent, you understood that Amber Glenn didn’t let people in easily. When she did, even a little, it meant something. And you had broken that trust once.

You wouldn’t do it again.

The rivalry was still there, buried under layers of hurt and silence. But beneath it, something else was slowly, carefully beginning to thaw.

You would wait.

As long as she needed.

In the meantime, you threw yourself back into soccer with renewed focus - extra film sessions, leading drills with sharper intensity, making up for the session you’d skipped. Your teammates sensed the change but stopped asking questions when you made it clear the topic was off-limits.

And every morning in English class, Amber sat beside you.

Still not talking much. But present.

And for now, that was enough. You would wait.

The ice between you was thin, but it hadn’t broken completely.

And you were willing to stand on it as long as it took for her to decide whether she wanted to skate toward you again.

The following day dawned humid and heavy, the kind of Florida morning where the air felt thick with unsaid words and the sky hung low with the threat of afternoon thunderstorms that mirrored the storm still raging quietly inside your chest.

The waiting had become both a punishment and a strange kind of penance - a self-imposed exile from the sharp banter that had once defined every interaction with her. You told yourself it was the least you could do after the party.

You arrived at English Literature even earlier than usual, claiming your familiar middle-row seat.

The lecture hall smelled of damp backpacks and fresh coffee, the faint patter of rain already beginning against the tall windows. Professor Ramirez was arranging her slides at the podium, chatting lightly with a couple of students about the upcoming midterm, but you barely registered any of it.

Your notebook lay open to a blank page, your pen tapping an anxious rhythm against the margin as your mind kept drifting back to the skating rink - to the raw, unguarded Amber you had witnessed gliding across the ice alone.

When Amber finally entered, exactly on time as always, your heart stuttered. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a braid, a few rain-damp strands clinging to her sharp cheekbones and neck. She wore a simple blue long-sleeve top that hugged her lean, athletic frame and dark pants, her posture as impeccably controlled as ever despite everything that had passed between you. In her hand was the same travel mug of herbal tea, steam curling faintly in the cool classroom air.

For a heartbeat she paused in the doorway, her dark eyes scanning the room before landing on the empty seat beside you.

She walked straight down the aisle and slid into the seat right next to you. No greeting. No eye contact. No whispered barb or icy glare. She simply set her bag down with quiet precision, opened her notebook to a fresh page, and focused forward as Professor Ramirez began the lecture on themes of reconciliation, regret, and the heavy cost of pride in American literature. The irony of the topic landed like a body check, knocking the air from your lungs.

The silence between you was thicker than it had been all week - not cold and hostile anymore, but heavy with everything unsaid, everything that had been building since the night she had slapped you and walked away with hurt shining in her eyes.

You could feel the warmth of her presence beside you, the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo cutting through the damp classroom air, the subtle shift of her breathing. Every time your elbow accidentally brushed the shared armrest, you pulled back immediately, respecting the invisible boundary she had drawn. You would not push. You had promised yourself that. If she needed more time, you would give it, even if the waiting carved deeper grooves into your chest with every passing minute.

Class unfolded in that loaded, almost suffocating quiet. Professor Ramirez’s voice filled the room, discussing characters who built walls around their pain, who pushed away the very people who might have offered redemption.

You took notes mechanically, your handwriting tighter than usual, while your mind replayed the party night on an endless loop: the upstairs room, her quiet plea for you to stop, the way her voice had cracked when she admitted she was overwhelmed and trying to fit into your loud, chaotic world, your cruel laughter turning her vulnerability into another punchline.

Halfway through the lecture, Ramirez assigned a brief think-pair-share on a passage about the pain of unspoken apologies and the fear of letting someone back in. The room filled with low murmurs as students turned to their neighbors.

You turned your body slightly away, giving Amber the clear option to pair with the person on her other side, just as you had done every day since she returned to sitting beside you. You would not force conversation. You would respect the space.

After a long, heavy beat of silence, Amber shifted in her seat. Her shoulder angled toward you again , just slightly. Then her voice came - low, steady at first, but carrying a dramatic, trembling intensity that made the air between you feel electric and fragile all at once. It wasn’t loud enough to draw the whole class, but it was raw, every word weighted with weeks of suppressed emotion, hurt, and something deeper that made your throat tighten.

“You really are just going to keep sitting here every single day like this?” she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word, the dramatic weight of it hitting you square in the chest.

Her precious eyes finally met yours, stormy and glistening with unshed tears she refused to let fall. “Watching you show up early, take your notes, bite your tongue when I know you’re dying to say something… respecting the silence I asked for like it’s some kind of penance. Do you have any idea what that does to me? How much it messes with my head after everything?”

She leaned in a fraction closer, her breath warm against the side of your face, the rain outside intensifying into a steady downpour that drummed against the windows like a dramatic soundtrack to her words. Her fingers tightened around her pen until her knuckles turned white, her perfect skating posture cracking under the force of finally letting the walls tremble.

“I sat here every day this week trying to stay angry. Trying to keep the distance because what you said that night upstairs cut deeper than any fall I’ve ever taken on the ice. I told you I was overwhelmed - that the party was too loud, too much, that I drank more than I should have because I was trying so hard to fit into your world, to not be the stiff, out-of-place figure skater everyone expects me to be. I admitted the ankle still ached and my head was spinning and I felt fragile for once… and you laughed. You turned it into another joke about me being the delicate ice princess who runs away. You threw the carrying incident back in my face like it was funny. Do you know how terrifying it is for someone like me to admit any of that? We don’t get teams to rally around us. We fall alone, we get up alone, we smile for the cameras even when every landing feels like fire. I let the wall down with you - just a crack - because after the rink and the project and the stupid hallway rivalry… I thought maybe you saw me. Really saw me. And you stomped on it.”

Her voice trembled harder now, the dramatic emotion pouring out in a rush that made her cheeks flush and her eyes shine brighter. A single tear finally escaped, sliding down her cheek before she angrily brushed it away.

The vulnerability in that small gesture hit you harder than the slap ever had.

“But then you showed up at the rink.” she continued, her tone softening into something raw and aching, yet still laced with that intense, dramatic fire. “You skipped your training. You sat there and watched me skate, not the competition version, not the polished performer. The real one. The one who falls and gets back up without an audience clapping. The one who skates because the cold makes everything quiet and the music makes sense when the rest of the world doesn’t. You saw that… and then you apologized. Not with gifts or notes or pushing. Just honest words outside the locker room. And now you’re here every day, respecting the space I asked for, waiting like you actually understand what that means to me. It’s infuriating. It’s terrifying. It makes me want to scream because I don’t know how to stay mad when you’re finally doing the one thing I needed - giving me time without making it about winning the argument.”

She exhaled shakily, her hand reaching out almost unconsciously to grip the edge of the shared desk between you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest second before she pulled back. Her voice dropped to a broken whisper, thick with emotion.

“So tell me, Captain… tell me why I should let you back in. Why I should believe that the next time I try to be honest with you - about the pressure that never stops, about how lonely it feels chasing perfection alone, about how much it scared me to let you see any crack in the armor - you won’t turn it into another weapon. Because I’m exhausted from the silence. I’m exhausted from pretending you don’t exist across the hall when every night I hear your door and wonder if you’re still thinking about that night too. I’m exhausted from missing the stupid banter even when it hurt. So talk to me. Say something real. No sarcasm. No ‘princess’ or ‘brute’ bullshit. Just… tell me why I shouldn’t walk out of here right now and keep the walls up forever. Because part of me still wants to. But the bigger part… the bigger part is terrified that if I do, I’ll regret it more than anything.”

The rain hammered harder against the windows, thunder rumbling distantly like punctuation to her dramatic, heartfelt outburst. Tears glistened on her lashes now, but she held your gaze with fierce, unwavering intensity - the same fire you had seen when she landed clean jumps on the ice, the same quiet strength that had left you awestruck at the rink.

The lecture hall around you had faded completely; it felt like the two of you were the only ones left in the world.

Your throat tightened, the weeks of guilt and waiting crashing over you in a wave that made your voice come out rough, raw, and stripped of every defense.

“Because I was wrong that night, Amber. So fucking wrong it keeps me up every single night. I was drunk and scared - scared of how much I actually cared about what you thought of me, scared of how the rivalry had turned into something I didn’t know how to handle without pushing you away. When you tried to let me in, when you admitted you were overwhelmed and trying so hard to fit into my loud, chaotic world… I panicked. I lashed out because it felt too real, too vulnerable, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I mocked you because it was easier than admitting I had started to see you as more than just the annoying ice princess across the hall. More than just my rival. I saw the real you on the ice that day - the one who falls and gets back up with quiet determination, the one who skates with so much heart when no one’s watching. It broke something in me to realize how much I had underestimated you, how cruel I had been about something so beautiful and hard. I’m sorry. I’m so deeply sorry for making you feel small when you were being brave enough to show me the cracks. I’ll keep sitting here every day, silent if that’s what you want, talking when you’re ready. No more pushing. No more turning your honesty into a fight. Just me, trying to be better. Because you deserve that. Because I don’t want to lose whatever this messy, confusing thing is between us - even if it started with us hating each other across the hall. Even if I have to wait forever.”

Amber held your gaze for a long, trembling moment. The rain continued its dramatic downpour outside, thunder rolling closer now. A single tear slipped down her cheek again, but this time she didn’t brush it away immediately. Her fingers loosened on the desk, and for the first time in weeks, her hand brushed yours deliberately - not pulling away.

Her voice, when it came again, was softer, still thick with emotion but carrying the barest hint of relief, the dramatic storm beginning to quiet into something gentler, more hopeful.

“You’re still an idiot for taking this long to say all of that… but thank you. For seeing me on the ice. For actually waiting instead of forcing your way back in. For apologizing without turning it into another competition. I don’t know if I’m fully ready to go back to whatever we were - the banter, the rivalry, the stupid tension that always felt like more. But I’m tired of the silence too. Tired of pretending the person across the hall doesn’t matter. So maybe… we start small. Sitting here. Talking when it doesn’t feel like a battlefield. Giving each other space when we need it, and honesty when we can manage it. Can you do that for me? Without making me regret letting the wall down again?”

You nodded immediately, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest, your hand turning slightly so your fingers could brush hers in a tentative, careful touch.

“Yeah. I can do that. As long as it takes. I’m not going anywhere, Amber. Not unless you tell me to.”

She didn’t smile fully - not yet, but the corner of her mouth lifted in the faintest, most fragile almost-smile you had seen since before the party. The tension between your seats didn’t vanish, but it shifted, the ice cracking just enough to let a little light through.

The rain continued outside, but inside the lecture hall, something between the soccer captain and the figure skater had finally begun to thaw - slowly, carefully, and with the kind of emotional depth that came from two athletes who had spent too long fighting when they could have been understanding each other.

Class continued around you, but for the rest of the period, the silence felt different - warmer, charged with tentative possibility rather than pain. Amber stayed beside you until the end. When the bell rang, she packed up slowly, her hand lingering near yours for one extra second before she stood.

“Don’t make me regret this.” she murmured, voice still thick with emotion, but softer now. “I’m trusting you not to push again.”

Then she walked out, hairstrands swaying, leaving you sitting there with your heart wide open and the first real thread of hope pulling tight between you.

You would keep waiting if she needed more time.

But for the first time since that awful night, the ice felt like it might actually hold - and you were ready to step onto it with her, one careful, honest conversation at a time.

The fragile conversations in English class had become the only steady thread between you and Amber in the days that followed her dramatic outburst. They were small, careful, and still laced with hesitation, but they were something. Real something.

Wednesdays exchange after class had cracked the ice just enough for Thursday to feel less suffocating. When Ramirez assigned another think-pair-share, Amber turned toward you without prompting. Her voice was quiet, almost guarded, but present.

“So… what did you write about the narrator’s pride?” she asked, eyes flicking to your notebook before meeting yours briefly.

You answered honestly, keeping your tone even. “That sometimes pride isn’t strength. It’s just fear wearing armor. Kinda like how I wore the rivalry like armor so I didn’t have to admit I was scared of messing things up with you.”

She had paused, pen hovering, then nodded once. “Fear looks different on everyone. On the ice it looks like pretending every fall is part of the choreography. In class… it looked like me sitting three rows away for a week.”

No smile. No banter. But she stayed in the conversation until Ramirez called time.

Wednesday brought a little more. During a lecture on redemption arcs, she leaned slightly closer and murmured, “You skipped training to come to the rink. That still feels… big. I keep thinking about it.”

“I’d skip again if it meant getting five more minutes of you actually talking to me.” you replied softly, careful not to push.

She didn’t answer right away, but when class ended she waited until most people had left before saying, almost under her breath, “I’m still figuring out how much I can trust that.”

You nodded. “Take the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Thursday and Friday followed the same careful rhythm - short exchanges during pair work, a murmured comment here and there about the reading, a shared glance when Ramirez said something that hit too close to home. It wasn’t friendship yet. It wasn’t the old charged rivalry either. It was something tentative and bruised, but alive. And you clung to it like a lifeline.

What Amber didn’t know - what you hadn’t told anyone, was that you had quietly cleared your entire weekend for her.

There was no soccer game scheduled. The team had a bye weekend, which meant light optional sessions and recovery.

You told Coach you needed the time for “personal stuff” and promised to make up any missed conditioning early next week. Your teammates assumed you were catching up on sleep or handling family things. You let them believe it. No one needed to know you were planning to drive across town to the regional collegiate figure skating competition where Amber had her first event of the season.

She hadn’t mentioned it. Not once. Not in the few words you exchanged in class, not in the hallway nods. You understood why. The trust was still paper-thin. So you didn’t ask. You simply looked up the schedule, noted the time of her senior women’s short program on Saturday afternoon, and showed up.

Saturday arrived bright and crisp, the Florida humidity temporarily beaten back by a cool front. You left Hurricane Hall early, wearing a plain black hoodie and jeans so you wouldn’t stand out as obviously “the soccer captain.” The rink was busier than the university practice facility - parents, coaches, other college skaters, and a modest crowd of supporters filled the stands.

You bought a cheap program at the entrance, found her name listed under University of Miami, and took a seat in the upper section, far enough back that she wouldn’t spot you easily during warm-up but close enough to see everything clearly.

The competition unfolded in waves of nervous energy and beautiful performances. You watched other skaters with new appreciation, but your eyes kept searching for the familiar blonde and powerful stride.

When Amber’s group was called for the short program, your heart slammed against your ribs. She stepped onto the ice in a deep emerald competition dress that caught the lights beautifully - elegant, sophisticated, with subtle crystal detailing that sparkled when she moved.

Her hair was in the tight competition bun, makeup flawless, expression focused and composed. She looked every inch the national-level skater she was. No trace of the vulnerable girl who had cried in class or the guarded one who had sat silently beside you all week.

She didn’t see you.

She warmed up with clean, powerful strokes, landing practice jumps with precision that made the small crowd murmur in appreciation.

Then the announcer called her name: “Representing the University of Miami, Amber Glenn.”

The music started - a dramatic, emotional piece with soaring strings and a pulsing undercurrent. Amber took her starting position at center ice, arms extended, chin lifted. The arena lights dimmed slightly. She looked powerful. Untouchable. Alone in the best and hardest way.

You leaned forward, breath held, as she began.

Her program was breathtaking. She opened with a triple lutz–triple toe combination that was textbook perfect, the landings clean and fast. Her spins were centered and fast, the camel spin especially beautiful as she extended into a perfect position. Footwork sequences flowed across the ice like water, intricate and musical. Every movement told a story - of resilience, of quiet strength, of fighting through doubt. When she launched into her triple axel, the crowd gasped. She rotated tightly, landed with only the tiniest wobble that she immediately controlled, and continued without missing a beat.

You watched every second with your chest tight. This was the Amber you had glimpsed in practice, but amplified - the version the world saw under pressure. No irritation. No walls built against you. Just pure athletic artistry and the kind of courage that came from years of falling and getting back up alone.

The music built to its climax. Amber powered through her final combination spin, arms pulling in tight, then extending dramatically as she slowed into her closing pose - arms outstretched, head tilted back, chest heaving from the effort, a small, satisfied smile touching her lips for the first time.

Then her eyes scanned the crowd.

They landed on you.

Even from the upper stands you saw the exact moment recognition hit her. Her posture faltered for half a second. Her smile froze, then softened into something surprised, almost disbelieving. Her chest rose and fell faster as she held the final pose, eyes locked on yours across the distance.

The applause erupted around her, but she stayed frozen another heartbeat, staring straight at you like she couldn’t quite believe you were real.

The music ended. She lowered her arms, gave a graceful bow to the judges and crowd, and skated off the ice to thunderous clapping. You stayed in your seat until the scores were announced - strong, competitive marks that put her near the top of the group - then slipped out quietly and made your way to the main exit near the athletes’ area.

You waited.

Minutes stretched. Skaters came and went, coaches offering congratulations, parents hugging their athletes. You leaned against the wall, hands in your hoodie pockets, nerves buzzing louder than they did before any soccer match.

Finally, Amber emerged.

She had changed into a simple black tracksuit with Miamis team logo, her competition bun loosened so her gorgeous hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her cheeks were still flushed from exertion and adrenaline, a light sheen of sweat still visible on her forehead. She carried her skate bag over one shoulder. When she spotted you waiting by the exit, she stopped mid-step.

For a long moment she just looked at you, eyes wide, the same mix of surprise, confusion, and something softer flickering across her face. Then she walked over slowly, stopping a few feet away. Her voice, when it came, was thick with emotion - quiet at first, then building with the same dramatic intensity she had shown in class, but gentler now, rawer.

“You… you came.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a stunned statement. She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, fingers tightening on the strap. “I didn’t tell you about the competition. I didn’t even mention it in class. I thought… after everything, after how I’ve been keeping my distance, you wouldn’t… How did you even know the time?”

You kept your voice steady, honest, letting every bit of the emotion you’d been carrying show. “I looked it up. I wanted to be here. I cleared my whole weekend - told Coach I had personal stuff, didn’t even tell the team. I just… needed to see you skate. For real. Not practice. Not when you’re guarded because of me. I wanted to watch you do what you love without any of our bullshit in the way.”

Amber’s eyes glistened again, the same way they had in class when she had finally broken her silence. She took one step closer, then another, until she was close enough that you could see the faint tremble in her lower lip.

“You skipped your training again.” she whispered, voice cracking with the weight of it. “For me. Even though we’re still… whatever this is. Still figuring out how to talk without fighting. You sat up there the whole time and I didn’t even know until the very end. When I hit that final pose and looked into the crowd… and there you were. Just sitting there. Watching like it actually mattered to you.”

She let out a shaky laugh that sounded half-sob, half-disbelief, brushing a hand across her eyes quickly.

“I almost fell out of the pose. My heart literally skipped when I saw you. I thought I was imagining it at first. After the way I’ve been - sitting next to you in silence, barely speaking, making you wait - you still showed up. No one does that for me. Not like this. Not without expecting something back. Not without wanting the perfect version. But you… you came for the real one. The one who might have under-rotated that axel if the nerves got to me. The one who’s still trying to figure out if she can trust you again.”

Her voice dropped even lower, thick with emotion as she searched your face.

“Why? Why clear your weekend and sit in the stands like some silent supporter when I haven’t even given you a real conversation outside of stolen moments in English? Tell me. I need to hear it. Because right now I’m standing here after the best short program I’ve skated in months, and all I can think about is that you’re here. And it’s making everything feel… too much.”

You stepped forward, careful not to crowd her, but close enough that she could feel you meant every word.

“Because I meant what I said in class. I’m sorry for that night. I’m sorry for every time I made you feel small or fragile when you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I came today because I wanted to support you the way you deserve - quietly, without making it about me or our rivalry or trying to win anything. I came because watching you on the ice that day at practice changed something in me. I saw how much heart you put into this when no one’s watching. I wanted to be someone who watches when it does matter. Even if we’re still figuring everything out. Even if you’re not ready to forgive me completely. I’m here because you matter to me, Amber. More than the banter, more than the tension, more than winning any argument. I’m here because I’m still waiting… and I’ll keep waiting until you’re ready to let me in again. No pressure. Just me, showing up.”

Amber stared at you for a long moment, tears finally slipping free despite her efforts to hold them back. She didn’t wipe them away this time. Instead, she let out a soft, watery laugh and shook her head, the sound full of disbelief and something that sounded dangerously close to hope.

“You’re impossible Y/N.” she whispered, voice thick. “You show up here looking all quiet and supportive after I’ve spent weeks keeping you at arm’s length, and then you say things like that… God, it makes me want to both hug you and yell at you for making this so complicated.”

She took one more step, closing most of the distance between you, her skate bag bumping lightly against your leg.

“Thank you.” she said, the words soft but heavy with meaning. “For coming. For sitting where I couldn’t see you until the end so I didn’t overthink the whole program. For… seeing me. Really seeing me. I don’t know what we are right now. I don’t know if I’m ready for the banter or the tension or whatever comes next. But this? You being here today? It means more than I know how to say right now.”

She paused, swallowing hard, then added with a small, shaky smile that finally reached her eyes:

“So… how did I look out there? Be honest. No captain ego. Just you.”

You smiled back, the relief and warmth flooding your chest so strongly it almost hurt.

“You looked incredible. Powerful. Beautiful. Like someone who belongs on that ice more than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m really proud of you, Amber. Even if I still don’t fully understand all the technical stuff… I saw you. And you were magnificent.”

Amber’s smile widened just a fraction, tentative but real. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tilted her head toward the exit.

“Come on, then. Walk me to the car. We can… talk a little more on the way. If you want. No fighting. Just… talking.”

You fell into step beside her as you left the rink together, the late afternoon sun breaking through the clouds outside. The silence between you wasn’t gone, but it felt warmer now - filled with possibility instead of pain.

For the first time since the party, it felt like the ice was finally starting to hold both of you.

And you were more than willing to keep skating on it together, one careful, honest step at a time.

The days after the competition unfolded like a slow, careful thaw.

Amber didn’t suddenly become warm and open, but the wall between you had developed visible cracks. She still sat next to you in English every class, and the short exchanges that had started the previous week grew longer, more frequent, and less guarded.

On Tuesday she asked your opinion on a passage about forgiveness.

On Wednesday she told you - quietly, almost shyly - that her scores from Saturday had qualified her for the next sectional event.

On Thursday she lingered after class for almost ten full minutes, the two of you standing in the emptying hallway while she described, in careful detail, how the triple axel had felt that day.

It wasn’t the old banter yet. It wasn’t the charged rivalry that used to spark every time you passed each other in Hurricane Hall. But it was contact. Real contact. And you held onto every word like it was oxygen.

Friday afternoon, after your last class of the week, Amber stopped you outside the liberal arts building as light rain began to fall. She adjusted the strap of her bag, raindrops catching in her hair, and looked at you with an expression that was equal parts nervous and determined.

“I have an idea.” she said, voice quieter than usual but steady.

“My next training session is tomorrow morning at the rink. Early 7 a.m. It’s mostly stroking and choreography, nothing too intense. If… if you’re free, and if you promise not to make it weird or turn it into some big gesture… you could come watch again. From the stands. Like last time. But this time I’ll know you’re there from the beginning.”

You felt something loosen in your chest. “I’d like that. A lot. I’ll be there. No weirdness. Just me, watching you do your thing.”

She nodded once, a small, tentative smile touching her lips. “Okay. Good. And… maybe after? We could grab coffee or something. Talk. Actually talk. Not just the five-minute hallway versions we’ve been doing.”

“Coffee sounds perfect Amber.” you answered, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ll follow your lead. Whatever pace you need.”

Saturday morning arrived cool and clear. You showed up at the rink at 6:50, bought two coffees from the small café in the lobby - one black for you, one with a splash of oat milk for her, the way you’d noticed she liked it during class - and took the same seat in the upper stands you’d used last time.

Amber stepped onto the ice a few minutes after seven. She was in simple black training gear again, hair in the sleek ponytail, no competition dress or makeup.

When she glanced up toward the stands and spotted you, she paused mid-stroke. For a second her expression flickered - surprise, then something softer, almost relieved. She raised one gloved hand in a small, acknowledging wave. You waved back, holding up the coffee cup so she could see it.

She skated her warm-up laps with visible focus, but every so often her eyes drifted back to where you sat. The session was lighter than the competition run - long edges, choreographed arm movements, sections of footwork repeated until they felt perfect. You watched every movement, mesmerized by how fluid she was when she wasn’t performing under pressure.

Halfway through, she landed a clean double axel and immediately looked up again, as if checking whether you were still there. You gave her a thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved upward.

When the session ended at 8:30, she skated to the boards, put on her guards, and headed toward the exit. You met her just outside the locker area, the two coffees still warm in your hands.

She accepted the oat-milk one with a small nod of thanks, wrapping both hands around it. “You actually came again.”

“I told you I would.” you said gently. “How did it feel today? You looked strong out there.”

Amber took a slow sip, leaning against the wall as other skaters moved past. “It felt… good. Cleaner than yesterday. My coach said the choreo is coming together for the next event. But honestly?” She glanced at you, eyes searching. “Knowing you were watching made it different. Not in a bad way. Just… different. Like I wasn’t completely alone on the ice for once.”

You leaned beside her, careful to keep some space. “I liked watching. A lot. You make it look effortless, even when I know it’s not. That double axel at the end - the way you held the landing - it was beautiful.”

She let out a soft laugh, the sound tentative but real. “Beautiful? That’s new coming from you. I remember when you called my sport ‘twirling in sparkly outfits.’”

You winced, but smiled ruefully. “Yeah. I was an idiot. I’ve been an idiot about a lot of things. Watching you skate, really skate - made me realize how much discipline it takes. How much heart. I’m sorry I ever made fun of it.”

Amber studied you for a long moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. The lobby was quieting as morning sessions wrapped up. She took another sip, then spoke again, voice lower and more open than it had been in weeks.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said in class last week. About pride being fear wearing armor. You were right. I’ve been wearing a lot of armor since the party. Not just because you hurt me, though you did but because letting someone in feels scary when my whole life is built on control. On the ice I have to be perfect. Off the ice… I don’t always know how to be anything else. That night upstairs, when I tried to tell you I was overwhelmed, I was terrified. And when you mocked it, it confirmed every fear I had about showing weakness. But then you kept showing up. In class. At the competition. Here again today. Without pushing. Without demanding I forgive you on your timeline. It’s… disarming.”

She shifted her weight, her free hand brushing lightly against your arm for a second before pulling back.

“So I’m trying too.” she continued, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. “Trying to let the armor down a little. I don’t know if I can go back to the old banter yet - the sharp stuff that felt safe because it had rules. But I want to talk. Really talk. About more than just literature or skating technique. About what this is between us. Because it stopped feeling like pure rivalry a long time ago, and I think we both know it.”

You nodded, heart beating faster. “I want that too. More than anything. I’ve missed talking to you - even when it was fighting. But mostly I’ve missed the version of you I saw on the ice that first time I came to the rink. The real one. No mask. No walls. I want to earn the right to see more of her. Not because I want to win anything, but because I care. About you. About whatever this messy thing is turning into.”

Amber’s cheeks flushed slightly. She looked down at her coffee, then back up, a small, genuine smile breaking through.

“You’re dangerously good at saying the right things when you’re not being an ass.” she teased lightly, the first hint of the old spark returning. “It’s annoying. And kind of terrifying. But… I like it. More than I expected to.”

She took a breath, then continued, voice softer but steady. “So here’s the deal. We take it slow. Coffee after training when I feel up to it. More conversations in class that aren’t just about the reading. Maybe… a walk around campus sometime that isn’t me limping away from you. No pressure. No rushing. If I need space again, I’ll tell you. And you have to actually listen this time. Can you do that?”

“Absolutely Amber!” you answered without hesitation. “Slow is good. I’m not going anywhere. And if you need space, I’ll give it. No questions. No sulking. Just respect.”

Amber nodded, the smile lingering a little longer this time. She bumped her shoulder gently against yours - the first deliberate physical contact since the party.

“Good. Because I’m tired of pretending the person across the hall doesn’t matter. And I’m tired of sitting in class wondering if you’re going to say something stupid or something sweet. I like the sweet version better, by the way. Even if it scares me.”

You chuckled softly, the sound warm in the quiet lobby. “Noted. I’ll work on more sweet and less stupid. But fair warning - the rivalry might sneak back in sometimes. Old habits.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in it now. “As long as it doesn’t end with me slapping you again. My hand still feels bad about that, you know.”

“I have to admit , it was hot seeing you like this buuuut you had every right.” you said with a quiet smirk. “I deserved it. And more.”

Amber was quiet for a moment, blushing slightly then spoke again, voice thoughtful. “Good to know but maybe we both deserved better than how that night went. But we can’t change it. We can only decide what comes next. So… next Saturday? Another session? Same deal - you watch, then coffee after if I’m not too drained?”

“I’ll be there.” you promised. “With oat milk. And no stupid comments about twirling.”

She laughed - a real, soft laugh that made something warm bloom in your chest. “Good. Because if you call it twirling again, I’m making you do a spin on the ice yourself. And trust me, your soccer legs are not prepared for that.”

You grinned, the tension between you feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Deal. I’ll stick to watching and learning. And maybe one day you’ll let me try to keep up with you on the ice. Just once. For science.”

Amber shook her head, still smiling. “One step at a time, Captain. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

She finished her coffee and glanced toward the exit. “I should head back. I have choreography notes to go over. But… thank you. For coming again. For listening. For not pushing. It means more than I’ve been able to say.”

You walked her to the parking lot, the morning sun warming the air around you. Before she got into her car, she paused, turning to face you one last time.

“We’re not fixed.” she said honestly. “Not yet. But we’re talking. And that feels like a start.”

“It does.” you agreed. “A really good start.”

She gave you one last small smile - tentative, but real and slipped into the driver’s seat. As she drove away, you stood there for a long moment, the warmth of the conversation settling over you like sunlight after a long freeze.

The rivalry wasn’t gone. The hurt wasn’t erased. But for the first time since the party, you were moving forward together instead of circling each other warily.

And you were more than willing to take every careful, honest step she was ready to give.

One coffee after training at a time. One real conversation at a time. One slow, hopeful thaw at a time.

The weeks that followed the rink conversation unfolded slowly, carefully, like a program being built one element at a time.

Amber let you back in - not all at once, but in small, meaningful increments that felt earned. The short exchanges in English class grew longer and warmer. She started saving the seat next to hers even when you arrived late.

Sometimes she would lean over during lectures and murmur a dry comment about the reading that made you smile.

Other times she asked real questions - about your upcoming games, about how captaincy felt when the pressure mounted, about whether you ever got tired of being “on” all the time. You answered honestly, no bravado, no deflection.

In return, she began sharing pieces of her world: the anxiety before big jumps, the loneliness of early-morning ice time, the way perfectionism could feel like both a gift and a cage.

You started flirting again - lightly at first, testing the waters because she let you. A teasing compliment about how her ponytail looked especially lethal that day. A playful “Careful, Glenn, if you keep sitting this close I might start thinking you actually like my company.” She would roll her eyes, but the corner of her mouth would twitch, and sometimes she’d fire back with something that made the air between you feel warmer, heavier.

The old spark was there, but softer now, less weaponized and more deliberately charged. She let you get away with it. That alone felt dangerous in the best way.

The soccer girls noticed immediately.

“You two are disgustingly cute again.” Mia declared one afternoon in the locker room, wiping sweat from her brow after practice. “The way she looks at you in class? I’m getting secondhand butterflies.”

Jade leaned against her locker, smirking. “Ice princess is thawing. You better lock that down before she realizes she can do better than a turf-stained soccer brute.”

You laughed it off, but the teasing stuck with you. Things were good - tentative, but good.

Then the next big athlete party rolled around.

This one was on a Thursday night - unusual for a weekday, but Tim and Jake from the men’s basketball team had decided to throw an early celebration for their upcoming conference schedule.

The invitation blasted through every athletic group chat: “Everyone welcome. Pool, music, no excuses. Bring your rivalries and your best vibes.” Mia and Jade immediately started hyping it up in the soccer group chat, sending memes and countdowns.

Thursday evening, after a light practice, the team was lounging in the locker room when the topic inevitably turned to you and Amber.

“So, Cap...” Taylor said, tossing a towel at your head, “-you bringing the ice princess to the basketball boys’ party tonight? Or are you two still doing that slow-burn, polite-flirting thing?”

Jade grinned wickedly. “We need her there. The whole athletic department is going. It’ll be legendary. Plus, I wanna see if she can loosen up without turning into a statue when the bass drops.”

Mia waggled her eyebrows. “Come on, you’ve been flirting with her in class like a lovesick idiot. Just ask her already. Get the ice princess to the party. We’ll even save you both a spot by the pool so you can stare at each other dramatically under the string lights.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the grin. “You guys are the worst. It’s not that simple. We’re still figuring things out. I don’t want to push her.”

Jade snorted. “You literally carried her up stairs once. Pushing is kind of your brand. Just ask. Worst she says is no.”

Later that evening, back in Hurricane Hall, you caught Amber in the hallway as she was returning from a late study session. She looked tired but relaxed, her hair down and slightly messy from the day, a light jacket slung over her arm. When she saw you, her expression softened into that small, private almost-smile she’d started giving you again - the one that made your stomach flip.

“Hey Ambs.” you said, leaning against your doorframe, letting your gaze linger on her just a second longer than necessary. “So… Tim and Jake are throwing that big athlete party tonight. Thursday edition, apparently. Whole campus is invited - soccer, basketball, volleyball, even you figure skaters. The girls have been bugging me all afternoon to drag you there. They keep calling you ‘the ice princess’ and saying they need you to balance out all the turf energy.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, but there was a spark of amusement, and something warmer in her eyes. She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, tilting her head slightly as she looked you up and down.

“The ice princess, huh?” she replied, voice low and teasing, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. “Charming. And you’re the one they sent to deliver the invitation? Bold choice. Especially after you’ve been giving me that captain smirk in class like you think you can charm your way back into my good graces.”

You stepped a little closer, keeping your hands in your pockets so you wouldn’t crowd her, but letting your voice drop into that playful, charged register she now allowed. “What can I say? I volunteered. Figured if anyone was going to convince you, it should be me. Besides… I’d like you there. With me. Not as rivals trying to one-up each other, but as whatever we’re becoming. Could be fun. Music, pool, terrible dancing. I promise not to make you do any spins on the dance floor… unless you beg me to show you how it’s done.”

Amber let out a soft, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing just enough to be noticeable. She leaned against her own door, crossing her arms in a way that only accentuated how good she looked in that simple jacket and jeans. Her eyes sparkled with challenge as she fired back.

“Beg you? Careful, Captain. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you’re the one who wants to be spun around. You know I could have you dizzy in under ten seconds on the ice… or off it.” She paused, letting the double meaning hang in the air for a beat before continuing, voice dropping into something smoother, more intimate.

“But seriously - the last party didn’t end well for us. Tell me, honestly… why should I go with you tonight? What’s in it for me besides loud music and your teammates calling me ‘ice princess’ all night?”

You held her gaze, the flirtation simmering but giving way just enough to show sincerity underneath. “Because I want to spend the evening with you. Not fighting. Not proving anything. Just… us, in the middle of the chaos, seeing if we can handle it without falling back into old patterns. I’ll keep it light. No pushing. If it gets too much, we leave. Together. No questions asked. And maybe… maybe I just like the idea of walking in with the most beautiful skater on campus on my arm. Even if she still rolls her eyes at me every five minutes.”

Amber’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching for a fraction of a second before she recovered with a slow, dangerous smile. She pushed off her door and took one step closer, close enough that you could smell her vanilla shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from her.

“You’re getting dangerously smooth.” she murmured, voice laced with teasing heat. “Calling me beautiful like it’s casual. Flirting like you’ve earned the right again. It’s almost working, you know. Almost. But I’m still cautious. I like this version of you - the one who asks instead of assumes, who waits when I need space. Don’t ruin it by turning into the arrogant captain the second the bass hits and your teammates start hyping you up.”

You grinned, unable to stop the spark of challenge that always seemed to flare when she looked at you like that. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But fair warning - if you keep looking at me like you want to both kiss me and argue with me at the same time, I might not be able to behave all night.”

Amber’s eyes darkened with that delicious mix of amusement and heat. She reached out and lightly flicked the collar of your hoodie, her fingers brushing your skin for just a second.

“Behave? Where’s the fun in that?” she said softly, voice dropping into a purr that sent warmth straight down your spine. “But fine. I’ll come. Pick me up at 9. And don’t let the soccer girls hype me up too much when we get there. If they start chanting ‘ice princess,’ I’m holding you personally responsible… and I might make you pay for it later.”

You raised an eyebrow, the flirtatious tension crackling between you. “Pay for it how, exactly? Because that sounds dangerously like a promise.”

She stepped back toward her door, but the smile she gave you was slow and full of intent. “Wouldn’t you like to find out? 9 o’clock, Captain. Don’t be late. I might change my mind and decide the quiet version of you is safer than the one who flirts like he’s trying to win a game.”

You watched her disappear into her room, heart racing and a stupid grin plastered on your face.

At 9:05 you knocked on her door. Amber opened it wearing a simple but effortlessly stylish outfit - black jeans that hugged her long legs, a fitted cropped shirt in soft gray that showed just a sliver of toned midriff, and her hair down in loose waves that made you forget how to speak for a second. She looked beautiful in that understated, devastating way that always caught you off guard.

“Ready to face the chaos?” you asked, offering her your arm with exaggerated chivalry while letting your eyes linger appreciatively. “Because damn, Glenn… you clean up even better than you skate.”

Amber took your arm, but not before giving you a slow once-over and a teasing smirk. “Flattery already? You’re not even trying to be subtle tonight. Careful, keep looking at me like that and people might start thinking the soccer captain has a thing for figure skaters.”

You leaned in just enough to murmur near her ear as you started walking. “Maybe I do. Especially when the figure skater looks at me like she’s deciding whether to kiss me or trip me on the dance floor later.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and a little breathless. “Keep dreaming, Y/LN. But… maybe I’ll let you find out which one it is before the night’s over.”

The flirtatious tension hummed between you the entire walk to the party - light enough to feel fun, heavy enough to promise that whatever came next between you was going to be anything but simple.

And for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t wait to find out what happened when the music got loud and the ice between you finally melted completely.

The bass from inside the house thumped like a second heartbeat, vibrating through the wooden deck and into the humid Florida night. String lights crisscrossed above the backyard pool, casting golden reflections on the rippling water. Laughter and shouted conversations spilled out from the open sliding doors, but out here by the pool it was quieter - still loud enough to feel part of the party, yet far enough to breathe.

You leaned against the metal railing that overlooked the water, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Amber stood beside you, close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushed your arm.

She had a red solo cup in one hand, nursing what looked like mostly soda with a splash of something stronger. Her black jeans and cropped gray top from earlier had been joined by a light denim jacket she’d stolen from your closet before leaving the dorm - something she’d done with a raised eyebrow and a “Don’t even start” when you’d grinned at her.

You’d slipped outside ten minutes ago with the excuse of “just one cigarette.” Amber had narrowed her eyes but ultimately let you go with a soft sigh and a quiet warning.

“Fine. But only one...” she’d said, following you anyway. “And if I see you lighting a second, I’m dragging you back inside by that stupid red hoodie and making you do laps around the pool.”

You’d laughed and promised.

Amber watched you with that familiar mix of amusement and mild disapproval, arms crossed loosely under her chest. The string lights caught in her loose waves of hair, making the dark strands look almost glossy under the warm glow.

“You know those things are terrible for your lungs, right Captain?” she said, voice low but carrying that signature precise tone she used when she was half-scolding, half-teasing. “You run around a soccer field for hours pretending you’re invincible, but one little stick of poison and suddenly you’re fine with it? Cute.”

You exhaled the smoke away from her, smirking as you flicked a bit of ash into the small tray someone had left on the railing. “It’s just one, Ambs. I promised. Besides, it helps take the edge off after a long week of watching you sit next to me in class and not being allowed to say half the things I want to.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Oh please. You’ve been plenty mouthy in those think-pair-shares lately. ‘Pride is fear wearing armor’ -real original, by the way. Almost sounded like you were talking about yourself.”

You chuckled, bringing the cigarette back to your lips for the final drag. The smoke curled lazily into the night air. “Guilty. But I’m working on it. Slowly. Like you wanted.”

Amber hummed, stepping a little closer so her hip rested against the railing beside yours. “Good. Keep working on it. I like this version of you better than the one who laughs when I try to be honest.”

The cigarette was nearly done. You were about to stub it out when Amber suddenly reached over, her fingers brushing yours as she plucked it smoothly from between your lips. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Before you could protest, she brought it to her own mouth, took a quick, deliberate drag, and then - without warning - leaned in close and blew the smoke directly into your face.

The warm, hazy cloud hit you square on. You coughed lightly, more from shock than anything, your cheeks heating instantly as the intimate gesture sent a rush of heat through you. She was so close you could smell her vanilla shampoo mixed with the faint trace of whatever was in her cup and the sharp bite of the cigarette smoke.

“Amber-” you started, voice rough from the cough and the sudden flutter in your chest.

She smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief as she stubbed the cigarette out on the railing and flicked the butt into the tray. “There. Now it’s really done. And you’re blushing, Captain. Cute.”

You blinked, still recovering, a laugh bubbling up despite the way your face burned. You wiped at your eyes lightly and stepped half an inch closer, lowering your voice into that teasing register she’d started allowing again. “Wow. Stealing my cigarette and blowing smoke in my face? That’s bold, princess. I thought we were taking it slow. This feels suspiciously like flirting.”

Amber tilted her head, lips curving into a slow, dangerous little smile. “Flirting? Me? I’m just helping you quit. Consider it tough love from your ice princess.” She reached up and lightly flicked the collar of your hoodie, the same way she had back in the hallway earlier. “Besides… you looked like you needed a little reminder that I can still surprise you.”

You caught her wrist gently before she could pull away, your thumb brushing over the soft skin there for just a second. “Oh, you surprised me alright. Almost made me drop the tough-captain act. Keep doing shit like that and I might start thinking you actually enjoy making me blush.”

Her eyes darkened with amusement and something warmer. “Maybe I do. A little. It’s payback for all those weeks you made me sit in class pretending I wasn’t thinking about you watching me skate.”

You opened your mouth to fire back when two familiar voices cut through the night air.

“Well, well, well - if it isn’t the soccer brute and the ice princess finally playing nice!” Jade’s loud, cheerful voice rang out as she and Mia strolled over from the house, red cups in hand and matching grins plastered on their faces.

Mia whistled low, eyes flicking between the two of you and the proximity you were still standing in. “Damn, Cap. We leave you alone for ten minutes and you already got her out here stealing your cigs? Progress.”

Amber didn’t pull her wrist away immediately. Instead, she gave you one last teasing look before turning toward your teammates, her expression shifting into polite amusement.

Jade slung an arm around Mia’s shoulders, leaning against the railing on your other side. “We came to rescue you, Glenn. This one.” she jerked a thumb at you, “-has been moping around the locker room for weeks. We figured if we didn’t drag her out of her guilt cave, she’d never make a move.”

You groaned, finally releasing Amber’s wrist but staying close. “Thanks for the support, guys. Really feeling the team spirit tonight.”

Mia laughed, taking a sip from her cup. “Hey, we’re just happy you two are talking again. Last time we saw you together it was all death glares and slammed doors in Hurricane Hall. Now you’re out here sharing cigarettes like some dramatic movie scene. What happened? Did the English class slow-burn finally pay off?”

Amber raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Slow-burn? Is that what they’re calling it?” She glanced at you sideways, lips twitching. “I just call it ‘the captain learning how to shut up and wait for once.’”

You clutched your chest in mock offense. “Ouch. Right in front of my teammates? Harsh, Ambs.”

Jade barked out a laugh. “Ambs? Oh we’re on nickname terms now? This is better than I thought. Spill, Glenn. How’d she finally win you back? Was it the pathetic puppy eyes in class? The secret rink visits? Or did she just carry you up more stairs?”

Amber took a slow sip of her drink, eyes sparkling as she played along. “A little of all three, actually. Though the puppy eyes were pretty effective. Hard to stay mad when someone skips their own training just to watch you fall on your ass during practice.”

Mia’s eyes widened with delight. “Wait - she really came to your competition too? Cap didn’t even tell us that part! She just said she had ‘personal stuff’ all weekend. We thought she was dying or something.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly a little embarrassed under the combined teasing. “It wasn’t a big deal…”

“It was Y/N. ” Amber cut in softly, but loud enough for the others to hear. Her voice had that dramatic, heartfelt edge again, the one that always made your stomach flip. “No one’s ever done that for me before. Just… showed up. Sat in the stands. Didn’t make it about them. It was… nice.”

The sincerity in her tone made the banter pause for a beat. Jade whistled low. “Damn. Cap’s got game when she’s not being an idiot.”

“Rare occurrence.” you muttered, but you were smiling.

Mia leaned in conspiratorially toward Amber. “Okay but real talk - how do you put up with her? She’s bossy as hell on the field. Barking orders, making us run suicides when she’s in a mood. Does she do the same thing with you?”

Amber smirked, glancing at you with open challenge. “Oh, she tries. But I’m faster on blades than she is on cleats, so I just glide away when she gets too captain-y. Plus.” she added, voice dropping playfully, “I’ve already slapped her once. She knows better now.”

Jade nearly spit out her drink laughing. “You slapped her? At the last party? That’s legendary. We saw the mark! She tried to play it off as ‘nothing.’ ”

You groaned again, but the warmth in your chest outweighed the embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. I deserved it. Happy now?”

“Very.” Amber said sweetly, bumping her shoulder against yours deliberately this time. “She’s been on her best behavior since. Mostly.”

The four of you fell into easy conversation after that, the banter flowing as naturally as the water in the pool behind you. Jade and Mia grilled Amber about figure skating - asking ridiculous questions like whether she could do a triple axel while drunk or if the sparkly costumes were actually comfortable.

Amber fired back with equal energy, teasing them about how soccer was just “twenty-two people chasing one ball while sweating everywhere” and that at least on the ice she didn’t have to worry about cleat marks on her legs.

You watched the exchange with a stupid grin you couldn’t wipe off your face. Amber was relaxed, sharp, and clearly enjoying herself - trading barbs with your teammates like she’d been part of the group for months instead of weeks of careful thawing. Every so often her eyes would flick back to you, checking in, and you’d answer with a small nod or a quiet laugh that made her shoulders loosen even more.

At one point Mia turned to you, eyes gleaming. “So Cap, when are you gonna let her drag you onto the ice? I wanna see you try a spin. Bet you’d eat shit in two seconds flat.”

Amber’s laugh was bright and genuine. “Oh I’ve already threatened that. She keeps saying ‘for science.’ I told her her soccer legs aren’t prepared.”

You raised your hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m open to it. One day. When you’re ready to hold my hand so I don’t embarrass myself in front of the entire skating club.”

Amber’s gaze softened for a moment, the teasing giving way to something warmer. “Careful. I might actually take you up on that. And I don’t let just anyone hold my hand on the ice.”

Jade fake-gagged. “Okay, you two are gross. The tension is thicker than the humidity out here. Go make out in the corner or something before we all die from secondhand pining.”

Mia nodded vigorously. “For real. We’ll guard the railing. No one will interrupt your dramatic poolside moment.”

You felt your face heat again, but Amber only smirked, stepping just a fraction closer so her arm pressed lightly against yours.

“Maybe later.” she said casually, though her voice had dropped into that low, flirty tone again. “Right now I’m enjoying watching the captain blush every time I steal her cigarette or call her out.”

You turned toward her, voice teasing but soft enough that only she (and maybe the girls) could hear clearly. “Keep stealing things from me and I might start stealing them back, darling. Fair warning.”

Her eyes met yours, sparkling with heat and challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Jade and Mia whooped loudly, clinking their cups together as they continued roasting the both of you. The conversation flowed on - stories from the field, ridiculous skating anecdotes Amber shared with dramatic flair, teasing about who would win in a hypothetical soccer-vs-skating showdown (Amber insisted it was unfair because she had blades and you only had “clumsy cleats”).

You stayed there by the pool for a long time, the four of you talking, laughing, bantering under the string lights. The cigarette was long forgotten. The earlier tension from the party invitation had melted into something lighter, warmer, and full of possibility.

Every once in a while Amber’s hand would brush yours on the railing. She didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

The laughter from Jade and Mia eventually faded into the general roar of the party as they wandered off toward the snack table, still throwing teasing comments over their shoulders about “not doing anything we wouldn’t do.” You and Amber stayed by the railing a little longer, the comfortable silence between you now laced with the kind of easy warmth that had been missing for weeks.

You glanced sideways at her. The string lights painted soft gold across her face, catching in the loose waves of her hair and making her look almost unfairly beautiful. She was still holding the red solo cup, occasionally taking small sips while her shoulder rested lightly against yours.

“Hey.” you said softly, nudging her arm with your elbow. “Want to get away from the railing for a bit? It’s getting crowded out here. There’s a smaller pool in the back garden - more chill, fewer people screaming directly into your ear. Come with me?”

Amber raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into that familiar half-smirk that always made your stomach flip. “Smaller pool? Are you trying to lure me into another dramatic setting, Captain? Last time we were near water I think you were busy pretending not to stare at me.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “No luring. Promise. Just… quieter. And I want to talk to you without Jade and Mia providing color commentary every five seconds. Unless you’d rather stay here and let them keep roasting us?”

She pretended to think about it, tapping her finger against her cup. “Tempting. Their commentary is top-tier. But fine. Lead the way, soccer brute. If it gets too loud again, I’m blaming you.”

You grinned and offered her your arm with exaggerated chivalry - the same way you had when you’d picked her up earlier. Amber rolled her eyes but took it anyway, her fingers curling lightly around your bicep as you wove through the scattered groups of athletes on the deck.

The music inside pulsed louder as you passed the open doors, but you steered her toward the side gate that led into the garden area behind the main house.

The back garden was noticeably calmer. Fairy lights were strung between palm trees, and a smaller, kidney-shaped pool glowed turquoise under submerged lights. A few people lounged on the surrounding lounge chairs or dangled their feet in the water, but it was far less chaotic than the main pool. The air smelled of chlorine, citrus from someone’s drink, and the faint sweetness of night-blooming jasmine.

You found a pair of empty lounge chairs near the edge of the pool, close enough to the water that you could hear the gentle lap of waves against the tiles. You both sat down, shoulders brushing again as you settled in. Amber kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs underneath her, turning slightly toward you.

“This is better.” she admitted, voice softer now that the main party noise was muffled. “I like when it’s not ninety people shouting at once. Reminds me of the rink after hours - quiet, but still alive.”

You nodded, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Yeah. I get that. After a loud game, the locker room empties out and it’s just… calm. Helps me think. Though lately all I’ve been thinking about is a certain figure skater who keeps sitting next to me in English and making it impossible to focus on unreliable narrators.”

Amber laughed lightly, the sound warm and genuine. It sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Flattery again? You’re really laying it on thick tonight. Careful, or I might start believing you actually missed me that much during the ghosting phase.”

“I did miss you.” you said honestly, turning to face her more fully. “Even when you were sitting three rows away and pretending I didn’t exist. The silence was worse than any suicide drill Coach could invent.”

She hummed, her eyes scanning your face. “Good. You deserved a little suffering. But… I missed the banter too. The stupid rivalry comments. The way you’d look at me like you wanted to argue and kiss me at the same time.” Her voice dropped on the last part, playful but edged with something real.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Still do, by the way. The arguing-and-kissing thing. Not that I’m pushing. Just… stating facts.”

Amber’s laugh was brighter this time, and she bumped her shoulder against yours. “Stating facts, huh? Bold. I like this honest version of you. Less arrogant captain, more… human.”

You opened your mouth to reply when a sudden idea sparked in your mind. Your eyes flicked to the sleek black purse she’d brought - small, elegant, resting beside her on the chair. A mischievous grin spread across your face.

“Hey, Ambs… can I see your purse for a second?”

She blinked, tilting her head in confusion. “My purse? Why?”

“I want to take a picture of you.” you said, already reaching for your phone in your back pocket. “Right here, by the pool. The lighting is perfect with the fairy lights and the water glow. You look… really good tonight. I want to capture it before the night gets too crazy.”

Amber narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but there was amusement dancing in them. “A picture? That’s suspiciously sweet. Are you planning to use it as blackmail material later?”

“Cross my heart.” you said, holding up your hands. “Just a nice picture. Come on, humor me. Stand up by the edge there - maybe lean against the railing or something. Pose however you want. You’re a performer. I know you’ve got good angles.”

She laughed again, shaking her head as she stood up and handed you her purse. “Fine. But if this ends up as your lock screen or something embarrassing, I’m making you do that spin on the ice I keep threatening.”

“Deal.” you grinned, taking the purse and setting it safely on the chair. You stepped back a few paces, phone raised. “Okay, perfect. Just… look natural. Or dramatic. Whatever feels right.”

Amber played along, stepping closer to the pool’s edge. She tilted her head slightly, one hand resting on her hip, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

The turquoise light from the water reflected up onto her face, making her eyes sparkle. She struck a graceful pose - shoulders back, chin lifted, the same elegant line she used in her programs.

“Like this?” she asked, voice playful. “Or should I do the competition smile? Full teeth, zero soul?”

You chuckled, snapping a couple of photos. “No competition smile. The real one. The one you had after your short program when you saw me in the stands. That surprised, soft look.”

She softened immediately, her expression shifting into something more genuine - lips curving gently, eyes meeting yours across the short distance. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

“Just a few more.” you said, lowering the phone slightly. Then, with perfect casualness, you asked, “Hey, quick question… do you like getting wet? Or do you like water in general?”

Amber’s brow furrowed in confusion, still holding the pose. “What kind of weird - wait, both? I mean, I literally train on ice, so water is kind of my thing. Why are you -”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

With a sudden burst of athletic energy, you dropped the phone onto the lounge chair, lunged forward like you were charging for a loose ball on the football field, and wrapped your arms around her waist in a controlled but unstoppable tackle. Amber let out a startled yelp as you both went crashing into the pool beside her.

The water exploded around you in a massive splash. The cool shock hit instantly, soaking through your clothes and hair. You surfaced first, sputtering and laughing, still holding onto her as the water lapped around your shoulders.

Amber came up a second later, hair plastered to her face and neck, eyes wide with pure stunned disbelief. Water streamed down her cheeks as she pushed wet strands out of her eyes.

“You-!” she gasped, half-laughing, half-shocked. She shoved at your chest with both hands, but there was no real anger behind it - just playful indignation and the bright spark of surprise. “You absolute ass! I can’t believe you just did that! I was posing!”

You were laughing too hard to answer right away, the sound echoing across the garden pool. “I asked if you liked getting wet! You said yes!”

“I said I like water - there’s a difference!” she spluttered, still pushing at you, though her hands lingered on your soaked hoodie. Her voice cracked with laughter now, the dramatic edge she sometimes got making the whole thing even funnier. “I thought you were being weirdly philosophical or something! Not planning a full football tackle!”

Around you, the small group of people who had been lounging nearby erupted into cheers and screams.

“Holy shit, did you see that?!” someone yelled.

“Pool party’s officially started!”

“Get in here!”

Within seconds, more bodies were launching themselves into the water - friends jumping from the edges, cannonballs sending fresh waves crashing over everyone. The once-calm garden pool turned into a chaotic, joyful mess of splashing and shouting.

Amber pushed you again, harder this time but still clearly not mad - just stunned and exhilarated. “I’m going to kill you.” she said, but she was grinning now, water dripping from her lashes. “Right after I finish laughing. You’re insane. My purse is on the chair - my phone was in there! If it’s ruined, you’re buying me a new one and carrying my skate bag for the rest of the semester.”

You grinned back, completely unrepentant, treading water easily in the now-crowded pool. “Worth it. You should see your face right now. Priceless. And don’t worry - I put your purse on the chair before the lunge. Safe and dry. I’m not a complete monster.”

She narrowed her eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way she was still laughing, the sound bright and breathless. “You planned this? The whole ‘take a picture’ thing was a setup? You sneaky captain…”

“Guilty princess.” you admitted, swimming a little closer. “But come on, admit it - it was funny. And you look good wet, Glenn. Really good.”

Amber’s cheeks flushed despite the cool water, and she splashed a wave of water directly into your face. “Shut up! You’re the worst. I was trying to be elegant for your stupid picture and you turned it into a WWE match.”

You wiped the water from your eyes, still chuckling, and reached out to gently grab her waist under the water, pulling her closer to you. She didn’t resist - only let out another surprised laugh as you spun her slowly around in the water, the two of you turning in a lazy circle while chaos erupted around you.

“See?” you said, voice lower now that she was close again, your hands steady on her hips as you kept her floating with you. “This is better than posing. No pressure, no perfect lines. Just us, completely soaked, in the middle of a party we probably shouldn’t be this comfortable at.”

Amber looped her arms around your neck to keep balance, her wet hair sticking to both of you as she looked up at you. Her eyes were bright with a mix of exasperation, amusement, and that same warm spark from earlier. “You’re impossible. I should be mad. I should be plotting revenge right now - maybe making you do actual spins on the ice tomorrow morning. But somehow I’m just… laughing. With you. In a pool. Fully clothed.”

You spun her again, slower this time, the water swirling around your bodies. “That’s the goal. Make you laugh instead of ghost me. Or slap me. Though the slapping was kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

She groaned dramatically, resting her forehead against your shoulder for a second before pulling back to splash you again. “Do not bring that up right now. I still feel bad about it. Even if you deserved every second.”

The party around you had fully descended into a full-blown pool celebration - more people jumping in, music drifting from the house, someone starting an impromptu chicken fight on the other side. But right here, with Amber’s arms around your neck and her body close in the glowing turquoise water, the noise felt distant.

You kept one hand on her waist, the other brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “Hey… you okay? Not actually mad? I got carried away with the idea. It just seemed like the perfect chaotic way to break the last of the ice.”

Amber shook her head, still smiling that soft, genuine smile that made your chest tight. She tightened her arms around your neck, pulling herself a little closer so your foreheads almost touched.

“I’m not mad Y/N.” she said quietly, voice cutting through the laughter and splashes. “Stunned? Yes. Wet? Obviously. But mad? No. It’s… kind of perfect, actually. Messy and impulsive and exactly the kind of thing the old rivalry version of us would have turned into a fight. But now it’s just… fun. With you.”

You laughed softly, spinning her once more in the water. “Good. Because I’ve been dying to do something stupid with you again. Something that doesn’t end in silence or guilt. This feels right.”

She bit her lip, eyes flicking down to your mouth for a brief second before meeting your gaze again. “You’re still an idiot. A very charming, very soaked idiot. But… I think I like this version even more than the one who waits patiently in class.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment - floating together, laughing quietly as people cheered and splashed around you - while the party raged on. The fairy lights reflected in the water, the cool night air contrasting with the warmth building between your bodies.

Amber’s fingers played with the wet collar of your hoodie. “Just so you know.” she murmured, voice teasing but soft, “you owe me dry clothes and another coffee after this. And maybe a real picture - one where I’m not being tackled like a football player.”

You grinned, pulling her even closer. “Deal. Anything you want, ice princess. As long as you keep laughing like that with me.”

She laughed again - bright, unrestrained, and completely real before splashing you once more for good measure.

The ice wasn’t just melting anymore. It was gone.

The chaos in the garden pool had only grown louder - more athletes jumping in, someone starting a terrible rendition of a chant from the soccer team, splashes flying everywhere. You and Amber stayed tangled together for a few more minutes, laughing breathlessly as the water swirled around you. Eventually the cold started to seep in, and the weight of your soaked clothes made every movement heavier.

“Come on.” you said, still grinning as you kept one arm loosely around her waist. “We should get out before we turn into actual ice sculptures. You’ve got training tomorrow, right?”

Amber groaned dramatically, pushing wet hair out of her face. “Don’t remind me. My coach is going to kill me if I show up with chlorine hair and puffy eyes from laughing too hard.” She gave you one last playful shove, eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is entirely your fault, by the way. I was posing elegantly. Now I look like a drowned rat… and somehow you still look stupidly attractive all wet and messy. Unfair advantage, Captain.”

You laughed. “You look hot as a drowned rat.”

Amber smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Careful with the compliments. I might start thinking you’re trying to get back in my good graces after that football tackle.” She leaned in just enough for her breath to brush your ear. “Or maybe you’re just hoping I’ll let you tackle me again sometime… in a more private setting.”

Your face heated instantly. Before you could reply, she was already swimming toward the edge with a smug little laugh.

You both hoisted yourselves out, water streaming off you. Amber wrung out her hair with both hands, shivering slightly but still wearing that confident, teasing smile.

“God, everything is soaked.” she muttered, then glanced at you sideways. “Including my patience with your impulsive ideas. But I have to admit… it was kind of fun watching the big strong soccer captain make a complete fool of herself just to get me wet.”

You groaned, grabbing towels and draping one over her shoulders. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” she purred, pulling the towel tighter around herself. “I’m filing it away for future blackmail. ‘Remember that time you tackled me into the pool like a linebacker because you wanted to see me all wet?’ Has a nice ring to it.”

The walk back to Hurricane Hall was filled with her relentless teasing. Every squelch of your shoes earned a comment.

“Listen to you.” Amber laughed, linking her arm with yours despite both of you dripping everywhere. “Squelch, squelch, squelch. Very captain-like. Very graceful. I bet your teammates would love to see their fearless leader right now.”

“You’re one to talk.” you shot back. “Your hair looks like you lost a fight with a hurricane.”

She flipped her wet strands dramatically over her shoulder. “At least I make it look good. You just look like a soggy golden retriever who finally caught the ball.” She squeezed your arm, voice dropping into that low, flirty tone. “A very cute soggy golden retriever, though. I could get used to this look on you.”

By the time you reached her door, both of you were shivering and giggling. Amber fumbled with her key, then pushed the door open.

“My room. Now.” she ordered, stepping inside and holding the door for you with a pointed look. “You’re not tracking lake water inside your room, Plus…” She gave you a slow once-over, eyes lingering. “I like the idea of you in my space tonight. Shower first. I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

She rummaged through her drawers and tossed you a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized Miami hoodie. “These should fit. Try not to look too good in them - I still need the upper hand here.”

You showered quickly, the hot water blissful. When you stepped out in her borrowed clothes, hair damp, Amber was waiting. She looked you up and down slowly, lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

“Not bad.” she said, voice silky. “My clothes look annoyingly good on you. It’s almost criminal how well that hoodie sits on your shoulders.” She stepped closer, adjusting the collar with deliberate fingers, her touch light but lingering. “Though I think I prefer you without the clothes… but we’re taking it slow, remember? Don’t get any ideas, Captain.”

Your face burned. Amber laughed softly, clearly enjoying herself, then disappeared into the bathroom with her own change of clothes.

You sat awkwardly on the small wooden stool by her desk, not wanting to presume too much. The bed looked incredibly inviting, but after everything, you didn’t want to cross any lines.

The shower ran for a while. You could hear her humming faintly - some elegant piece she probably skated to. When the water finally stopped and the door opened, Amber emerged in soft gray sleep shorts and a loose tank top, damp hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She smelled like vanilla and fresh soap, cheeks flushed from the heat. She looked soft, beautiful, and dangerously in control.

She stopped in the middle of the room when she saw you on the stool.

Amber tilted her head, a slow, amused smile spreading across her face. “Why are you sitting there like a punished puppy? The bed is literally right there, Y/N.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, blushing hard. “I… didn’t want to invade your space too much. You’ve been really clear about taking things slow, and after the pool I already did enough impulsive shit tonight. I figured I’d wait until you told me where to go. Or if you even wanted me staying over.”

Amber let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and crossed the room to stand directly in front of you. She looked down at you with that confident, slightly smug expression that made your heart race.

“Oh, Y/N.” she murmured, voice low and teasing. “Still playing the respectful gentlewoman even after tackling me into a pool? How adorable.” She reached down and took your hand firmly, tugging you up from the stool with surprising strength. “Get up. You’re not sleeping on a stool in my room like some awkward stranger. I brought you in here. I lent you my clothes. I want you in my bed.”

You let her pull you toward the mattress, pulse quickening. “You sure? I can still-”

“Stop.” Amber cut you off, her tone playful but firm. She gave your hand a squeeze before releasing it to climb onto the bed first. “I’m sure. In fact…” She patted the space right beside her, eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’m insisting. Come here. Right now. Don’t make me drag you in like you dragged me into the pool.”

You climbed in, heart hammering. Amber immediately scooted closer, arranging the blankets over both of you with deliberate slowness.

“There...” she said, satisfied. “Much better. See? Not so hard.” She turned onto her side to face you, one hand propping up her head. Her eyes raked over you slowly. “Look at you… all cozy in my clothes, in my bed. You’re blushing again. It’s cute how you get all shy the second I take control. I could get used to this power dynamic.”

You laughed softly, trying to play it cool even as your face heated. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely yes.” Amber admitted without shame, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper. “After weeks of you being all patient and respectful and ‘giving me space’… it feels good to finally have you exactly where I want you. In my bed. Wearing my clothes. Looking at me like you’re waiting for permission to breathe.” She reached out and lightly traced a finger down your arm. “Tell me, Captain… does it drive you crazy when I have the upper hand like this?”

“Yeah...” you admitted, voice rough. “A little.”

“Good.” She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Because I like it. A lot.” Her eyes flicked to your mouth for a moment before returning to yours. “You tackled me into the pool tonight like you owned the moment. Now it’s my turn to decide how the night ends. And right now…” She shifted even closer, her leg brushing yours under the blanket, “I’ve decided you’re staying right here. Close. No running across the hall. No stool. Just you and me.”

You swallowed, the air between you growing warmer. “Amber…”

“Yes?” she asked innocently, though her smirk said anything but. “Something you want to say? Or are you just going to keep looking at me like that - all flustered and adorable?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re dangerous when you’re like this.”

“I know.” She leaned in until her forehead almost touched yours, voice a soft purr. “And you like it. Don’t deny it. After all that waiting and all those careful conversations in class… you’ve earned a night where I get to tease you a little.”

She paused, then added with a wicked little grin, “Though if you keep staring at my mouth like that, I might start thinking you want me to do something about it. But we’re taking it slow… right, Captain? Or are you suddenly feeling impatient?”

Your breath caught. Amber laughed softly, clearly delighted by your reaction.

“See? That’s what I thought.” she murmured, her fingers now tracing lazy circles on your shoulder over the hoodie. “So obedient tonight. It’s almost too easy to mess with you. I could keep you like this for hours -just talking, teasing, watching you try not to blush every time I get close.” She shifted her leg so it rested more deliberately against yours. “Tell me… how does it feel knowing the ice princess has you right where she wants you?”

“Terrifying..” you muttered, but you were smiling. “And really, really good.”

Amber’s laugh was bright and victorious. “Good answer. Keep being honest like that and I might reward you.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper against your ear. “Maybe let you tackle me again sometime… but only if I get to pin you down afterward. How does that sound, baby?”

You groaned, burying your face halfway into the pillow. “You’re killing me, Glenn.”

“Perfect.” she purred, clearly enjoying every second. “That’s exactly the plan. I like having you all flustered and squirming in my bed. It’s a nice change from you being the big confident captain on the field.” Her hand slid down to rest lightly on your waist, fingers playing with the hem of the borrowed hoodie. “You know… if you ask nicely, I might even let you hold me properly. But you have to use your words. No impulsive tackles this time.”

You turned your head to look at her, heart racing. “Can I hold you?”

Amber pretended to think about it, biting her lip in that unfairly attractive way. “Hmm… say please first.”

“Please, Ambs...” you said, voice low.

She smiled triumphantly. “There we go. Good girl.” Then she finally closed the last bit of distance, letting you wrap your arm around her as she snuggled into your side, her head resting on your shoulder. “Much better. See how nice it is when you let me call the shots?”

"Shut up."

The two of you lay there, faces close, the lamp still casting a gentle glow. Amber kept the flirty pressure on with light touches, teasing comments, and that confident little smirk every time she caught you blushing or stumbling over your words.

“You’re warm.” she murmured after a quiet moment, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “And you smell like my shampoo now. I think I like marking you with my clothes and my scent.” She tilted her head up to look at you, eyes sparkling. “Next time maybe I’ll lend you something even smaller… see how flustered you get then.”

“Next time?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Amber’s smirk widened. “Oh yes. There will definitely be a next time. I’m not letting you escape my bed that easily now that I’ve got you here.” She yawned softly but didn’t pull away. “Now be quiet and let me enjoy having the upper hand. We can talk more in the morning… or not talk. Depends how nicely you behave for me tonight.”

You smiled into the darkness as you reached over and turned off the lamp. Amber’s arm draped across your waist, her body warm and relaxed against yours, still radiating that playful confidence.

“Night, princess.” you whispered.

“Night, Captain.” she replied softly, but you could hear the smirk in her voice. “Sweet dreams. Try not to dream about tackling me… unless I’m the one doing the tackling this time.”

The room fell quiet, filled only with her steady breathing and the faint beat of your heart. Amber had the upper hand tonight, and she was clearly savoring every teasing, flirty second of it - pulling you deeper into whatever this beautiful, complicated thing between you was becoming.

And you wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

POV: You're a senior at Miami University. Rumor has it going that a very talented figure skater has joined the University. Will you two cross paths or will things go unnoticed?

-- around 11k words -- link to ch1. -- link to ch2. -- link to ch4.

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　

warnings: academical stress; arguing; rivaly; banter; eventual smut - kidding there will be ; switch!amber; switch!reader; flirting; drinking; smoking; fluff; injury; teasing: makeout; kissing

Find more stories on my masterlist. Pinned Post

-------YOUR POV--------

Morning light filtered softly through the thin curtains of Amber’s dorm room, casting a warm, golden haze over everything. You woke up with a sharp gasp, heart pounding hard against your ribs and your body burning with heat that had nothing to do with the blankets.

The dream was still vivid behind your eyelids.

In it, Amber had you pinned against the boards of the empty ice rink, her body pressed flush against yours, damp hair from training sticking to her neck. She was wearing nothing but her competition skirt and a sports bra, breathing heavy as she whispered filthy things against your ear. “You tackled me into the pool… now it’s my turn to take you down, Captain.” Her hands had been everywhere, confident and teasing, her mouth hot on your skin as she rocked against you slowly, whispering how long she’d wanted to ruin that respectful patience you’d been clinging to. The dream had felt so real - the cold ice at your back, the heat of her body, the way she smirked when you moaned her name.

You woke up painfully aroused, thighs pressed together instinctively, face flushed and breathing uneven. Fuck.

Amber was already awake.

She was lying on her side facing you, head propped up on one hand, her loose tank top slightly slipped off one shoulder. Her hair was adorably messy from sleep, and those sharp, knowing eyes were watching you with clear amusement. She looked soft and dangerous at the same time.

You quickly turned onto your back, trying to hide the obvious reaction under the blanket. Your face burned with embarrassment. Of all the nights to have a dream like that - while sleeping right next to her.

“Morning...” Amber said, voice still husky from sleep but already carrying that teasing lilt. She studied your face for a long second. “You okay? You woke up like someone just shocked you with a defibrillator.”

You cleared your throat, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah. Fine. Just… a weird dream. No big deal.”

Amber’s eyebrow arched slowly. She shifted closer under the blanket, her bare leg brushing against yours. “A weird dream huh?” she repeated, clearly not buying it. “You’re breathing like you just finished a suicide drill, your face is bright red and you won’t even look at me. Try again, Captain.”

You pulled the blanket higher, mortified. The lingering heat from the dream made it impossible to calm down, especially with her this close - warm, soft, and way too perceptive. “It’s nothing, Amber. Really. Can we just… go back to sleep or get coffee or something?”

“No.” Her voice was playful but firm. She reached out and gently tugged the blanket down a little, exposing more of your flushed neck and chest. “You’re a terrible liar in the morning. It’s actually kind of adorable. Come on… tell me what’s wrong. Or should I say, what’s got you so worked up?”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Amber, please. It’s embarrassing.”

“That just makes me want to know more.” She laughed softly, the sound low and warm. She scooted even closer until her body was almost pressed against your side. Her fingers traced lazy circles on your arm. “Was it a nightmare? Did dream-me slap you again? Or…” Her voice dropped suggestively, “was it the good kind of dream?”

Your silence and the way your body tensed gave you away instantly.

Amber’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh my god. It was the good kind.” She bit her lip to hold back a grin, but failed miserably. “You had a dirty dream, didn’t you? While sleeping right next to me?”

“Amber-” you whined, voice cracking with embarrassment. You kept your hands over your face, wishing the bed would swallow you whole. “Can we not do this right now? It’s mortifying. You were literally right here and I...”

“And you what?” she pressed, clearly enjoying herself way too much. She gently pried one of your hands away from your face so she could see your eyes. Her expression was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity and heat behind it. “Tell me. What was dream-me doing to you that has you this shaken up and horny?”

You swallowed hard, face burning hotter than the Florida sun. After a long, reluctant pause, you muttered, barely audible. “You… you had me pinned against the boards at the rink. You were barely dressed - just your skating skirt and sports bra. You kept teasing me about the pool… saying it was your turn to take me down. You were… grinding on me. Whispering really filthy shit in my ear. Telling me how long you wanted to ruin my ‘respectful captain’ act.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet room.

Amber was quiet for a beat.

Then she let out a surprised, breathy laugh - not mocking, but genuinely caught off guard in the best way. Her cheeks flushed pink, but her eyes darkened with interest.

“Wow...” she murmured, clearly surprised but not upset. “That’s… detailed.” She shifted so she was half leaning over you, looking down at your embarrassed face with a mix of amusement and something much hotter. “You dreamed about me pinning you down on the ice and talking dirty to you? While I was sleeping right beside you the whole time?”

You nodded weakly, still mortified. “Yeah. It felt really fucking real. I woke up like this and you were already awake staring at me… I didn’t want to bother you with it. It’s embarrassing as hell to have a sex dream about the girl who’s literally sharing a bed with me after we’ve barely started fixing things.”

Amber’s expression softened for a moment, but the teasing spark quickly returned. She brushed a strand of hair out of your face, her touch lingering.

“Embarrassing?” she echoed, voice low and silky. “Or hot?” She leaned down closer, her breath brushing your ear the same way dream-her had. “Because hearing that you dreamed about me dominating you on the ice… grinding on you… whispering filthy things… is doing things to me, Captain.”

You let out a shaky breath, body reacting instantly to her words and proximity. “Amber…”

“What?” she asked innocently, though her smirk was anything but. “You think I’m mad? Surprised, yes. Definitely surprised. I didn’t expect you to have such a vivid imagination so soon.” She trailed her fingers down your neck slowly. “But bad? No. Not even a little.”

She paused, then added with a wicked little smile, “So… was I any good in the dream? Did dream-me make you moan my name nicely?”

You groaned loudly, turning your face into the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

Amber laughed brightly, the sound warm and victorious. She gently turned your face back toward her with two fingers under your chin.

“I’m the worst? After you had a whole porno dream about me?” She tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “Come on, be honest. How turned on are you right now? Scale of one to ten. And don’t lie - I can feel how tense you are.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “Like… an eleven.”

Her smile turned smug and satisfied. “Good. That’s what I thought.” She stayed close, her leg now draped lightly over yours under the blanket. “You know what’s funny? I was lying here watching you sleep for the last twenty minutes, thinking how sweet and respectful you were being… and the whole time you were dreaming about me pinning you down and ruining you.”

She leaned in until her lips were inches from yours, voice dropping into that dangerous purr again.

“Tell me more about the dream baby...” she whispered teasingly. “What exactly did I say to you on the ice? Did I call you a good girl when you moaned for me?”

“Amber, fuck-” you breathed, half embarrassed, half painfully turned on by how much she was enjoying this.

She laughed again, softer this time, and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your flushed cheek.

“Relax, Captain.” she murmured against your skin. “I’m not making fun of you. Not really. It’s actually really hot that your brain went there while I was right next to you.” Her fingers traced your jaw. “We’re still taking it slow… but knowing you dream about me like that? It makes me want to make a few of those details real someday.”

You finally met her eyes, still embarrassed but relieved she wasn’t weirded out. “You’re really not bothered?”

“Bothered?” Amber smirked, her thumb brushing your lower lip. “No. Turned on? A little. Flattered? Very.” She settled back down beside you, but kept her leg over yours and her hand resting possessively on your stomach. “Though now I’m going to be thinking about pinning you against the boards every time I train. Thanks for that mental image.”

You let out a weak laugh, the tension slowly easing even as the arousal lingered. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Never!” she confirmed cheerfully, snuggling closer. “But hey… if you ever want the real version instead of just dreaming about it… you know where to find me.” She paused, then added with a wicked grin, “Just maybe not right before I have morning training. I need to be able to walk straight on the ice.”

You groaned again, burying your face in her shoulder as she laughed - bright, teasing, and warm.

The morning had barely started, and Amber already had the upper hand again.

And somehow, you were completely okay with it.

You lay there for a few more minutes, heart still racing, as Amber continued to tease you lightly with soft touches and smug little comments. Eventually, the reality of the day ahead forced both of you to move.

“Alright, dream girl.” Amber said with a playful sigh, finally rolling out of bed. “As much as I’d love to keep interrogating you about your little ice-rink fantasy, I have morning practice and you have classes. Up. We both need to get ready.”

You groaned but followed her lead, still feeling the lingering heat from both the dream and her teasing. While Amber disappeared into the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair, you tried to shake off the embarrassment and the persistent arousal.

The dream kept replaying in your mind in vivid detail…

She ground her hips against you harder, the thin fabric of her skirt riding up as she moved. “I’ve been thinking about this… about shutting that cocky mouth of yours. Making the big strong soccer captain fall apart on my ice.” Her free hand slid down your body, nails lightly scraping over your stomach. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you want the ice princess to ruin you.”

Every roll of her hips had been slow and confident, her breath hot against your neck as she nipped at your skin. She kept whispering filthy praises, “Good girl… just like that…” , while the cold boards at your back contrasted sharply with the burning heat of her body. The dream had felt so real that when you woke up, your body was still throbbing with need.

You shook your head hard, trying to clear the images as you got dressed in your own clothes (which Amber had thrown in the dryer while you showered last night).

Amber emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and focused - ponytail sleek, practice clothes on, a light hoodie over her tank top. She caught you staring into space and smirked knowingly.

“Still thinking about it?” she asked, voice dripping with amusement. “Your face is doing that cute flushed thing again.”

“Shut up...” you muttered, grabbing your bag. “Let’s just go before I die of embarrassment.”

She laughed and bumped her shoulder against yours as you both left her room together.

The walk across campus was comfortable, filled with light conversation and more of Amber’s gentle teasing. You dropped her off at the ice rink with a quick “Good luck at practice” and a promise to see her in English Lit later, then headed to your morning classes.

Later that afternoon, you walked into English Literature and immediately felt the shift in energy.

The moment you and Amber entered the lecture hall together - her sliding into the seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world - several athletes from different teams started cheering and whistling.

“Yo! There she is!” one of the basketball guys yelled from the back row.

“Linebacker of the year!” someone else shouted.

A group of soccer players, including Jade and Mia, were already grinning like idiots. Jade held up her phone, waving it dramatically.

“Cap! We made a compilation! You gotta see this shit!”

Before you could protest, Jade and Mia crowded around your desk along with a few others. They hit play on a video someone had clearly edited last night. The clip started with you lunging at Amber like a defensive tackle, arms wrapping around her waist as you both crashed into the pool in a massive splash. The video then cut to slow-motion replays, dramatic zooms on Amber’s shocked face, and text overlays that read:

“SOCCER CAPTAIN TACKLES ICE PRINCESS LIKE A LINEBACKER 💀” “POOL PARTY OFFICIALLY STARTED” “Rivals to… whatever this is”

The entire athletic section of the class erupted in laughter and cheers. Someone even started a slow clap.

Amber buried her face in her hands for a second, but she was laughing too - bright and unrestrained. Her cheeks were pink, but she handled it with graceful amusement.

You rubbed the back of your neck, grinning despite the embarrassment. “Really? You guys had time to edit a whole video?”

Mia slapped you on the shoulder, cackling. “Bro, it was too good not to! The way you just launched at her - full football form! And Amber’s face when you hit the water? Priceless.”

Jade leaned over Amber’s desk, smirking wickedly. “So Glenn, how does it feel to be body-slammed by our captain? You two looked real cozy floating around in there afterward.”

Amber lifted her head, still laughing as she shot Jade a challenging look. “It felt like being attacked by an overexcited golden retriever. Very romantic.” She glanced sideways at you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Though I have to admit… the captain has good tackling technique. Very… enthusiastic.”

The class laughed harder. Mia waggled her eyebrows. “Enthusiastic, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now? We all saw how you two were wrapped up in each other in the pool. Looked like more than just ‘taking it slow’ to me.”

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling. “You guys are the worst. It was just a stupid impulse.”

“Stupid impulse that got the whole party jumping in the pool tho.” Jade pointed out. “Legendary move, Cap. Though next time maybe warn the ice princess before you turn her into a human cannonball.”

Amber turned to you, her expression mock-serious but clearly amused. “Yes, next time a little warning would be nice. Or at least let me take my shoes off first.” She paused, then added with a sly smile, “Though I suppose I can forgive the lack of warning… since the aftermath wasn’t terrible.”

Jade and Mia made exaggerated gagging noises.

“Oh my god, they’re disgusting already.” Mia said. “One pool tackle and suddenly they’re flirting in public. What happened to the silent brooding in class?”

Amber leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with that confident little smirk you were growing very fond of. “The silent brooding phase is over. Now I get to publicly embarrass the captain for tackling me like a linebacker while she was trying to take a cute picture.”

Professor Ramirez walked in at that moment, saving you from further roasting. As class started, Amber’s hand brushed yours under the desk - a secret, reassuring touch.

She leaned over slightly during the first quiet moment and whispered, just loud enough for you to hear:

“By the way… if you ever want to recreate parts of that dream on actual ice, you should probably work on your balance first.”

Her eyes sparkled with teasing heat. “I’d hate for the real thing to be less impressive than the dream version.”

You nearly choked on air.

Amber just smiled innocently and turned her attention back to the lecture, leaving you flushed and grinning like an idiot beside her.

The ice princess had definitely reclaimed the upper hand.

And you were loving every second of it.

Professor Ramirez had barely started her lecture on modernist symbolism when the low hum of whispers and occasional chuckles from the athletic crowd finally died down. You tried to focus on your notebook, but it was nearly impossible with Amber sitting right beside you, radiating smug energy.

She waited until Ramirez turned toward the whiteboard before leaning slightly closer, her shoulder brushing yours. Her voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for you.

“So…” she murmured, eyes fixed forward as if she were paying perfect attention, “still thinking about your little dream? Or has the public humiliation from your teammates successfully killed the mood?”

You shot her a sideways glance, cheeks already warming again. “You’re evil.”

Amber’s lips curved into a tiny, satisfied smirk. She tapped her pen lightly against her notebook, pretending to take notes while continuing in that soft, teasing tone.

“Evil? I’m just being supportive. After all, I’m the star of your dirty little ice-rink fantasy.” She paused, then added even quieter, “Tell me, Captain… in the dream, when I had you pinned against the boards, did I do this?”

Under the desk, her leg slowly slid against yours, pressing her thigh firmly into your space for just a few seconds before pulling back. The deliberate touch sent a spark straight through you.

You inhaled sharply and muttered under your breath, “Amber, we’re in class.”

“Exactly baby...” she whispered, clearly delighted by your reaction. “That makes it more fun. No one knows I’m torturing you right now.” She tilted her head slightly, still looking perfectly composed. “Except you. And you’re turning the most adorable shade of red.”

You tried to focus on Ramirez’s voice discussing fragmented narratives, but Amber wasn’t done.

A minute later, she leaned in again, her breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“In the dream… when I was grinding on you.” she continued casually, as if commenting on the lecture, “did I use my thigh like this?”

Her leg returned, this time pressing more deliberately between yours for a longer moment, the pressure firm and teasing before she eased off again. “Or was it slower? More… controlled?”

You gripped your pen tighter, fighting the urge to squirm in your seat. “You’re going to kill me damn...” you whispered back, voice strained.

Amber let out the softest, most innocent-sounding laugh, barely audible. “Good. Payback for tackling me like a linebacker in front of half the athletic department.” She scribbled something in her notebook, then slid it slightly toward you so you could read:

“Dream Amber sounds like she had you moaning pretty loudly. Want the real version to be even better?”

You nearly choked. You quickly wrote back underneath it:

“You’re dangerous. We’re in public.”

She read your reply and her smirk grew. When Ramirez turned to write something on the board again, Amber whispered, “Public is the best part. No one knows that the big tough soccer captain is currently fighting for her life because her rival is teasing her about a sex dream.”

She paused, then added with wicked amusement, “By the way… in the dream, when I called you a ‘good girl’ - did you like that? Because your face right now is telling me yes.”

Your ears burned. You turned your head just enough to glare at her, but there was no heat behind it - only flustered affection. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I really am.” she admitted softly, eyes sparkling. “After weeks of me being the one off-balance around you, it’s nice to have you all hot and bothered in the middle of class.”

She waited until Ramirez called for a short think-pair-share activity, then turned her body slightly toward you like a proper partner. To anyone else, it looked like a normal discussion. To you, it was pure torture.

Amber rested her chin on her hand and looked at you with mock seriousness. “So, partner… what are your thoughts on unreliable narrators?” She lowered her voice again. “Personally, I think some captains are very unreliable when they say they’re ‘fine’ after waking up extremely horny next to me.”

You rubbed your face with one hand. “Amber Glenn, I swear-”

“Yes?” she asked sweetly, batting her lashes. “You swear what? That you won’t tackle me again? Or that next time you have a dream about me pinning you on the ice, you’ll wake me up so I can make it more accurate?”

You let out a quiet, helpless laugh. “You’re relentless.”

“Only because you make it so funny.” she replied, her tone dropping into that low, flirty purr again. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. All flustered and trying so hard to act normal while I know exactly what’s going through your head.”

She glanced around quickly to make sure no one was paying attention, then added, “Just so you know… I’m very interested in the idea. The pinning part. The thigh part.” Her eyes flicked down to your mouth for a split second. “The ‘ruining the respectful captain’ part.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jesus Christ, Amber.”

She grinned victoriously. “There it is. That little hitch in your breathing I love so much.” She finally leaned back in her seat as Ramirez called the class back together, but not before whispering one last thing:

“Try to survive the rest of the lecture without thinking about me in my skating skirt, yeah? Wouldn’t want you too distracted to take notes.”

For the remainder of class, Amber kept the teasing lighter but constant - little brushes of her fingers against your hand under the desk, occasional knowing glances, and one more whispered comment during a quiet moment:

“By the way… if you behave for the rest of class, maybe I’ll let you walk me to the rink after this.”

When class finally ended, you let out a long breath of relief. Amber stood up gracefully, slinging her bag over her shoulder with a smug, satisfied smile.

She waited until most people had filed out before leaning in one last time, voice soft but full of promise.

“Still aroused, Captain?” she teased gently. “Or did my expert torment successfully reset your brain?”

You shook your head, laughing despite everything. “You’re going to be the death of me, Glenn.”

Amber’s eyes sparkled as she started walking toward the door, tossing one last line over her shoulder:

“Good. Then maybe next time you dream about me… I’ll make sure it’s even harder to wake up from.”

She walked ahead of you with that confident sway in her step, ponytail swinging, leaving you flushed, grinning, and completely under her spell once again.

You walked Amber all the way to the university’s partnered ice rink. The teasing from the lecture hall carried over into the walk, though it softened into something warmer and more playful as you both moved across campus.

Amber kept throwing little jabs about your “vivid imagination” and how she was now “irrevocably ruined” for her own training sessions, while you tried (and mostly failed) to defend yourself without laughing.

When you reached the entrance of the rink, Amber turned to face you, her sleek ponytail already in place and her practice bag slung over her shoulder. The afternoon sun caught in her eyes, making them look even sharper.

“Thanks for the escort, Y/N.” she said, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Try not to think about me too much during your own practice. Wouldn’t want you getting distracted."

You groaned, rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re never letting that dream go, are you?”

“Nope never.” she confirmed cheerfully. She stepped closer, voice dropping just for you.

She gave you a quick, light squeeze on the arm, then pulled back with a wink. “Now go be a responsible captain. I’ll see you later.”

You watched her disappear into the rink, that familiar graceful stride making your chest feel tight, before heading off to the soccer fields for your own afternoon practice.

The locker room was buzzing with the usual pre-practice energy when you arrived. You changed into your practice gear quickly, still riding the high (and slight embarrassment) from the morning and the walk with Amber. Your teammates were loud and chaotic as always, but the second you stepped onto the turf, the atmosphere shifted into focused intensity.

Practice started normally - warm-ups, passing drills, small-sided games - but about forty minutes in, Coach called everyone in for a quick huddle near the sideline. She had her clipboard in hand and that serious look on her face that usually meant big news.

“Listen up!” Coach’s voice cut through the chatter. “We’ve got an update to the schedule. Midweek game next week - Wednesday night against Boston State. It’s a rescheduled match from the rainout earlier in the season. Home field, 7:30 p.m. sharp.”

The team reacted immediately — some excited whoops, a few groans about the short turnaround.

Coach continued, raising her voice. “This one matters. BSU is sitting near the top of the conference. We need this win if we want any shot at hosting a playoff game. That means this week’s training is going to be brutal. No excuses. Extra film sessions, tactical work, and fitness testing tomorrow morning. I want everyone locked in.”

You nodded along, already shifting into captain mode. “We got this, Coach. We’ll be ready.”

Coach gave you a pointed look. “Good. Because I expect my captain to lead by example. No distractions.” She paused, then added with a small smirk, “I heard something about a certain soccer captain tackling a figure skater into a pool this weekend. Let’s keep that energy on the field and not in viral videos, yeah?”

The entire team burst out laughing. Jade and Mia immediately started making exaggerated tackling motions, nearly knocking each other over.

“Linebacker Cap is in the house!” Jade yelled.

Mia grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry, Coach. She’s been practicing her form on the ice princess. Should translate perfectly to stealing the ball.”

You groaned loudly, covering your face as the team continued to rib you. “It was one tackle! One!”

“One legendary tackle yeah!” Taylor added from the back. “We’ve got the slow-mo clips to prove it. Amber’s face when you took her down? Iconic.”

Coach shook her head, clearly amused despite trying to stay stern. “Alright, enough. Save the pool party stories for after we beat BSU. Right now, I need your head in the game, Captain. No more romantic distractions - no matter how pretty the distraction is.”

The team whooped again. You felt your face heat up, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Got it, Coach,” you said, trying to sound composed. “Head in the game. We’ll be ready for Wednesday.”

Practice kicked back into high gear after that. You threw yourself into the drills with renewed focus - running suicides, leading attacking sequences, and barking out instructions during tactical work. But no matter how hard you pushed, your mind kept drifting back to Amber.

The memory of her teasing whispers in class. The way her thigh had pressed against yours under the desk. The smug little smirk when she talked about giving you a “private demonstration” on the ice. And of course, the vivid details of that dream that refused to leave your head.

During a water break, Jade jogged up beside you, nudging your shoulder.

“You good, Cap? You’ve been a little spaced out since we got back from the huddle. Still thinking about your ice princess?”

You took a long drink from your water bottle, trying to play it cool. “Just thinking about the BSU game. We need to tighten up our defense.”

Mia appeared on your other side, grinning like a shark. “Sure, sure. Defense. Not thinking about Amber pinning you against the boards or whatever filthy dream you had last night.”

You nearly spit out your water. “How the hell do you know about that?”

Jade laughed. “We don’t. But your face right now just confirmed it. Damn, Cap - you really are down bad.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“But you love us-” Mia said cheerfully. “And hey, if Amber’s got you this distracted after just sleeping in the same bed, I can’t wait to see what happens when you two finally-”

“Focus on the game, jesus.” you cut her off, though you were smiling. “BSU isn’t going to roll over just because I had one stupid dream.”

The rest of practice was tough but productive. By the time Coach called it, you were sweaty, exhausted, and mentally already planning extra film study for the team. As you headed back toward the locker room with the others, your phone buzzed in your bag.

It was a text from Amber:

Amber: Practice went well. My coach says I look “focused” today. Wonder why… 😏 Amber: How was yours, Captain? Still recovering from English class? Or are you already planning your next impulsive tackle?

You couldn’t help but grin down at your phone as you walked, thumbs moving quickly to reply.

You stopped near the edge of the turf, sweat still dripping down your back, and typed out a reply to Amber with a stupid grin on your face.

You: Practice was brutal. Coach just dropped a midweek game on us - Wednesday night vs Boston State. Head’s supposed to be fully in the game but someone keeps texting me and reminding me about “private demonstrations on the ice” 😏

You hit send, then quickly added another:

You: Also, yes. Still recovering from English class. You’re evil and I’m filing a complaint with the figure skating federation for emotional warfare.

Her reply came back almost immediately.

Amber: Poor Captain. So distracted by little old me? How will you ever survive BSU? Amber: As for the private demonstration… I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But you’ll have to earn it. Win your game and maybe I’ll consider pinning you against the boards for real 😉

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you headed into the locker room. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of recovery, dinner, and light film study with the team. Every so often your phone would buzz with another teasing message from Amber, each one making it harder to focus on Boston State’s attacking patterns.

The week had flown by in a whirlwind of intense training.

Morning fitness tests, double sessions on the turf, evening film breakdowns, and tactical meetings had consumed almost every waking hour. You’d barely seen Amber except for quick moments in English Lit and a couple of stolen coffee runs after her training.

She had been relentlessly teasing you about the upcoming game, constantly reminding you that she expected “proper motivation” if you wanted that promised ice-rink demonstration.

Now it was Tuesday night, the day before the big midweek match against Boston State.

The team was gathered in the film room for one last session. The lights were dimmed, and Coach was going over Boston State’s defensive shape for the third time when your phone vibrated on the table in front of you. You glanced down discreetly.

Amber: Still alive over there, Captain? Or has Coach buried you in film until you forget what my face looks like?

You bit back a smile and quickly typed back under the table:

You: Barely. Coach is on a warpath. BSU apparently likes to press high. My brain is fried.

Amber: Poor thing. Maybe you need someone to help you… unwind after all this serious captain stuff.

Before you could reply, another text came through:

Amber: By the way… I have an early morning practice tomorrow, but I’ll be at your game tomorrow night. Front row. Try not to get distracted thinking about me pinning you while you’re trying to win 😉

You nearly dropped your phone.

Jade, who was sitting beside you, caught the movement and leaned over with a knowing grin. “Ice princess again?”

“Shut up y’all.” you muttered, but the smile on your face gave you away completely.

Mia, sitting on your other side, whispered loudly enough for half the team to hear, “Tell her if she comes to the game wearing that little skating skirt, you’re scoring at least three goals.”

Coach cleared her throat sharply from the front of the room. “If you ladies are done texting your girlfriends, maybe we can focus on stopping Boston State’s number 9? She’s been tearing up left backs all season.”

The team snickered while you sank lower in your chair, face burning.

Later that night, after film finally wrapped and most of the team had headed back to the dorms, you were walking across campus when your phone buzzed again.

Amber: You never replied. Nervous about tomorrow?

You stopped under a streetlight and typed back honestly:

You: A little. BSU is good. Really good. But mostly I’m thinking about you coming to the game. You’ve never seen me play a real competitive match before.

Her response took a minute, but when it came through it was softer than her usual teasing:

Amber: Then I’ll be there. And after the game… win or lose… come find me. We can celebrate. Or I can help you forget about it for a while. Your choice, Captain.

You stared at the message, heart beating faster. The pressure of tomorrow’s game suddenly felt a little lighter knowing Amber would be in the stands.

You: Deal. I’ll be looking for that ponytail in the crowd.

Amber: Good. Now get some rest. You’re going to need your energy tomorrow… both on the field and after baby 😉

You pocketed your phone with a deep breath, the weight of captaincy and the anticipation of seeing Amber tomorrow mixing together into a potent, nervous excitement.

Boston State was going to be a tough opponent.

But the thought of Amber waiting for you after the final whistle made you more determined than ever to leave everything on the pitch.

Game Day.

The air was thick and humid under the bright stadium lights as the Miami Hurricanes prepared to face Boston State. Even though it was a midweek game, the stands were packed with students and fellow athletes.

The temperature still hovered in the high 80s, making the pitch feel like a sauna.

You stood in the tunnel, jersey already clinging to your skin from pre-game warm-ups. Sweat beaded on your forehead as adrenaline pumped through your veins. When the team finally jogged out onto the field, your eyes immediately found her.

Amber had secured a prime spot right up against the sideline near the halfway line - close enough that you could see the determined look in her eyes. She wore a game-shirt of yours and jeans, her sleek ponytail shining under the lights. The second your gazes locked, she gave you a small, confident smirk and mouthed:

“Don’t embarrass yourself out there, Captain.”

You grinned, already sweating, and mouthed back, “Watch me princess.”

The whistle blew and the game exploded into a brutal, physical battle from the very first minute.

Boston State came out aggressive, pressing high and hard. Within ten minutes, everyone was drenched. Your red jersey was already dark with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to your back and chest as you battled for every ball. The humidity made every sprint feel heavier, every tackle more desperate.

You were everywhere - dropping deep to win balls, surging forward to join attacks, constantly shouting instructions to organize the midfield.

In the 19th minute, you won a hard shoulder-to-shoulder duel, chesting the ball down before threading a perfectly weighted pass between two defenders. Jade latched onto it and finished coolly for the 1-0 lead.

The crowd roared. You pumped your fist and pointed directly at Amber, who was cheering loudly, a proud smile breaking across her face. Sweat stung your eyes as you jogged back into position, breathing heavily.

But Boston State refused to roll over.

They equalized in the 38th minute with a thunderous long-range shot that took a deflection off one of your defenders. The first half ended 1-1, and you walked into the locker room dripping wet, chest heaving, legs already burning.

Halftime was short and intense. Coach was fired up. “They want a war? Give them one! Y/N - I need more from you. Drive this team!”

The second half was even more physical.

By the 55th minute, your jersey was completely soaked through, sweat pouring down your face and neck. Your hair stuck to your forehead as you made another lung-bursting run down the right flank. You whipped in a dangerous low cross that Mia just missed by inches.

The game turned into a dogfight. Tackles flew in from both sides. You were in the middle of it all - winning headers, making sliding challenges, and constantly talking your teammates through the pressure. The heat and humidity were relentless. Every breath felt heavy. Your legs grew heavier with every minute.

In the 67th minute, you produced a moment of magic. After winning the ball back with a crunching tackle, you drove forward and unleashed a powerful strike from 25 yards. The shot cannoned off the crossbar, leaving the entire stadium gasping.

Ten minutes later, your persistence paid off. You received the ball on the edge of the box, held off a strong challenge from their center back, and slipped a clever pass into Mia’s path. She made no mistake - 2-1 to Miami.

You celebrated wildly with your teammates, sweat flying off your body as you jumped on each other.

When you looked toward the sideline, Amber was on her feet, cheering with both hands in the air, her eyes bright with excitement.

But Boston State came storming back.

The final ten minutes were pure chaos.

The pitch became a battlefield. Players from both teams were exhausted, drenched in sweat, and running on fumes. Boston State threw numbers forward desperately.

In the 87th minute, it happened.

You spotted their winger breaking down the line and sprinted to cut off the attack. You slid in hard for the ball - a perfectly timed challenge but their midfielder came in late and reckless. Her studs caught you viciously on the outside of your right ankle.

Pain exploded up your leg.

You cried out as you tumbled across the turf, rolling several times before coming to a stop. The referee’s whistle pierced the air. Yellow card for the Boston player.

The stadium groaned.

You tried to push yourself up immediately, but white-hot pain shot through your ankle the moment you put weight on it. Your face twisted in agony as you clutched your leg. Sweat mixed with dirt streaked down your face.

Jade and Taylor rushed over, kneeling beside you.

“Y/N! Shit, that looked nasty.” Jade said, breathing hard.

The medical staff ran onto the field. After a quick examination, the trainer shook his head. “We’re taking you off. That ankle’s swelling fast.”

You protested through gritted teeth, “I can finish this…”

But Coach wasn’t having it. You were substituted in the 88th minute.

As you limped toward the sideline, supported heavily by the trainer, the home crowd gave you a loud ovation. Your jersey was utterly soaked, hair plastered to your head, and your face showed clear pain.

Before you even reached the bench, Amber was already moving.

She pushed past a couple of staff members without hesitation and rushed straight to you, her expression filled with worry instead of celebration - even though the final whistle had just blown and Miami had held on for a hard-fought 2-1 victory.

“Y/N!” she called out, voice tight with concern.

She reached you in seconds, ignoring everything else around her. Her hands immediately went to your shoulders, then gently down to your injured leg as you sat down heavily on the bench.

“Fuck, that tackle was horrible.” she breathed, crouching in front of you. One of her hands rested carefully on your knee while the other brushed sweaty strands of hair off your forehead. “How bad does it hurt? Can you move it?”

You winced, still trying to catch your breath. Sweat continued to roll down your neck and chest. “It’s… pretty bad. Feels like fire. But we won, Ambs. 2-1.”

Amber shook her head, eyes scanning your face and then dropping back to your rapidly swelling ankle. She didn’t even glance at the celebrating players or the scoreboard.

“I don’t care about the win right now.” she said softly but firmly, her voice full of quiet intensity. “You’re hurt. Look at you - you’re shaking.”

She gently took your hand, squeezing it tightly, completely unbothered by how sweaty you were. “You played so hard… I was so proud watching you, but when you went down like that…” Her voice faltered for a second. “My stomach dropped. I need to know you’re okay.”

She stayed right there in front of you, crouched low, one hand still resting protectively on your good leg while the trainer began examining your ankle. Sweat continued dripping from your hair onto your jersey as you tried to steady your breathing.

Amber looked up at you again, her expression soft but determined.

“I’m staying with you.” she said, no room for argument in her tone. “Until they tell me exactly what’s wrong with this ankle. Then I’m taking you back to the dorm and taking care of you. No arguments, Captain.”

Despite the throbbing pain, a tired, grateful smile crossed your face.

“You didn’t even celebrate the win…” you murmured.

Amber leaned in closer, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

“Because right now...” she whispered, eyes locked on yours with fierce affection, “the only thing I care about is you.”

She slipped her arm around your waist without asking, taking some of your weight as you tried to stand.

“Come on Y/N.” she said firmly, voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “Medical facility. Now. You’re not sitting here covered in sweat and dirt while your ankle swells up like a balloon.”

You were still drenched from the ninety-plus minutes of intense play. Your red Miami jersey clung to your body like a second skin, dark with sweat, and your hair was plastered all over your face.

Every small movement sent fresh pain shooting through your right ankle, but Amber’s steady presence beside you made it slightly more bearable.

“You don’t have to-” you started, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I do baby.” she replied, adjusting her grip around your waist as you began the slow, limping walk toward the medical facility attached to the stadium. “You’re sweaty, injured, and stubborn. Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. That’s my job tonight.”

You leaned into her side, grateful for the support. The two of you moved slowly across the grass and through the tunnel, your cleats clicking unevenly while Amber kept pace effortlessly. A few teammates called out well-wishes as you passed, but Amber barely acknowledged them, her focus entirely on you.

Inside the medical room, the coach and team doctor were already waiting. They had you sit on the examination table while Amber hovered close by, arms crossed, watching everything with sharp eyes.

The doctor carefully removed your cleat and sock, revealing an already swollen and bruised ankle. You hissed through your teeth as they probed the area.

“Grade 1 sprain, most likely.” the doctor said after a few minutes of examination and taping. “Nothing torn, but it’s going to be sore. Ice, compression, elevation. Rest for at least 48 hours. No weight-bearing if you can avoid it. We’ll re-evaluate in a couple of days.”

You groaned. “We’ve got another game soon…”

“Rest means rest, Captain.” the coach added sternly. “You played your heart out tonight. Don’t undo all that hard work by pushing it.”

Amber nodded firmly from the side, clearly in full agreement. “You hear that? Rest. I’ll make sure she listens.”

After they wrapped your ankle tightly and handed over ice packs and painkillers, Amber helped you back to your feet. You were still disgustingly sweaty - jersey damp and salty, skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

“Ready?” she asked, once again sliding her arm around your waist to support you.

“Yeah… thanks, Ambs.”

The walk back to Hurricane Hall was slow and careful. The campus paths were quieter now that most of the crowd had dispersed, the evening air slightly cooler but still humid. You hobbled along while Amber stayed glued to your side, one arm securely around you.

After a few minutes of quiet, the reality of the victory finally started to sink in.

“We actually won.” you said, a tired but genuine smile spreading across your face. “2-1 against a really good Boston State side. That felt like a proper battle.”

Amber glanced up at you, her expression softening. “You were incredible out there. I mean it. The way you ran the midfield, that assist for Mia’s goal… and that shot that hit the crossbar?” She shook her head, impressed. “I’ve never seen you play like that before. You were everywhere.”

You chuckled weakly, still breathing a little heavily from the walk. “Yeah, well… I had motivation. Someone told me she’d be watching from right up against the field.”

Amber smirked. “Flattery won’t get you out of resting, Y/N.”

As you continued walking, you looked down at her outfit again and noticed something that made you grin despite the pain.

“Wait a second…” You raised an eyebrow, voice turning playful. “Is that… my game shirt?”

Amber was wearing one of your spare Miami soccer jerseys, the red fabric slightly oversized on her athletic frame, your number and last name clearly visible on the back.

She glanced down at herself, then back up at you with a perfectly innocent look that didn’t fool you for a second.

“Maybe...” she said, lips twitching. “I may have… borrowed it from your bag earlier while you were warming up. What? It’s comfortable. And it smells like you.”

You let out a surprised laugh, nearly losing your balance on the crutch. “You stole my game shirt? While I was out there sweating my ass off playing against Boston State?”

“Borrowed hmm.” she corrected smoothly, tightening her grip around your waist as you limped along. “And technically, since you’re my… whatever we are right now, it’s basically mine too. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

You shook your head, grinning through the discomfort. “Unbelievable. The ice princess is out here wearing one of my game jersey like it’s designer. Next thing I know you’ll be demanding my captain’s armband.”

Amber laughed brightly, the sound warm in the quiet night air. “Don’t tempt me. I’d look better in it anyway.” She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Besides… I think it suits me. Red looks good against my skin, don’t you think?”

You gave her a slow once-over, taking in how your jersey hung on her lean frame. Even after everything, the sight made your chest feel warm.

“It does look annoyingly good on you sweets.” you admitted. “Though it’s a little big. You’re swimming in it.”

“That’s the best part.” she teased, voice dropping into that familiar flirty tone. “It smells like victory and you. Very… motivating.” She bumped her hip gently against your good side. “Maybe I’ll keep it. Consider it payment for me playing nurse tonight.”

You snorted. “Payment? You’re the one who stole it!”

“Details.” Amber waved off casually. She looked up at you again, her expression turning a little more serious beneath the banter. “But seriously… you were amazing tonight. Even when you went down at the end, you were still trying to get back up. Stubborn as hell.”

You smiled tiredly. “Had to put on a show for my favorite spectator.”

“Your favorite spectator was this close to jumping the barrier when you got tackled.” she said, voice softening. “I hate seeing you hurt. Even if it was a warrior’s exit.”

The dorm building finally came into view.

“You’re limping worse than I did after my ankle injury...” Amber commented lightly as you made your way toward Hurricane Hall. “And I actually had a real sprain. You’re just dramatic.”

You huffed a tired laugh. “Says the girl who made me carry her up flights of stairs that night. I still haven’t forgotten that debt, by the way.”

Amber’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? Keeping score now, Captain?”

When you finally reached the entrance of Hurricane Hall and faced the stairs, you stopped, eyeing them warily.

“I can do it.” you said stubbornly, adjusting the crutch. “Just… slowly.”

Amber immediately shook her head, stepping in front of you with her arms crossed. “Absolutely not. You heard the doctor. Minimal weight-bearing. And I still owe you for carrying me that night when my ankle was messed up. Consider this me repaying the favor.”

You blinked, heat rising to your already flushed face. “Amber, no. I’m heavy, I’m sweaty as hell, and you just watched me play ninety minutes. You’re not carrying me up the stairs.”

She stepped closer, tilting her head with that signature confident smirk. “Oh, I’m not? Watch me.”

Before you could protest again, Amber moved with surprising speed and grace. She ducked slightly, wrapped one arm behind your knees and the other securely around your back, and lifted you clean off the ground in a bridal carry.

You let out an undignified yelp, instinctively grabbing onto her shoulders. “Amber! Put me down!”

“No can do Y/N.” she said cheerfully, already starting up the first flight of stairs like you weighed nothing. Her ponytail swayed with each step, and her breathing was steady despite the extra weight. “You carried me when I was hurt. Now it’s my turn. Fair is fair.”

You were mortified and flustered all at once. Your sweaty jersey was pressed against her, and you could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of the jersey she was still wearing - your jersey.

“This is crazy...” you grumbled, though your arms stayed looped around her neck. “I’m covered in sweat and grass. You’re going to regret this.”

Amber laughed brightly, the sound echoing softly in the stairwell. “Regret it? Please. I’ve been waiting for the chance to repay you. Besides…” She glanced down at you with a teasing glint in her eyes. “You’re surprisingly light for someone who tackles people like a linebacker. All that soccer muscle must be compact.”

You groaned, hiding your face against her shoulder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Immensely sweetheart.” she admitted without shame. “The big, tough captain who ran the entire midfield tonight is currently being carried up the stairs by the ice princess. This is peak payback.”

She paused on the landing to adjust her grip, holding you a little tighter. “You know, for someone who was so insistent on ‘not invading my space’ the other night, you’re awfully comfortable being carried like this.”

“Because you didn’t give me a choice!” you protested, laughing despite the embarrassment and the dull throb in your ankle.

“Exactly.” Amber said smugly. “I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to taking care of you. Especially when you’re being a stubborn idiot who wants to hobble up stairs on a fresh sprain.”

She continued up the second flight, steps smooth and confident. You could feel the slight effort in her breathing now, but she never wavered.

When you finally reached your floor, she didn’t head toward your door - she went straight to hers.

“My room.” she declared, shifting you slightly so she could fish her key out of her pocket without putting you down. “Easier to take care of you there. Plus, I already have ice packs and pillows set up.”

You sighed in defeat, but a warm smile tugged at your lips. “You planned this.”

“Maybe....” she said innocently as she unlocked the door and pushed it open with her foot. She carried you inside and gently lowered you onto her bed, careful with your injured leg.

Once you were settled, she propped your ankle up on a stack of pillows and disappeared for a moment to grab fresh ice packs and water.

When she returned, she sat on the edge of the bed beside you, gently placing the ice on your wrapped ankle.

“There.” she said softly, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. “Better?”

You nodded, looking up at her. She was still wearing your oversized game jersey, now slightly rumpled from carrying you. The sight made something flutter in your chest.

“You really didn’t have to carry me.” you murmured.

Amber leaned closer, her expression a mix of teasing and genuine affection. “I wanted to. You’ve been taking care of everyone else all night - your team, the game, pushing through pain at the end. Let me take care of you for once.” She smirked. “Besides… it was fun watching you get all flustered while I had you in my arms.”

You groaned, covering your eyes with one hand. “You’re never going to let me live any of this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” she laughed, gently pulling your hand away so she could see your face. “The tough soccer captain getting princess-carried by the figure skater? This is going straight into the rivalry hall of fame.”

She paused, her voice softening as she looked at your taped ankle. “But seriously… how does it feel now? Still hurting a lot?”

“It’s manageable.” you said honestly. “Mostly just throbbing. The win helps.”

Amber’s smile turned warm. “You deserved that win. You played like a beast out there.” She gently traced a finger along your jaw. “Even if you scared the hell out of me at the end.”

The two of you fell into comfortable silence for a moment, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner. Amber stayed close, one hand resting lightly on your good leg.

“Thank you princess.” you said quietly. “For coming straight to me after the game. For carrying me. For… all of this.”

Amber’s eyes met yours, the teasing giving way to something deeper and softer.

“Shower now okay.” she ordered, already moving toward her dresser while you sat on the edge of her bed with your injured leg propped up. “You’re still covered in sweat, grass, and stadium dirt. You’ll feel better once you’re clean, and I’m not letting you get into my bed like that.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your filthy, soaked jersey and the crutches leaning against the wall. “Amber, I can hop across the hall-”

“No.” She cut you off without looking up, pulling out a fresh towel and a set of clothes. “You’re staying here tonight. Doctor’s orders were rest and elevation, not ‘hobble across the hallway like a stubborn mule.’ Besides…” She turned around with a small smirk, holding up the towel. “I already carried you up the stairs. The least you can do is let me take care of the rest.”

You sighed, too tired and sore to fight her on this one. “Fine. But only because I smell like a locker room.”

“That’s the spirit.” she teased, handing you the towel and a pair of her oversized black sweatpants along with one of her soft, loose tank tops. “Leave your dirty stuff in the hamper. I’ll throw it in the wash later.”

You took the clothes and made your way into her bathroom, moving slowly to avoid putting too much weight on your taped ankle. The hot shower felt like heaven.

You stood under the spray for a long time, letting the water wash away the sweat, dirt, and leftover adrenaline from the game. The heat eased some of the muscle soreness, but your ankle still throbbed dully with every shift of weight.

When you finally stepped out, you dried off carefully and pulled on the clothes she’d given you - the sweatpants were a little long, but comfortable. You kept your sports bra on underneath the tank top, not wanting to push boundaries too far. You felt significantly more human as you grabbed your crutches and opened the bathroom door.

The moment you stepped out, your good foot caught on the edge of the bath mat.

“Shit-!”

You pitched forward with a loud thud, clattering against the floor as you tried (and failed) to catch yourself. Pain flared sharply in your injured ankle as it twisted awkwardly during the fall. You landed hard on your hands and knees, letting out a sharp hiss.

The bathroom door had barely closed behind you when Amber burst in.

“Y/N!” Her voice was sharp with worry. She dropped whatever she was holding and rushed over, kneeling beside you instantly. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You groaned, face burning with embarrassment as you tried to push yourself up. “I’m fine - just tripped on the damn mat. Stupid ankle.”

Amber didn’t let you move on your own. She slid one arm under your shoulders and the other around your waist, helping you back to your feet with surprising strength. Once you were upright, she kept a firm hold on you, scanning your body for new injuries.

“You absolute cute idiot.” she said, half scolding, half fond. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you manage to almost face-plant? What am I going to do with you?”

You winced, steadying yourself against her. “I was trying to be independent.”

“Independent and clumsy don’t mix when you have a sprained ankle.” she replied, guiding you carefully out of the bathroom and back toward the bed. Her eyes flicked down, noticing that you were only wearing the sports bra and the borrowed sweatpants now - the tank top must have gotten tangled or discarded during the fall.

You flushed deeper. “I… uh, didn’t want to wear any more of your clothes right now. Feels like I’m already taking over your whole room.”

Amber helped you sit down on the edge of the bed, then crouched in front of you to check your ankle again, making sure the tape hadn’t shifted. She looked up at you with a slow, appreciative smirk.

“I don’t mind.” she said with a wink, voice low and teasing. “Not even a little.” Her gaze lingered deliberately on your exposed midriff and the sports bra for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Actually… I’m kind of enjoying the view. You look good like this - all athletic and flushed from the shower. Very… captain-like.”

Your face burned hotter. “Amber-”

“What?” she asked innocently, though the sparkle in her eyes was anything but. “I’m just being honest. You spent the whole game looking hot and sweaty in that jersey. Now I get to see you fresh out of my shower in my sweatpants and a sports bra. Seems only fair.”

She stood up, gently pushing you back so you were lying against the pillows with your injured leg elevated again. Then she grabbed a fresh ice pack from the mini-fridge and wrapped it carefully around your ankle.

“You’re really going to sit there and flirt while I’m injured?” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Especially while you’re injured baby.” Amber corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “You can’t run away or tackle me into another pool right now. Makes teasing you much safer.” She reached over and brushed a damp strand of hair off your forehead, her touch lingering. “Besides… you’re cute when you’re embarrassed. The big tough soccer captain, all shy because I like looking at her.”

You groaned, covering your face with one arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.” she shot back, gently pulling your arm down so she could see your face. “Now stop hiding. Let me take care of you properly.”

Amber adjusted the pillows behind your back, then grabbed a bottle of water and some painkillers from the nightstand. She handed them to you, watching carefully as you took them.

“Drink all of it.” she instructed. “You’re still dehydrated from the game. And don’t even think about trying to get up again tonight. If you need anything - water, the bathroom, another ice pack - you tell me. I’ll get it.”

You took a long sip of water, studying her. She was still wearing your game jersey, the red fabric loose on her frame, looking far too comfortable in it.

“You’re really going to keep wearing my jersey while bossing me around?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Amber grinned, leaning closer. “Absolutely. It’s comfy. And it reminds me that my stubborn, sweaty captain actually won tonight.” She placed a hand lightly on your good thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Even if she did almost break herself in the process.”

You let out a tired laugh. “I had to make it exciting for you somehow.”

“You made it plenty exciting.” she murmured, her voice softening. “I was proud of you out there. The way you kept fighting until the very end… it was impressive. But next time, maybe don’t throw yourself into every 50/50 like your life depends on it.”

“Can’t make any promises darling.” you said honestly. “It’s kind of my job.”

Amber rolled her eyes fondly. “Your job is also to stay healthy so I can keep teasing you. So rest. Doctor’s orders and mine.”

She stood up briefly to turn off the main light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Then she climbed carefully onto the bed beside you, mindful of your elevated leg. She propped herself up on one elbow, facing you.

“Comfortable?” she asked, reaching over to adjust the blanket over you.

“Yeah… thanks, Ambs.” You turned your head to look at her. “For everything tonight. The carrying, the worrying, the bossing me around… all of it.”

The blonde's expression turned tender. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“I told you.” she whispered against your skin. “I care more about you being okay than anything else. Win or lose, sprained ankle or not.” She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a small teasing smile returning. “Though I have to admit… seeing you in just my sweatpants and a sports bra isn’t exactly a hardship.”

You groaned again, laughing weakly.

“You’re staring.” she murmured without even opening her eyes, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

“Can’t help it Ambs.” you admitted, voice low and tired. “You look good in my jersey. Better than I do.”

Amber’s eyes fluttered open. She shifted closer, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down at you properly. The bedside lamp cast a warm, golden light across her face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw and the playful glint in her eyes.

“Flattery again?” she teased, her fingers moving slowly to brush against your bare skin. “You’re really trying to butter me up while you’re injured and helpless in my bed. Bold strategy, Y/N.”

You let out a soft laugh, but it turned into a quiet inhale when her fingertips traced a slow line just above the waistband of the sweatpants she’d lent you.

“I’m not helpless...” you protested weakly.

Amber raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh really?” She suddenly moved, graceful and deliberate, swinging one leg over your hips and straddling you carefully - keeping most of her weight on your good side and avoiding your injured ankle entirely. She settled on top of you, hands braced on either side of your head, looking down with that dangerous, confident smirk you were quickly becoming addicted to.

“Now you’re helpless baby.” she whispered, voice dropping into that low, sultry tone that always made your pulse spike. “And I’m enjoying this position way more than I should.”

Your hands instinctively came up to rest on her thighs, the fabric of the jersey brushing against your knuckles. “Amber… we’re supposed to be taking it slow.”

“I am taking it slow.” she replied innocently, even as she leaned down closer, her ponytail falling over one shoulder like a dark curtain. “This is just… rewarding you for winning tonight. And teasing you a little.” Her lips hovered just above yours, breath warm. “Besides… you had that very vivid dream a little while ago about me. The least I can do is give you a taste of the real thing.”

Your face heated instantly. “You said you weren’t going to let me live that down.”

“I’m not...” she purred, brushing her nose against yours. “In fact… tell me again what dream-me was doing to you on the ice.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she closed the distance and kissed you - slow at first, soft and exploratory, like she was savoring the moment.

Her lips were warm and slightly chapped from the evening air. When you kissed her back, she made a quiet, pleased sound against your mouth and deepened it, tilting her head as her tongue gently traced your lower lip, asking for entrance.

You granted it immediately. The kiss turned heated fast. Amber’s tongue slid against yours, confident and teasing, tasting faintly of the mint she’d used earlier. She kissed like she skated - precise, controlled, but full of passion underneath. One of her hands moved to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as she tilted your head exactly how she wanted it.

When she finally pulled back for air, both of you were breathing harder. Her eyes were dark, lips slightly swollen.

“Was it like this in the dream?” she whispered, voice husky. She rolled her hips slowly against yours, careful of your ankle, pressing her weight down just enough to make you feel her. “Did dream-me kiss you like this while she had you pinned?”

You let out a shaky breath, hands tightening on her thighs. “Yeah… something like that.”

“Something like that?” Amber repeated, clearly enjoying herself. She dipped down again, kissing you harder this time - deeper, more demanding. Her teeth grazed your bottom lip before she soothed it with her tongue. She shifted her weight, settling more fully on top of you, her body warm and solid through the thin jersey.

“Tell me more Y/N.” she murmured between kisses, her mouth trailing along your jaw. “Did I grind on you like this?” She demonstrated with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, pressing down against you in a way that made heat shoot straight through your body. “Did I whisper filthy things in your ear while I had you trapped?”

You groaned, tilting your head back to give her better access as she kissed down the side of your neck. “Fuck… yes. You kept calling me a good girl…"

Amber let out a soft, delighted laugh against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. She nipped lightly at your pulse point before soothing it with her tongue.

“Good fucking girl.” she whispered right against your ear, voice low and dripping with teasing heat. “Just like that. Look at you - all flushed and breathing heavy for me, exactly like in your dream.” She kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense, her tongue sliding sensually against yours as one hand slipped under your tank top, fingertips tracing the lines of your abs.

“You’re so warm baby...” she murmured when she pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours. “Still a little exhausted from the game… I like it. Makes you shine like effort and victory.” She kissed you once more, deep and lingering, before whispering against your lips, “I’ve been thinking about this since you told me about the dream that morning. About having you under me, all worked up because of what I did to you in your head.”

Your hands slid up her back, pulling her closer. “You’re really enjoying having the upper hand tonight, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.” Amber admitted, grinning against your mouth. She rocked her hips again, slower and more purposeful this time, drawing a quiet moan from you. “Especially knowing that while I was sleeping peacefully next to you, your brain was busy imagining me pinning you down on the ice and grinding on you until you couldn’t think straight.”

She kissed you harder, more hungrily, her body moving against yours in a slow, teasing rhythm.

The kiss grew messy - tongues tangling, soft sounds escaping both of you, hands roaming. Amber’s fingers slipped higher up your torso, tracing the underside of your sports bra while she continued to kiss you like she wanted to memorize every reaction.

When she finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. Her cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and her ponytail had come slightly loose, strands framing her face.

“Still think we’re taking it slow?” she asked, voice husky and teasing as she looked down at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

You let out a breathless laugh, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “This feels like the opposite of slow.”

Amber smirked, leaning down to press one last, softer kiss to your lips. “Good. Because I’ve been waiting weeks to kiss you like this.” She nuzzled her nose against yours.

Amber’s lips crashed against yours again, the kiss instantly turning fierce.

She kissed like she competed - precise, aggressive, and determined to win. Her tongue pushed into your mouth, claiming, demanding. You groaned and kissed her back just as hard, one hand fisting in her loose hair as the other gripped her hip, trying to pull her closer and flip the power dynamic.

Amber immediately resisted.

She planted her knees firmly on either side of your hips and shoved your shoulders back down against the pillows with surprising force, breaking the kiss just long enough to smirk down at you.

“Nice try sweetheart-” she panted, eyes dark and gleaming with challenge. “You really think you can just flip me over after I’ve waited weeks to have you under me?”

You bucked your hips up sharply, trying to unbalance her. “I’ve taken down bigger opponents than you, darling.”

She laughed breathlessly, a low, dangerous sound, and ground down hard against you in retaliation, pinning your hips to the mattress with her weight.

“Bigger opponents?” she mocked, leaning down until her lips brushed your ear. “None of them were me. I’ve been dreaming about shutting that cocky mouth of yours since the night you carried me up those stairs.” She nipped at your earlobe. “And now I finally get to.”

You growled and surged upward again, managing to roll her halfway before she used her flexibility to hook a leg around yours and flip you back beneath her with a triumphant grin.

“Stay down...” she ordered, voice husky and commanding as she pinned your wrists above your head with both hands. “You’re injured, Captain. Let me take what I want.”

“Like hell princess.” you shot back, straining against her grip, muscles flexing. “You think just because you’re on top right now you’ve won? I’ve been waiting to pin you down since the first time you called me a brute.”

Amber’s eyes flashed with heat and amusement. She leaned down, kissing you brutally - all teeth and tongue - before pulling back just enough to speak against your lips.

“You can try...” she whispered, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy grind that made you groan. “But right now? You’re exactly where I want you. Under me. Squirming. Breathing heavy because of what I’m doing to you.” She tightened her grip on your wrists. “Just like in your dirty little dream. Except this time I’m real… and I’m not letting you up until I’ve had my fill.”

You twisted beneath her, trying to free your hands. “Keep dreaming, ice princess. The second this ankle lets me, I’m flipping you over and showing you what a real tackle feels like.”

Amber laughed darkly, clearly loving the fight. She shifted her weight forward, pressing her chest against yours as she captured your mouth again in a messy, heated kiss. Tongues battled aggressively, neither of you willing to yield.

When she finally let you breathe, she smirked down at you, lips swollen and eyes blazing.

“You’re so fucking stubborn baby.” she breathed, grinding down harder, slower, deliberately teasing the growing heat between you. “Even now, hurt and pinned, you still think you can overpower me?” She released one of your wrists only to slide her hand down your body, nails lightly scratching over your sports bra. “That’s cute. Really cute.”

You took the opening immediately - your free hand shot to her waist and you tried to roll her again with a grunt of effort.

Amber gasped, but countered instantly. She used her core strength and the leverage of her thighs to slam your shoulders back down, straddling you more firmly this time.

“God, you never learn.” she panted, laughing breathlessly as she pinned both wrists above your head once more. “I spent years training on ice - balance, core, flexibility. You think your soccer muscles are enough to throw me off?” She leaned down, biting your lower lip sharply before soothing it with her tongue. “Admit it. You like being under me. You like when I take control.”

“Fuck you." you growled, but there was no real anger in it - only raw desire and that old rivalry fire.

Amber’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, you will. But not tonight.” She rolled her hips again, slow and deliberate, pressing right where you needed it most. “Tonight you’re going to lie here and take everything I give you. Just like dream-me made you do on that cold ice.”

She kissed you again - deep, wet, and possessive - tongues sliding hotly as she rocked against you. The kiss grew hotter, more desperate. You fought her hold on your wrists the entire time, muscles straining, trying to reverse the positions, but Amber refused to yield even an inch.

Every time you pushed up, she pushed back down harder, laughing softly into your mouth when you groaned in frustration and pleasure.

“Still fighting?” she taunted between kisses, voice husky. “Good. I want you to fight me. Makes winning so much sweeter.” She nipped at your jaw, then sucked a mark just below your ear. “My strong, stubborn captain… all worked up and pinned under the ice princess. Exactly how it should be.”

You finally managed to free one hand and immediately grabbed her ass, squeezing as you tried to pull her even closer.

Amber moaned softly but retaliated by pinning that hand back down above your head.

“Naughty.” she whispered, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to touch until I say so.” She kissed you brutally again, hips grinding down in a rhythm that had both of you breathing raggedly.

The struggle continued - a heated, breathless battle of strength and will on top of her bed. You pushed, she countered. You growled, she laughed and kissed you harder. The rivalry that once lived in sharp words and glares had transformed into something raw, physical, and incredibly hot.

Eventually the intensity peaked.

Amber slowed the kisses, turning them deep and sensual while still keeping you firmly pinned beneath her. Her body moved against yours in slow, teasing rolls as she whispered filthy promises against your lips.

When she finally pulled back, both of you were flushed, breathing hard, lips swollen and eyes dark with want.

Amber looked down at you with a satisfied, victorious smirk.

“Give up yet, Captain?” she asked, voice rough.

You stared up at her, chest heaving, a wild grin on your face despite being thoroughly pinned.

“Not even close my girl.” you rasped.

Amber laughed softly, low and full of promise, and leaned down to kiss you once more - slower this time, but no less heated.

“Perfect.” she whispered against your mouth.

Amber was still on top, straddling your hips, her bare skin warm against yours as she kissed you with fierce, possessive hunger. Your sports bra brushed against her chest with every roll of her body. You were both breathing hard, lips swollen, hands gripping and pulling.

You squirmed beneath her, refusing to surrender completely. The old rivalry burned hot in your veins. With a low growl, you bucked your hips up sharply and twisted, trying to reverse your positions and get on top for once.

“Get off me.” you muttered against her mouth, half challenge, half desperate want. “My turn.”

Amber laughed breathlessly into the kiss, her thighs tightening around your waist like a vice. “Not a chance sweetheart.” she whispered, voice husky and smug. She pinned your wrists back down above your head with both hands, using her weight to keep you exactly where she wanted you. “You’re staying right here under me where you belong.”

You strained against her grip, muscles flexing as you tried to roll her again. In your eagerness, you shifted too far - your right foot instinctively pushed against the mattress for leverage.

The moment your bad ankle took even a fraction of weight, white-hot pain exploded up your leg.

"Ouch!” You hissed sharply, body going rigid as the sharp, stabbing sensation shot through your ankle and up your calf. Your face twisted in pain and you instantly stopped fighting, breath catching in your throat.

Amber froze immediately.

The playful dominance vanished in a heartbeat. She pulled back from the kiss, eyes widening with raw concern as she felt you tense beneath her.

“Y/N!” Her voice cracked with worry. She released your wrists at once and sat up straighter, still straddling you but now carefully holding almost all of her weight off your lower body. “Baby, what happened? Did you just put weight on it?”

You gritted your teeth, eyes squeezed shut for a second as the pain throbbed viciously. “Bad move… put weight on the ankle. Shit, that hurts.”

Amber cursed softly under her breath, her hands immediately moving to cradle your face. “Oh my god, you stubborn idiot. I told you - no fighting, no squirming, no trying to overpower me while you’re hurt.” Her voice was thick with concern as she quickly shifted off you completely, moving to your side in one smooth motion. “Let me see. Don’t move.”

She was gentle but urgent as she carefully lifted your injured leg and propped it back up on the stack of pillows, her fingers trembling slightly as she checked the wrap.

“Talk to me Y/N.” she said softly, her usual teasing completely gone, replaced by genuine worry. “How bad is it right now? Scale of one to ten. Be honest with me, please.”

You let out a shaky breath, the sharp pain slowly dulling back into a deep, angry throb. “Seven… maybe eight at first. It’s settling now, but it’s throbbing pretty bad.”

Amber’s face fell. She leaned over you, brushing sweaty strands of hair off your forehead with tender fingers. “I’m so sorry. I should have stopped us sooner. I got carried away and you got reckless because of me.” Her voice cracked again. “You’re supposed to be resting, not wrestling with me on the bed like we’re still rivals trying to kill each other.”

You tried to smile through the discomfort. “Worth it… mostly.”

“No...” Amber said firmly, shaking her head. She grabbed the ice pack that had slipped off and gently placed it back on your swollen ankle, adjusting the wrap with careful, loving touches. “It’s not worth it if you’re in pain. I hate seeing you hurt. Especially when I could have prevented it.”

She moved closer, carefully pulling you against her chest so your head rested on her shoulder. One arm wrapped securely around you while her free hand stroked your hair soothingly.

“Listen to me.” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “No more making out tonight. No more dominance games. No more anything that could make this worse. You are going to lie here, keep this leg elevated, and actually rest. I mean it, Y/N. I need you healthy.”

You sighed, nuzzling into her neck. “You’re really going full protective mode now, huh?”

“Because I care about you.” Amber replied softly, her voice thick with emotion. “More than the win, more than the flirting, more than anything. When you went down on the field tonight, my heart stopped. And now you’re here, injured, because we got too heated… I can’t handle seeing you in pain because of me.”

She held you a little tighter, her fingers continuing their gentle strokes through your hair.

“You played so hard today-” she murmured. “You were incredible out there. But you don’t have to prove anything to me by pushing through pain. I already know how strong you are. I just want you safe. I want my stubborn, beautiful captain to heal so I can kiss you properly without worrying every time you move.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at the raw honesty in her voice.

Amber pressed another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “So please… for me? Just rest tonight. Let me take care of you. Ice, elevation, painkillers, and me right here beside you. No fighting. No trying to flip me. Just let me baby you a little.”

You nodded weakly, exhaustion and pain finally winning out. “Okay… I’ll behave.”

“Good girl.” she whispered, the words soft and full of affection this time instead of heat. “That’s all I want right now - for you to be okay.”

She reached over and turned the lamp down to its lowest setting, then carefully adjusted the blanket over both of you, making sure your ankle stayed elevated and the ice pack was secure.

“Does it still hurt a lot?” she asked quietly after a few minutes, her hand gently rubbing your arm.

“A little less now.” you mumbled, already drifting.

Amber hummed, pressing one last tender kiss to the top of your head. “Then close your eyes and sleep, baby. I’m not going anywhere. If the pain wakes you up, tell me immediately. I’ll get you more ice, more meds, whatever you need. You’re safe with me.”

You let out a contented sigh, the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her breathing lulling you toward sleep.

“Love when you get all protective like this…” you whispered sleepily.

Amber’s soft laugh vibrated against you. “Get used to it. You’re stuck with me now - caring, bossy, and very worried about my favorite soccer captain.”

Even with the dull throb in your ankle, Amber’s gentle care and heartfelt words made everything feel safe and right.

You fell asleep wrapped in her arms, her fingers still lightly stroking your hair, her quiet whispers of “I’ve got you” following you into sleep.

One week later

Your ankle had healed surprisingly well. After several days of strict rest, ice, and Amber’s relentless hovering (which included carrying you to the bathroom more than once despite your protests), the swelling had gone down and the pain had faded to almost nothing.

Coach had cleared you for light training mid-week, and by Friday you were back at full speed - running drills, leading the team, and feeling like yourself again.

The week had been good. Really good.

You and Amber had fallen into a comfortable, flirty rhythm. She still wore your game jersey around the dorm sometimes (claiming it was “comfortable”), you walked her to the rink most mornings, and the heated makeout session from the night of the game had opened the door to more stolen kisses and teasing touches whenever you were alone.

English Literature 201, mid-afternoon. You were sitting in your usual spot in the middle row, Amber right beside you like always. Class hadn’t even properly started yet when it happened.

A guy you vaguely recognized - tall, athletic build, probably from the baseball team - leaned over the back of the seat in front of Amber. He had that easy, confident smile guys like him always seemed to wear.

“Hey, Amber, right?” he said, voice loud enough for you to hear clearly. “I’ve seen you at the rink a couple times. You’re insane on the ice. That triple axel you landed last week? Unreal.”

Amber looked up from her notebook, polite but neutral. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The guy didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer, flashing a grin. “I’m Ryan, by the way. Baseball. I was wondering… you doing anything after class? There’s this café near campus that does really good matcha. Thought maybe you’d want to grab one with me? My treat.”

You stayed silent, jaw tight, eyes fixed on your notebook. Your pen stopped moving across the page.

Amber gave a small, courteous smile. “That’s sweet, but I’m good. I have plans already.”

Ryan wasn’t deterred. “Come on, just one drink? You’re always rushing off to the rink. You deserve a break. Plus, I’d love to hear more about figure skating. Sounds way more interesting than chasing balls around a field.”

He laughed at his own joke. Amber’s smile tightened just slightly.

“I’m flattered, but no thank you.” she said more firmly this time. “I’m seeing someone.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows, still smiling like he thought he had a chance. “Seeing someone? Damn. Lucky guy. Well, if it doesn’t work out-”

You felt the jealousy flare hot and sharp in your chest. Your grip on the pen tightened until your knuckles turned white. You didn’t say a word. You just sat there, staring at the page in front of you, jaw clenched.

Amber glanced sideways at you, sensing the shift in your mood immediately.

The guy finally got the message and wandered off with a casual “Catch you later.” but the damage was done.

Class started, but you barely heard a word Professor Ramirez said. Your mind kept replaying the interaction - the way he leaned in, the cocky smile, the way he dismissed your existence without even knowing you were the “someone” Amber was seeing.

Amber nudged your knee under the desk halfway through the lecture.

“Hey.” she whispered, leaning close. “You okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet since Ryan came over.”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not convinced. “You sure? You look like you want to murder your notebook.”

“I’m good, Ambs. Really.”

But you weren’t.

The possessiveness kept rising, hot and ugly. Every time you glanced at her, you remembered how easily that guy had approached her, how confident he was, how he clearly thought he had a shot.

The thought of anyone else flirting with her, trying to take her attention away, made something primal twist in your gut.

You stayed weird the entire class - short answers during think-pair-share, tense shoulders, jaw locked. Amber kept shooting you concerned looks, but you brushed them off with the same weak “I’m fine.”

When class finally ended, Amber packed up slowly, waiting until most people had left before turning to you fully.

The week had been weirdly good - until Ryan decided to make English Literature 201 his personal hunting ground.

It started small on Monday and only got worse as the days went on.

Tuesday: Ryan slid into the seat on Amber’s right again, flashing that same confident smile. “Hey Amber, you look really nice today. That ponytail should be illegal - it’s distracting.”

Amber gave him a polite, slightly confused smile. “Thanks? I guess?”

You sat on her left, jaw tight, saying nothing. Your pen dug into your notebook as you stared straight ahead.

Wednesday: During the think-pair-share, Ryan turned fully toward her.

“So I was thinking… you’re always so focused in here. What do you do to unwind? Because I know a great spot off campus. Quiet, good music, great company. We could go after class sometime. My treat.”

Amber tilted her head, still oblivious. “That’s sweet, but I usually unwind by skating or catching up on readings. My schedule’s pretty full.”

You stayed silent, stomach churning. The jealousy sat heavy in your chest like a stone.

Thursday: Ryan was bolder now.

“Amber, real talk - you’re easily the most interesting person in this class. Smart, talented, gorgeous. Whoever you’re seeing is one lucky person. But if things ever… you know… change, I’d love to take you out. Show you a good time.”

Amber laughed lightly, thinking it was just friendly banter. “I’m flattered, but I’m really happy with how things are right now.”

You gripped your pen so hard it nearly snapped. Still, you said nothing. You watched. You observed every smile he gave her, every time he leaned in too close, every lingering look.

By Friday, the jealousy had turned into a constant, burning ache.

Class had just started when Ryan leaned over again, voice low but loud enough for you to hear every word.

“Amber, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve got this whole graceful, powerful thing going on. It’s hot as hell. I know you said you’re seeing someone, but… come on, just one coffee? Let me prove I can treat you better than whoever’s got you right now. You deserve someone who actually appreciates how incredible you are.”

Amber blinked, finally looking a little uncomfortable but still not fully registering the depth of his flirting. She thought it was just overly friendly guy talk.

“Ryan, that’s really kind of you to say, but I’m good. Seriously. I’m seeing someone I really like.”

Ryan didn’t back down. “Yeah, but is he treating you right? Because from what I’ve seen, you deserve someone who’s all in. Someone who’d fight for you. I’d fight for you.”

You sat there in silence, every muscle tense. Your heart pounded with a ugly mix of jealousy and possessiveness.

The old “soccer brute” part of you wanted to lean over and tell him exactly where he could shove his coffee invitation. But you kept your mouth shut. You’d promised yourself - and Amber - that you wouldn’t go back to being the high-temper, explosive version of yourself.

The entire class period felt like torture.

When Professor Ramirez finally dismissed everyone, you packed your bag in stiff silence.

Amber turned to you with a bright smile as you both stood up. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been super quiet again today. Everything fine?”

You forced a smile that felt brittle. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

She studied your face for a second, brow furrowing slightly. “You sure? You’ve been… off all week. Did something happen in practice? Or with the team?”

“Nope.” you said, voice carefully neutral. “Just tired. Training’s been intense since I got cleared.”

Amber didn’t look convinced, but she let it go for now, linking her arm with yours as you walked out of the lecture hall together.

As you moved down the hallway, Ryan caught up from behind, jogging a few steps to fall in beside Amber again.

“Amber, wait up!” He grinned, completely ignoring you. “So about that coffee… I’m free this weekend. No pressure, just thought it’d be nice to get to know you better outside of class. You seem like someone who doesn’t get told how amazing she is often enough.”

Amber laughed awkwardly, still not realizing the full extent of his intentions. “Ryan, you’re sweet, but I told you - I’m with someone. It’s going really well.”

Ryan shrugged, undeterred. “Hey, I’m just putting it out there. If it doesn’t work out, my offer stands. I’d treat you like a queen.”

You felt your blood boil. Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Still, you said nothing. You just walked beside her in heavy silence, jealousy eating you alive from the inside.

When Ryan finally peeled off toward his next class with a wink and “Think about it.” Amber turned to you, confused.

“Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you?” she asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway and facing you fully. “You’ve been weirdly quiet every time Ryan talks to me. And you’ve been like this all week. You keep saying ‘everything’s fine’ but your face says otherwise.”

You looked away, swallowing hard. The jealousy and possessiveness had been building for days, and it was getting harder to contain.

“It’s nothing…” you muttered.

Amber gently took your chin and turned your face back to hers, eyes searching. “Y/N. Talk to me. Please. You’ve been shutting down every time he comes near me. Did I do something? Or is it him?”

You took a deep breath, the words finally spilling out in a quiet, strained voice.

“He’s been flirting with you. Hard. All week. Every single class. And you… you don’t even seem to notice.” Your voice cracked slightly. “He keeps asking you out, complimenting you, saying he’d treat you better… right in front of me. And I’ve just been sitting there. Watching. Saying nothing. Because I didn’t want to be the jealous asshole who causes a scene.”

Amber’s eyes widened, realization finally hitting her.

“Wait… he was actually hitting on me?” She looked genuinely surprised. “I thought he was just being overly friendly. Guys do that sometimes.”

You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “No, Ambs. He was definitely hitting on you. And it’s been driving me crazy. Every time he leans in, every time he smiles at you like that… I feel this ugly, possessive shit rise up. Like I want to tell him you’re mine. That after everything we’ve been through - the ghosting, the apologies, the pool, the night you pinned me down - you’re with me.”

Amber’s expression softened with understanding and a hint of guilt. She stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands.

“Baby…” she whispered, voice full of warmth. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I had no idea it was affecting you this much.”

You shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I didn’t want to go back to being the person who lashes out when I feel threatened. So I kept my mouth shut and just… watched.”

Amber pulled you into a tight hug right there in the hallway, not caring who saw.

“I’m sorry...” she murmured against your shoulder. “I really didn’t see it. But you don’t have to suffer in silence anymore. If someone is making you uncomfortable - especially by flirting with me - I want you to tell me. You’re allowed to feel jealous. You’re allowed to claim me.” She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Because I am yours. Only yours.”

You swallowed thickly, the knot in your chest finally starting to loosen. “It felt stupid. Immature.”

“It’s not stupid.” Amber said firmly. “It’s human. And honestly? Knowing you’ve been sitting there burning with jealousy every time he talks to me… it’s kind of hot.” She gave you a small, teasing smile. “My possessive soccer captain.”

You let out a weak laugh, resting your forehead against hers.

“I just hate feeling like this-” you admitted quietly. “Like I’m one wrong word away from going back to how we used to be.”

Amber shook her head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“We’re not going back-” she whispered. “We’re moving forward. Together. So next time Ryan tries anything… you can tell him - or I will. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

She kissed you again, slower and deeper this time, pouring reassurance into it.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft but sparkling with that familiar mischief.

“And for the record...” she added, voice dropping, “if you had growled at him and told him I’m taken… I would’ve dragged you into the nearest empty room and shown you exactly how much I like my jealous captain.”

You finally smiled - a real one this time. “Noted.”

Amber linked her arm with yours again as you continued walking.

“Come on Y/N.” she said warmly. “Let’s get out of here. You can tell me every single thing he said that made you want to tackle him, and I’ll remind you - repeatedly - that I only want you.”

For the first time all week, the heavy weight of jealousy started to lift.

Amber was yours.

And this time, you weren’t going to stay silent about it.

The following week, Ryan’s flirting had escalated from annoying to unbearable.

You walked into English Literature slightly late, flanked by Mia and Jade after a morning weights session. The second you stepped through the door, your eyes locked onto the scene that made your blood run hot.

Amber was already in her usual seat.

Ryan was leaning over the back of the chair on her right, way too close, smiling like he’d already won something.

“…I’m telling you, Amber, you’re wasting your time with whoever you’re seeing.” he said, voice smooth and confident. “A girl like you? You deserve someone who actually knows how to treat you right. Someone who can keep up with you. I’ve seen you skate - you’re graceful as hell. Let me take you out this weekend. Just one date. I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a guy who actually appreciates everything you are.”

Amber gave him that polite, slightly confused smile she’d been using all week, still not fully registering how serious his advances were.

“That’s really sweet, Ryan, but I’m happy.” she replied gently.

He leaned in even closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing an intimate secret. “Come on, beautiful. You’re too stunning to settle. Whoever this person is, they’re clearly not giving you enough attention if you’re still single in my eyes. I’d spoil you. Take you somewhere nice. Make you feel like the queen you are.”

Your stomach twisted violently.

Jealousy - raw, ugly, and possessive surged through your chest like fire. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The rational part of you screamed to stay calm, to trust Amber, to not cause a scene. But the other part, the impulsive soccer captain who used to thrive on rivalry, wanted to walk over and remind everyone in this room exactly who Amber belonged to.

Mia noticed immediately. She let out a low whistle under her breath.

“Jesus Christ.” she muttered. “He’s really going for it today. Look at him - practically drooling on her desk.”

Jade crossed her arms, smirking but with a sharp edge. “Cap, I swear to God. If you let this walking protein shake keep hitting on your girl for one more minute without doing something, I’m disowning you as captain. You’ve been simmering like a kettle all week. Say something. Or better yet - do something.”

You didn’t answer them. Your eyes stayed fixed on Ryan as he laughed at his own joke and reached out to lightly touch Amber’s arm.

“You know what? Forget coffee. Let me take you to dinner Friday night. My treat. We can talk about your skating, your classes… whatever you want. I just want to get to know you better. Because someone as incredible as you shouldn’t be flying under the radar.”

Amber shifted uncomfortably, finally starting to look a little uneasy. “Ryan…please just stop.“

He grinned, undeterred. “Hmmm, but is he here right now? Because I am. And I’m not afraid to shoot my shot with the prettiest girl in this entire lecture hall.”

That was it. The jealousy exploded.

You felt it burn through your veins - hot, possessive, and impossible to ignore any longer.

Every time he smiled at her.

Every time he leaned in.

Every compliment.

Every invitation.

It all piled up until you couldn’t stay silent anymore.

Mia nudged you hard. “Your move, Cap. Go claim your ice princess before I do it for you.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement.

You strode down the aisle with purpose, heart hammering. When you reached Amber’s row, you stopped directly beside her desk. Ryan looked up, still smiling - until he saw the look on your face.

Amber turned, surprise lighting up her eyes. “Hey, you’re-”

You didn’t let her finish.

You cupped her face with both hands, leaned down, and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was deliberate, deep, and unmistakably claiming. Your lips moved against hers with heated intent, pouring every ounce of jealousy and desire into the kiss.

Amber made a soft, startled sound before melting into it, her hand coming up to grip your wrist as she kissed you back.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to speak, your voice was low and rough, loud enough for the entire row to hear.

“Hey, darling.” you murmured against her lips. “Missed you.”

Amber’s cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and sparkling. “Well… hello to you too.”

You straightened up slowly, turning your gaze to Ryan , who was now staring with his mouth slightly open.

The silence in the surrounding seats was deafening.

Mia and Jade appeared right behind you, wearing identical shit-eating grins.

Mia let out a loud laugh. “Oh my god, finally! I was about to lose my mind watching you sit there like a jealous statue all week.”

Jade leaned against the desk, looking Ryan up and down with mock pity. “Damn, bro. You really didn’t know? You’ve been trying to get with Amber Glenn for two straight weeks and you had no idea she’s dating the soccer captain? The same captain who tackled her into a pool in front of half the athletic department?”

Ryan blinked rapidly, face turning bright red. “Wait… you two are actually-?”

“Together.” you said, voice calm but edged with steel. You rested your hand possessively on the back of Amber’s chair, thumb brushing her shoulder. “Very together. Have been for a while now.”

Mia piled on gleefully. “Yeah, dude. The captain who carried her up stairs when she was hurt? The one who shows up to her competitions? The one who’s been sitting right next to her every single class? That captain.”

Jade smirked. “You’ve been shooting your shot at the ice princess while she’s literally dating the girl who runs this campus’s athletic scene. Bold move. Really bold. Also really dumb.”

Ryanlooked thoroughly humiliated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit… I didn’t realize. I thought she was just being nice-”

“She was being nice.” Amber cut in, voice firm but not cruel. She reached up and laced her fingers with yours on the back of her chair, squeezing gently. “I told you multiple times I was seeing someone. You just… didn’t listen.”

You looked down at Amber, the jealousy still simmering but finally starting to ease now that you’d done something about it.

“I’m sorry I waited so long.” you said quietly, just for her. “Watching him flirt with you every day… it was killing me. I kept telling myself to trust you, to not cause a scene, but… fuck, Ambs. Seeing him lean in, smile at you like that, tell you how stunning you are… it made me want to remind the entire room that you’re mine.”

Amber’s eyes softened with deep understanding and affection. She stood up slightly, pulling you down for another quick but meaningful kiss.

“I am yours.” she whispered against your lips. “And I like when you remind people of that. Especially when they don’t listen.”

Mia fake-gagged loudly. “Okay, we get it. You two are disgustingly in love now. Can we please sit down before Ramirez kicks us out?”

Jade grinned at Ryan, who was now trying to sink into his seat. “Better luck next time, champ. Maybe try reading the room before you spend a week hitting on someone else’s girlfriend.”

Ryan muttered something incoherent and quickly moved three rows back, face burning with embarrassment.

You finally sat down in your seat beside Amber, the heavy weight that had been sitting on your chest for days finally lifting. Amber immediately leaned into your side, her hand finding yours under the desk and squeezing tightly.

“Thank you.” she whispered, voice warm and full of emotion. “For not staying silent this time. For claiming me.”

You brought your joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of hers.

“Couldn’t watch it anymore.” you admitted. “Every single day this week… it felt like someone was stepping on my chest. I hated it. I hated feeling jealous and possessive, but I hated watching him flirt with you even more.”

Amber turned her head, resting her forehead against your shoulder for a moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice how much it was bothering you.” she said softly. “I thought he was just being overly friendly. But next time… don’t suffer in silence, okay? Tell me. Or kiss me in front of the whole class again. I’m not complaining about either option.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the tension finally breaking. “Noted.”

Professor Ramirez cleared her throat from the front of the room, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“If the soccer captain and the figure skater could refrain from public displays of affection long enough for us to discuss literary theory, that would be greatly appreciated.”

The class erupted in laughter and a few scattered cheers.

Amber buried her face in your shoulder again, laughing softly. “Great. Now we’re officially that couple.”

You wrapped your arm around her, feeling lighter than you had in days.

“Good.” you murmured against her hair. “Let them know.”

Mia leaned forward from the row behind. “About time, Cap. We were this close to staging an intervention.”

Jade added with a grin, “Next time just tackle him. It worked with Amber.”

Amber lifted her head, eyes sparkling as she looked at you with open affection and a hint of heat.

“You know.” she whispered, just for you, “watching you finally snap and kiss me like that in front of everyone… was incredibly hot. My jealous, possessive girl.”

You squeezed her hand, heart full.

“Only for you.”

The jealousy that had poisoned the entire week was finally gone - replaced by the quiet, fierce certainty that Amber was yours.

And this time, the whole class knew it.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when Amber texted you to meet her at the university ice rink.

Amber: Come to the rink when you’re free. Wear something warm. Don’t ask questions. Just come. 💙

You smiled at your phone, already intrigued. Amber rarely kept secrets from you these days, but when she did, it was usually something meaningful.

When you arrived, the main rink was dimly lit, only the emergency lights and a few overhead spots on. Amber was waiting near the boards in her practice clothes, but something was different. She looked nervous - cheeks flushed, fingers playing with the zipper of her hoodie, shifting her weight from skate to skate.

You stepped onto the rubber matting, heart picking up speed.

“Hey.” you said softly, walking over to her. “You look like you’re about to tell me you’ve entered us both in a pairs skating competition without asking.”

Amber let out a nervous laugh and reached for your hands, pulling you closer to the edge of the ice.

“Not quite...” she said, voice a little shaky. “But… I do have something planned. I’ve been thinking about it for days and I didn’t want to tell you beforehand because I was scared you’d overthink it or say no.”

She took a deep breath, squeezing your hands tighter.

“I want you to skate with me. Not just watch. Not just me teaching you how not to fall. I want us to do something together. On the ice. As a couple.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You want me… on the ice? With blades? Voluntarily?”

Amber nodded, eyes shining with a mix of excitement and vulnerability.

“I know it sounds crazy. You’re a soccer player. Your feet belong on grass and turf, not on something this slippery and unforgiving. But this rink… it’s always been my world. My safe place when everything else felt too loud or too much. And lately, it’s started to feel different because of you.”

She looked down at your joined hands, voice softening.

“You’ve seen me at my most raw here - falling, getting back up, skating when no one’s watching. You’ve never made it feel small or silly. You’ve just… shown up. Every time. So I wanted to do something special. Something that’s only for us.”

Amber bit her lip, then continued with quiet intensity.

“I cleared the rink for the next two hours. No coaches. No club members. Just you and me. I have music picked out. I have a simple little routine planned - nothing complicated, I promise. Mostly just gliding together, holding hands, maybe a few easy turns if you’re brave enough. I want to create a memory here that belongs to both of us. Not just ‘Amber the figure skater’ and ‘Y/N the soccer captain.’ But us. Together.”

She searched your face, suddenly looking adorably uncertain.

“I know I’m asking a lot. You could fall on your ass twenty times. You might hate it. But… will you do this with me? Even if it’s messy and ridiculous?”

Your chest swelled with overwhelming affection. The fact that she had planned this - cleared the entire rink, chosen music, worked up the courage to ask - hit you straight in the heart.

You stepped closer, cupping her face with both hands.

“Amber Glenn...” you said softly, voice thick with emotion, “You could ask me to wrestle a bear on the ice and I’d probably say yes. Of course I’ll skate with you. Even if I make a complete fool of myself.”

Relief washed over her face, followed by a bright, beautiful smile.

“Really?” she asked, almost whispering.

“Really darling.” you confirmed, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I’d do anything to be part of your world. Especially when you look at me like that.”

Amber let out a happy, slightly teary laugh and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Thank you.” she whispered against your shoulder. “I was so nervous you’d think it was silly.”

“Never.” you murmured, holding her close. “This is one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

She pulled back after a moment, eyes sparkling with excitement again.

“Okay. Let’s get you on skates before I lose my nerve.”

She had already prepared a pair of rental hockey skates in your size. While you laced them up, Amber kept talking, voice warm and full of affection.

“I picked a song that reminds me of us.” she said as she adjusted your laces. “It’s soft but powerful. Kind of like how we started - sharp and fighting, but underneath it was always something deeper.”

You looked up at her, heart full. “You really planned all of this?”

“I did.” she admitted, cheeks pink. “I wanted it to feel special. Not like a lesson. Like… a date. On the ice.”

Once your skates were on, Amber helped you step onto the ice. You immediately wobbled, arms flailing.

“Woah - okay, this is harder than I remembered.” you laughed, gripping her hands tightly.

Amber grinned, skating backward effortlessly while holding both your hands to keep you steady.

“Breathe.” she coached gently. “Relax your knees. Don’t fight the blades. Let me guide you for now.”

You took a shaky stroke forward, nearly losing balance again. Amber quickly pulled you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist.

“Easy, baby...” she murmured, voice soft and fond. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall… much.”

You looked down at her, chest tight with emotion.

“You know this might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever asked me to do.” you said quietly. “Inviting me into the one place that’s always been yours alone. Planning all of this in secret. It means more than I can say.”

Amber’s eyes shimmered. She slowed you both to a gentle glide in the center of the rink.

“I was scared you know...” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Scared you’d think it was too much. Or too weird. But I wanted to give you a piece of me that no one else has ever had. This ice used to be cold and lonely. Now… when I’m out here with you, it feels warm.”

She squeezed your hands, eyes locked on yours.

“I love you. Not just the version of you that kisses me when you’re jealous or carries me up stairs. I love the version that shows up. That tries. That lets me pull you into my world even when it’s completely outside your comfort zone.”

Your throat tightened. You carefully let go of one hand so you could cup her cheek.

“I love you Amber.” you whispered, voice thick. “So much it still surprises me sometimes. Thank you for trusting me with this. For letting me be clumsy and ridiculous here with you.”

Amber smiled, bright and teary, then leaned in and kissed you softly - a slow, tender kiss right in the middle of the empty ice.

When she pulled back, she was glowing.

“Ready to try moving together?” she asked, voice warm with affection.

You nodded, grinning despite your terrible balance. “Lead the way, ice princess. Just don’t laugh too hard when I inevitably eat ice.”

Amber laughed brightly, the sound echoing across the rink.

“No promises. ” she teased, taking both your hands again. “But even if you fall, I’ll catch you. Every single time.”

And as she slowly guided you across the ice - patient, gentle, and full of love - you realized this was more than just skating.

“Oh my god.” you laughed, arms flailing as your blades slipped sideways. “This is so much harder than it looks when you make it look effortless.”

Amber grinned, skating backward while holding both your hands to keep you upright. “Breathe, baby. Relax. Don’t fight the ice - let it carry you.”

You took one cautious stroke forward and immediately lost balance. Your right foot shot out, and you pitched forward with a startled yelp.

Amber caught you instantly, arms wrapping tightly around your torso as she pulled you against her chest. Both of you wobbled dangerously for a second before she steadied you with impressive core strength.

“First fall of the day.” she teased softly, nose brushing yours. “And we’re not even ten seconds in. New record.”

You groaned, face buried in her shoulder, cheeks burning. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You love me. Even when I drag you onto the ice and watch you flail.”

You tried again. This time you managed three whole strokes before your left blade caught an edge. You lurched sideways, arms windmilling wildly.

Amber tried to save you, but your momentum was too much. She went down with you in a tangle of limbs and laughter, both of you landing on the cold ice with a thud.

You ended up half on top of her. Amber layed on her back, blonde hair fanned around her, laughing breathlessly.

“Second fall.” she announced, still giggling. “And you took me down with you. Very romantic.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking down at her with a mix of embarrassment and pure affection. “This was a terrible idea. I’m going to bruise my ass and my ego in equal measure.”

Amber reached up and cupped your face, her thumbs stroking your cold cheeks. Her eyes were soft, full of warmth and something deeper.

“It’s not a terrible idea.” she whispered. “It’s perfect. Because it’s us. Messy and ridiculous and real.” She pulled you down for a slow, tender kiss - lips cold from the ice but warm with emotion. When she pulled back, her voice was quiet. “I love seeing you like this. Trying. Falling. Laughing with me. You’re willing to look silly just to be in my world. That means more than you know.”

You swallowed hard, heart swelling. “I’d fall a thousand times if it made you smile like that.”

Amber’s eyes shimmered. She kissed you again, softer this time, before helping you both back to your feet.

The next twenty minutes were a beautiful disaster.

You fell three more times - once spectacularly when you tried to copy one of her easy crossovers and ended up on your butt with legs splayed. Amber caught you twice, the third time joining you on the ice again because she was laughing too hard to stay upright.

Each time you fell, she was there - gentle hands, soft laughter, tender kisses pressed to your cold cheeks or forehead as she helped you up.

“You’re doing better...” she encouraged after your fifth attempt at gliding. “Your edges are getting cleaner. See? You’re a natural.”

“Liar.” you grumbled, but you were smiling. “I look like a baby deer on rollerblades.”

“A very cute baby deer tho.” Amber corrected, pulling you close again. “My baby deer.”

At one point, she had you gliding slowly while holding both hands. The music she’d chosen - a soft, emotional piece - played quietly through the rink’s speakers. For a few precious moments, you moved together without falling. It wasn’t graceful, but it was yours.

Amber looked at you with shining eyes.

“This is what I wanted.” she whispered. “Just us. No audience. No pressure. Just… skating together.”

You squeezed her hands. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I know how much the ice means to you.”

She slowed you both to a stop in the center of the rink and rested her forehead against yours.

“You mean more.” she said simply.

After another half hour of wobbling, falling, laughing, and stealing kisses, Amber finally took mercy on you. She guided you back to the boards, helped you sit on the bench, and knelt to help you remove your skates.

Once your feet were back in normal shoes, she sat beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, both of you still slightly out of breath and flushed from the cold and laughter.

Amber turned to you, a playful glint returning to her eyes.

“So…” she said, voice dropping into that familiar teasing tone, “remember that dirty dream you had a while ago? The one where I had you pinned against these very boards?”

Your face instantly heated. “Amber-”

She grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You told me dream-me was wearing just my competition skirt and sports bra… grinding on you… whispering filthy things about ruining the respectful captain.” She leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me, baby… was this close to your dream? Or should I try harder next time?”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Please Amber, stop teasing me about it”

“No can do, my dear.” she confirmed cheerfully. She pulled your hands away gently so she could see your embarrassed face. “Especially now that I’ve had you on the ice with me. Though I have to say… the real you is much cuter when you’re falling all over the place than the dream version who just stood there and took it.”

You laughed despite the flush on your cheeks. “In the dream you were a lot more… dominant. And I wasn’t busy trying not to break my neck.”

Amber’s eyes darkened with heat and affection. She leaned in and kissed you slowly, deeply, one hand cupping your jaw.

“Maybe one day.” she whispered against your lips when she pulled back, “when your able to skater more flawlessly and we have the rink to ourselves again… I’ll give you the real version. Pin you against these boards. Wear the skirt. Whisper every filthy thing dream-me said.” She nipped at your lower lip. “And then some.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m yours.” she corrected softly, resting her forehead against yours again. “And I love teasing you almost as much as I love you.”

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close on the bench.

“I love you too.” you murmured into her hair. “Even when you make me skate and then bring up my sex dreams in the same afternoon.”

Amber laughed brightly, the sound warm and full of joy.

“This is us Y/N.” she said happily. “Messy skating dates, dirty dreams, jealousy in class, and me reminding you that I’m the one who gets to pin you down.”

You kissed the top of her head, heart full to bursting.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

You stayed like that for a long time - sitting on the bench beside the ice, wrapped up in each other, talking quietly about everything and nothing, the cold air forgotten in the warmth between you.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was perfectly you and Amber.

And it felt like the most beautiful next step yet.

POV: You're a senior at Miami University. Rumor has it going that a very talented figure skater has joined the University. Will you two cross paths or will things go unnoticed?

--around 11k words-- link to ch.1 -- link to ch.2 -- link to ch. 3 --

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warnings: academical stress; arguing; rivaly; banter; smut ; dirtytalk; oral; fingering; switch!amber; switch!reader; flirting; drinking; smoking; fluff; teasing: makeout; kissing;

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-------YOUR POV--------

Team night was Jade's idea, as most chaotic things were.

The concept was simple enough: season break - wind-down, everyone on the squad invited to bring their person, Coach's one rule being "no drama, no rivalry beef, and absolutely no one is allowed to bring up the Boston State game unless it's to praise our captain's assist."

The venue was Mia's off-campus apartment, which was somehow both massive and perpetually cluttered with soccer gear, protein powder, and an alarming number of throw pillows.

By seven o'clock it was already packed - teammates spilling onto the balcony, music thumping from a bluetooth speaker in the corner, the kitchen counter lined with snacks and drinks.

You arrived a little late, fresh from a quick shower after evening training. Amber was beside you, her hand laced through yours, hair swinging as she surveyed the scene with that calm, observant look she always wore in new situations.

"Okay." she said, eyes scanning the room. "I know Jade and Mia. Who are all the others?"

"That's Taylor - left back, total menace, will challenge anyone to anything." You nodded toward a tall girl already arm-wrestling someone near the couch.

"That's Priya next to her, goalkeeper, terrifyingly calm under pressure. The loud one by the speaker is Becca, she's a center back, she has two volume settings: loud and louder." You paused.

"And that's Coach's golden retriever, Biscuit, who apparently comes to team nights now."

Amber looked at the large, enthusiastic dog currently stealing chips off the coffee table.

"I love him." she said immediately.

"Of course you do."

Jade spotted you from across the room before you'd even made it three steps inside. She let out a loud, theatrical gasp and grabbed Mia's arm.

"SHE ACTUALLY BROUGHT HER."

Mia spun around, eyes lighting up. "Oh my god. Amber Glenn is at team night. This is the best day of my life."

Amber raised an eyebrow at you. "They're always like this? Not just when they party..."

"Its like this every single day darlin." you confirmed.

Jade crossed the room in approximately four strides and immediately pulled Amber into a hug that clearly caught her off guard.

"Welcome to the chaos." Jade said warmly. "We've heard so much about you from a certain captain. But we are no stranger right! Remember the one time we talked outside the frat-party or that pool tackle video which has now been viewed approximately eight thousand times."

Amber laughed, recovering quickly and patting Jade on the back. "Im glad to be here with you guys . Good that you’re the one who made the compilation."

"Guilty." Jade grinned, completely unrepentant. "It was art. I stand by it."

Mia appeared at Jade's shoulder, offering Amber a drink with a grin. "For what it's worth, Cap hasn't shut up about you for weeks. Like, ever. It's kind of disgusting. We love it."

You groaned. "Mia-"

"What? It's true." Mia shrugged. "You literally smiled at your phone in the middle of a film session and Coach made you stand up and explain yourself in front of everyone."

Amber turned to you with barely concealed delight. "Really..."

"We are moving on." you said firmly.

You didn't move on.

"Traitor." you muttered, as they kept going with your most embarrassing stories on the team.

The night settled into something easy after that - conversation moving around the room, Taylor immediately challenging Amber to arm wrestling and losing spectacularly, which earned Amber legendary status within approximately forty seconds.

But the real trouble started when Jade drifted toward the back room, pool cue already in hand, and leaned against the doorframe with that particular smile she wore when she was engineering something.

"Alright." she announced to the room. "Pool. Me and Mia versus Y/N and Amber. Right now."

Mia appeared beside her immediately, cracking her knuckles. "Been waiting all night."

You looked at Amber.

Amber looked at you.

"Can you play?" you asked quietly.

She tilted her head, expression perfectly neutral. "Can you?"

"I'm decent."

"Then we'll be fine." She handed her drink to the nearest person, smoothed down her jacket, and walked toward the back room without another word.

The energy shifted the moment everyone realized what was happening.

Teammates started drifting toward the doorway. Partners followed. Within two minutes there was a full audience crowded around the edges of the back room - your teammates leaning against the walls, Jade's boyfriend perched on a stool near the corner, Mia's boyfriend standing with his arms crossed and a look of quiet concern on his face, like he already knew this wasn't going to go well for his girlfriend.

Jade racked the balls with theatrical ceremony while Mia chalked her cue like she was preparing for something serious.

"House rules." Jade announced. "Stripes and solids. No ball in hand. Loser buys breakfast tomorrow."

"Done." you said.

Amber was already studying the table, walking slowly around it with her eyes moving across the angles. You watched her for a second, a smile tugging at your mouth. She had the same expression she got before a big competition - calm, focused, completely locked in.

"You break." you told her.

She picked up the cue, tested the weight of it once, and stepped up to the table.

The break was clean and precise - the cue ball striking perfectly off-center, sending the rack scattering in every direction. Two solids dropped.

The room made a noise.

Jade's eyebrows went up. "Okay."

Mia pointed at Amber. "That was a lucky break."

"Was it?" Amber replied, already moving around the table to line up her next shot.

She sank two more in quick succession - methodical, unhurried, calling each one before she hit it. The third she missed by a fraction, the ball catching the lip of the pocket and rolling away.

She stepped back without any visible frustration and handed you the cue.

"Your turn, Captain."

You stepped up, assessed the table, and sank two of your own before missing on a tricky cut shot near the far corner. The cue ball rolled into an awkward position and you winced.

"Sorry." you said under your breath.

"Don't apologize sweets." Amber said calmly. "Leave me angles."

Jade and Mia took their turn.

Jade was good - genuinely good, moving around the table with the confidence of someone who'd spent a lot of time in places with pool tables. She sank three in a row before over-hitting the fourth and leaving the cue ball stranded in the middle of the table.

Mia stepped up next, studied the situation, and promptly sank the wrong ball.

"MIA."

"It was close to ours!"

"It was literally a different color!"

The audience laughed. Mia's boyfriend buried his face in his hands.

You took the cue back and worked through two more before handing it to Amber on a decent setup - cue ball positioned just left of center, two solids within easy reach.

She took one look at the table and started moving.

The room got quieter.

She sank the first cleanly.

The second.

Paused, walked the length of the table, crouched slightly to read the angle on the third - a long diagonal shot that had no business going in - and sent it straight to the back of the pocket without touching the sides.

Someone behind you said "oh what."

Jade straightened up from the wall. "Okay, hold on. Where did she learn to play pool?"

"Figure skaters have a lot of time between competitions." Amber said with a smile, already lining up the fourth.

She missed that one - barely - the ball spinning out at the last second.

But the damage was done. You were well ahead.

Jade and Mia fought back. To their credit they worked well together, Jade setting up the shots and Mia occasionally pulling off something genuinely impressive when she stopped trying to rush. They clawed back the gap. By the time there were four balls left on the table - two solids, one stripe, and the eight ball - it was close enough to feel like anything could happen.

The audience had grown completely invested. Your teammates were picking sides loudly. Someone had started a quiet side bet near the doorway.

Jade stood over a tricky stripe shot with real concentration on her face. She took her time. Hit it well. The ball rolled toward the pocket -

And stopped on the lip.

The room groaned in unison.

Jade stared at it. "You are kidding me."

Mia put a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. It's fine. They still have to sink both solids before the eight ball. We just need to-"

"Mia." you said. "You just left us a straight shot on both of them."

Mia looked at the table.

She had, in fact, left you a completely open straight shot on both remaining solids.

Her boyfriend made a quiet despairing sound.

You looked at Amber. Amber looked at you.

"You want to finish it?" you asked with a smirk...

She eyed you suspiciously, considered for exactly one second. "Together. You sink in the first, I'll sink the second, then call the eight ball."

"Bet."

You stepped up, took the shot, and sent the solid clean into the corner pocket. Smooth, unhurried.

Amber took the cue from you and stood at the table. One solid left. She looked at it, looked at the eight ball, looked at the pocket she was going to use, and hit it.

The solid dropped.

The room held its breath.

She walked to the end of the table, placed the cue ball carefully, and looked up.

"Eight ball." she said clearly. "Left corner pocket."

"That's a bank shot." Taylor said from the doorway, audibly alarmed.

"I know." Amber said.

She hit it.

The eight ball rolled at an angle toward the side cushion, kissed off it cleanly, and dropped straight into the left corner pocket without a sound.

For a half second the room was completely silent.

Then everyone erupted at once.

Your teammates were loud and immediate about it - cheering, shoving each other, Becca physically grabbing the person next to her. Jade dropped her cue against the table and tipped her head back with a groan. Mia stared at the pocket where the eight ball had just disappeared like she was waiting for it to come back.

Mia's boyfriend, very quietly, started applauding.

"WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON." Mia spun on him.

He held up both hands. "That was a bank shot on the eight ball, babe. I have to respect it."

You turned to Amber, who was standing with the cue resting loosely in one hand and absolutely no visible smugness on her face - which was somehow worse than if she'd been celebrating wildly.

"You've done that before." you said confused.

"Once or twice." Amber replied unamused.

"Once or twice my ass Ambs, you’re like a pro..." It felt from your lips before you could think, still fazed by how good your girlfriend was in pool.

"You hustled us." Jade pointed at her, but she was already starting to laugh despite herself. "You walked in here looking all graceful and quiet and you completely hustled us."

Amber tilted her head with an expression of perfect innocence. "I just play how I train."

"She just plays how she trains." Mia repeated flatly, to no one in particular.

You took the cue from Amber and leaned it against the table, then turned to face her properly. She looked up at you with those sharp, sparkling eyes, the low light above the table catching the gold in them.

"That bank shot." you said.

"Mhm?"

"I'm going to be thinking about that for a while."

The corner of her mouth curved upward, teasingly. "Good."

Behind you, Jade had already pulled out her phone.

"I'm filming the reaction video." she announced. "Mia, give me devastated. Really sell it."

"I don't have to perform devastation." Mia said. "I am devastated. That's real."

The crowd slowly drifted back toward the main room, the noise returning to its usual level, the side bets being loudly settled near the doorway. But you stayed where you were for a moment, shoulder to shoulder with Amber by the edge of the table.

"Breakfast tomorrow." you said. "Jade and Mia are buying."

"I know." Amber glanced at you sideways. "What are you going to order?"

"Everything." you said. "Absolutely everything."

Amber laughed - low and warm and completely unguarded - and the sound settled in your chest like something permanent.

The pool table had been abandoned in favor of the living room floor.

Someone had pushed the coffee table to the side and dragged every available chair, beanbag, and cushion into a rough circle.

The overhead light had been swapped for the warmer glow of two floor lamps and a string of lights Mia had apparently been saving for exactly this kind of occasion. The music was lower now, something easy in the background, and the energy of the room had shifted from loud and buzzing to the kind of comfortable that only happened late in a good night.

Partners had naturally gravitated toward each other. Priya was cross-legged with her boyfriend behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder. Taylor was sprawled sideways across her girlfriend's lap, one arm hanging off dramatically. Becca and her partner were sharing a blanket on the floor, their cards already spread out between them.

You'd claimed the oversized armchair in the corner - slightly apart from the main circle but still fully in it, which felt right. You'd sat down first and Amber had looked at the chair, looked at you, and without a word had simply settled into your lap like it was the obvious solution to the limited seating situation.

You hadn't complained.

She sat sideways across your legs, her back against the armrest, feet tucked up. Your arm rested across her waist naturally, and she'd pulled her cards close to her chest with the focused expression of someone who took card games seriously.

Which, you were quickly discovering, she did.

The game was Screw Your Neighbor - a simple enough concept, everyone trying to end the round with the lowest card, trading and blocking and occasionally obliterating someone else's hand with absolutely no remorse. It had been Becca's suggestion and it had been running for twenty minutes already, loud and contentious and perfect.

You didn't have cards. You were watching.

More specifically, you were watching Amber.

She had a four. You could see it from your angle, the corner of the card visible every time she shifted her grip. A four was good - low, safe, almost certainly going to survive the round unless someone hit her with a king and forced a swap.

She didn't know you could see it.

You leaned in slightly, lips close to her ear.

"You look confident." you murmured.

"I am confident." she said, eyes on the circle.

"Interesting."

She glanced at you sideways. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." you said innocently. "Just - you look very confident for someone holding what they're holding."

Amber's eyes narrowed. "You can't see my card."

"Can't I?"

She immediately pulled the card flatter against her chest, twisting slightly in your lap to angle it away from you. You bit down on a smile.

"You're bluffing." she said.

"hmmm we will see.." you whisper, while kissing her on the cheek.

She studied you for a second, clearly trying to work out whether you actually knew or were just trying to get in her head. Then she turned back to the circle, jaw set with renewed determination.

"I'm fine brute..." she mumbles.

"Sure darling.." you reply.

It was Jade's turn. She looked around the circle with the slow, deliberate patience of someone who had already identified her target. Her gaze landed on Amber.

"I'll swap." Jade said pleasantly.

Amber's eyes narrowed. "No you won't."

"Circle rules." Jade held out her card. "You can't block unless you have a king."

"I'm aware of the rules."

"Then hand it over, Glenn."

Amber looked at her card. Looked at Jade. Clearly did some internal calculation. Then, with the controlled composure of someone who refused to show distress, handed her card across the circle and took Jade's.

She looked at her new card.

Nothing on her face changed. She was good at that - the figure skater's habit of performing calm whether she felt it or not.

But you felt the slight shift in her posture. The tiniest tension across her shoulders.

You leaned in again. "Better or worse?"

"Fine." she answer dryly.

You move closer to her ear while whispering "That's not an answer Ambs."

"It's the answer you're getting baby, now either be still or i'll get off your lap." Your girl threatens.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

Mia was watching from across the circle with an expression that was trying very hard to be casual and failing completely. She caught Jade's eye. Something passed between them - a micro-expression, a slight tilt of the head - that you clocked immediately.

They were coordinating.

In an all-versus-all game.

You looked between them.

Jade looked at her cards.

Mia looked at the ceiling.

"Are you two teaming up?" Taylor asked from across the circle, apparently having noticed the same thing.

"We don't know what you're talking about." Mia said innocently.

"That's extremely suspicious."

"We're just friends who happen to be making similar strategic decisions independently." Jade said smoothly.

Priya looked up from her cards. "That's literally the definition of teaming up."

"Allegedly."

You said nothing.

You just watched them, then looked down at Amber, who had also clearly noticed. Her expression was composed but her eyes had sharpened in a way you recognized - the same look she got on the ice when she was recalculating mid-routine.

"They're coming for you." you said quietly, low enough that only she could hear.

"I know." she murmured back.

"Want me to do something about it?"

She tilted her head slightly, still looking at her cards. "Like what? You don't even have cards."

"I'm a distraction." you say with a smirk. "I can work with that."

Amber glanced at you over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her mouth. "Sit there and be quiet like i told you, Y/N."

"Harsh."

"Effective."

The round continued. Mia took her turn and swapped with Becca's boyfriend, who yelped and immediately looked at his new card with betrayal on his face. Becca patted his knee sympathetically.

Then it was Amber's turn.

She looked at her card. Looked around the circle. The game had thinned the options somewhat - a few people had already knocked, locking in their hands and sitting back to watch the rest play out. The risk was higher now. Swap and potentially get something worse. Stay and hope what she had was low enough.

She tapped her card once against her knee.

You watched her think. "You're overthinking it."

"I'm not."

Your hands slide slowly over her hips, trying to calm her down and make clear space to think for Amber. "You've tapped your card three times. You only do that when you're overthinking."

She turned to look at you properly. "I've done that twice. And you've known me for how long?"

"Long enough princess." you say, giving her waist a slight squeeze.

She held your gaze for a second, then turned back to the circle with an exhale through her nose.

"I'm staying." Her voice swinging with confidence.

Jade made a sound of faint disappointment.

"Bold." Mia said, in the tone of someone who found it anything but bold.

Amber ignored them both.

Two more people took their turns. Then Jade looked directly at Mia with the particular energy of someone executing a plan that had been in motion for a while.

"Swap." Jade said to the person on her left, took their card, looked at it, and then on the very next beat, without even pausing - "And swap." She turned to Amber.

Amber stiffened slightly. "You just swapped."

"I can swap every turn. Those are the rules."

"You can't chain swaps like that, it's not-"

"Becca." Jade said, turning to Becca immediately. "Is that against the rules?"

Becca looked between them, visibly uncomfortable at being put in the middle. "I mean… technically the rules don't say you can't…"

"Great." Jade held her card out to Amber pleasantly. "Swap."

Amber looked at the card being offered. Looked at her own. You could see the calculation running behind her eyes.

"If you give her something terrible I'm filing a formal complaint." you said to Jade.

"You're not even playing." Jade said.

"I'm invested."

"Then be invested quietly."

Amber shot you a look that said very clearly don't help me, I have this. You raised your hands slightly in surrender and leaned back in the chair.

She swapped.

Looked at her new card.

This time there was a flicker. The smallest, most controlled flicker of something crossing her face before she smoothed it out. But you were close enough to catch it.

It wasn't good.

You pressed your lips together and said absolutely nothing, which took genuine effort.

Mia was watching Amber's face with the focus of a hawk. "How is it?"

"Fine." Amber replies dry, while looking to deply into her cards.

"You sure? Because you did a thing with your jaw."

"I didn't do anything with my jaw."

"You did." Mia turned to you. "She did a thing with her jaw, right?"

You considered the diplomatic options available to you. "I'm not getting involved."

Amber turned to look at you with narrow eyes. "Smart choice."

The round was winding toward its end now. A few more people knocked, locking in. The circle got smaller and the pressure got tighter. Amber sat with her card held flat against her chest, back straight, expression composed, and you could feel the slight tension in her through the arm you had around her waist.

You leaned in close.

"Hey." you whisper quietly.

"Don't ,Y/N."

"I wasn't going to say anything darlin."

"You were absolutely going to say something." Amber utters, too investigated into the game.

You paused. "I was going to say you look good when you're concentrating."

She was quiet for a beat.

"That's still a distraction tactic." she said unfazed.

"It's also true."

Another beat. The tension in her shoulders eased, just slightly.

"Thank you." she whispers, grudgingly.

"You're welcome dear."

It came down to the last few players. Amber, Jade, Mia, and Taylor's girlfriend Rosie, who had been quietly surviving the whole game and was now looking dangerously comfortable.

Taylor, who had been knocked out three rounds ago, had fully given up any pretense of neutrality.

"Come on Rosie." she called from her sprawled position across Taylor's chair.

"I'm literally your girlfriend." Taylor said.

"And Rosie is winning, so."

Jade flipped her card. A seven. Not bad.

Mia flipped hers. A nine. She made a face.

Rosie flipped hers. A three. Taylor whooped loudly.

Everyone turned to Amber.

She held the moment for exactly one second - long enough to be felt - and then flipped her card.

A queen.

The room reacted. Groans from some, laughter from others. Mia let out a triumphant noise and immediately pointed at Jade, who was already raising her hand for a high five.

"YES." Mia said.

"Beautiful." Jade agreed, slapping her hand.

"You literally teamed up." Priya said. "In an all-versus-all game. That should be illegal."

"Allegedly teamed up." Jade corrected serenely.

Amber looked at the queen sitting face-up in front of her for a moment. Then she set her cards down on the armrest with a quiet, controlled precision and leaned back against you.

You wisely said nothing.

For about four seconds.

"So." you said.

"Don't." she said.

"I'm just going to say-"

"Y/N."

"The four would have won it you know..." you tease her competitively.

Amber closed her eyes briefly. "I know."

"You had a four at the start."

"I know."

"If Jade hadn't-"

"I know." She turned to look at you, and despite everything, there was the very beginning of a reluctant smile at the corner of her mouth. "Are you done?"

"Almost." you laugh lightly. "You look incredible when you're trying not to be annoyed."

The smile broke through despite her best efforts. She shook her head, turning back to the circle.

"You're the worst." Amber laughy slightly , while pushing your shoulders.

"You keep saying that."

"I keep meaning it."

Jade was watching the two of you with open satisfaction. "This is better than winning." she said to Mia.

"Genuinely." Mia agreed. "Look at them. Cap is over there being absolutely insufferable and Amber is letting her."

"I'm not letting her do anything." Amber said, with dignity.

"You're sitting in her lap." Mia pointed out.

"That's unrelated."

"Is it though?"

Amber looked at Mia. Looked at Jade. Then looked at you.

"I want new friends." Your girlfriend said.

"These are my friends." you said. "You inherited them."

"I'm returning them."

"Non-refundable."

She let out a long breath through her nose, the last of the annoyance draining out of it, replaced by something that was quietly, unmistakably fond.

"Fine." she said. "Deal the next round."

Jade was already shuffling.

"Same teams?" she asked, with complete innocence.

"There are no teams." Amber said. "It's all-versus-all."

"Right, right." Jade said. "Of course."

She caught Mia's eye across the circle.

Mia caught hers back.

Amber saw it. You felt her sit up slightly straighter in your lap, shoulders squaring, eyes sharpening with the focused calm of someone who had just decided they were done losing.

"Give me my cards." Ambs said.

Jade dealt with a grin.

You settled back in the chair, arm tightening slightly around Amber's waist.

"This round im on my own." she reminded you.

"I know." you said. "I'll be right here."

"Watching."

"And fully supportive."

She glanced back at you, eyes warm despite everything.

"You better be." she said.

And then she picked up her cards, looked at them, and for the first time all night let a slow, satisfied smile cross her face.

Whatever she had, it was good.

Jade noticed the smile. Her own faltered slightly.

"What's that face?" she asked.

"What face?" Amber said. "I don't have a face."

"You have a face."

"I'm just sitting here."

Mia leaned over to try to see. Amber angled her cards away smoothly, effortlessly, without even looking at her.

You pressed your lips together and stared at the ceiling, because if you looked at Amber right now you were going to ruin everything by laughing.

"Y/N." Jade said, suddenly suspicious. "Can you see her cards?"

"Absolutely not." you said, with complete sincerity, because you genuinely couldn't this time.

You didn't need to.

The look on Amber's face said everything.

Jade lost the next three rounds in a row.

She blamed you both every single time.

The third round ended the same way the previous two had.

Amber flipped her card - a two, clean and untouchable - and the circle groaned in collective resignation. Rosie tossed her cards down with good humor. Becca's boyfriend stared at his eight like it had personally wronged him.

Jade sat with a king face-up in front of her and the expression of someone who had just watched the same film three times and gotten the same bad ending each time.

Nobody said anything for a moment.

Then Mia slowly turned to look at you.

"You." she pointed a finger directly at you.

"Me?"

"You did this." Mia continued to point her finger at you, now twirling it lightly around.

"I'm not even playing."

"You brought her." Mia gestured broadly at Amber. "You brought her here. To team night. With cards on the table. Literally."

Amber was stacking her winning cards into a neat pile with quiet satisfaction. She didn't look up. "I didn't do anything. I just played the game."

"She just played the game." Jade repeated, in a hollow voice. "Three times. Perfectly. Three times."

"Not perfectly." Amber said. "I lost the first round."

"Because we set you up." Mia said. "And then you just - recalibrated. Like a machine. Who does that?"

"Someone who pays attention girls." Amber said simply.

Jade turned to face you fully, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and a look of profound grievance on her face.

"Y/N." she said. "I need you to hear me right now."

"I'm listening."

"Your girlfriend." Jade paused for emphasis. "Is terrifying."

You looked down at Amber, who was straightening the edges of her card pile with precise, unhurried movements.

"I know." you said warmly, fingers moving into the loops of her jeans.

"I don't mean that as a compliment." Jade remarks sassy.

"I do." you say truthfully.

Mia threw a cushion at the both of you. You caught it without looking, which made Amber glance up with a small approving expression that she immediately tried to hide.

"I'm serious though." Mia said, settling back and crossing her arms. "Cap, think about what you've brought into our lives. Think about tonight alone." She held up one finger. "First she hustles us at pool-"

"I didn't hustle anyone." Amber said mildly.

"The bank shot on the eight ball." Mia said flatly.

"Amber."

"It was a reasonable shot."

"It was a bank shot. On the eight ball. To win the game." Mia added a second finger. "Then she beats Taylor at arm wrestling inside the first thirty seconds-"

"Taylor went too fast at the start." Amber stats. "She gassed herself out."

"I'm right here!" Taylor called from across the circle.

"I know." Amber said, without any particular heat. "You did though."

Taylor opened her mouth. Closed it. "...Yeah, fair."

Mia held up a third finger. "And now three rounds of cards. Three. In a row. After we specifically, strategically targeted her in round one."

"Allegedly strategically." Jade said automatically.

"Jade we literally texted each other during round two."

"That's- we were just-" Jade stopped. "Okay fine. We targeted her. And she still won the next three."

The circle had gone quiet in that particular way where everyone was listening while pretending to look at their drinks or their phones. Priya was very obviously paying attention. Becca was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

Mia dropped her three fingers and looked directly at you with an expression somewhere between accusation and genuine bewilderment.

"Where did you find her..." Becca utters. It wasn't really a question.

"Across the door." you said. "She was just moving in, then i sat next to her in english lit."

"For how long?" Taylor utters.

"Semester and a half i think..."

Mia looked at Amber. Looked back at you. "A semester and a half. She was right there for a semester and a half and this is what you brought into our card games."

"I didn't know she was like this at cards." you said honestly.

Jade pointed at Amber. "Did you know you were like this at cards?"

Amber finally looked up from her neat little stack of won rounds, her expression perfectly composed.

"I'm not like anything." she said. "I just don't like losing."

A beat of silence.

"She just doesn't like losing." mia repeats, to the room, slowly, like she was translating something from another language.

"That's it Mia." Amber confirmed. "That's the whole thing."

Jade pressed both hands over her face and made a long, muffled noise that was either a laugh or a cry or some combination of both. Her boyfriend, who had been watching the whole evening from his spot on the floor near the wall, made a sympathetic face.

"To be fair babe-" he offered carefully, "she did call every shot at pool before she took it."

Jade lowered her hands and looked at him. "Whose side are you on."

He held up both hands. "Yours. Completely yours."

"Then act like it." Jade said , ruffling his hair.

"The bank shot was really impressive though-"

"Marcus."

He went quiet.

Mia was still looking at you with that expression of exhausted disbelief. "You. You specifically. You have been sitting in that chair all night, with her in your lap, watching her dismantle us game by game, and you have said nothing."

"I've said several things." you confirm.

"Supportive things." Mia said, like it was an accusation.

"She's my girlfriend."

"Exactly! You're supposed to be neutral on team night! Everyone's supposed to have a chance!"

A little laugh falls from your lips. "I am neutral."

"You were coaching her." the brunette counters.

"I was talking to her."

"You were whispering things in her ear and she kept winning right after."

"Yeah... I was, but this didn’t had anything to do with the game you know.“ you mutter with a sly smile.

The whole round made gagging and 'wowoowo' noises

"Okaaaayyy... Captain chill out." Becca says with a fake disgusted face.

Mia turned to Jade. "Unbelievable."

Jade shook her head slowly. "They deserve each other. That's all I'm saying. They completely, entirely deserve each other."

Amber glanced up at you and the two of you made brief eye contact. Her expression was neutral to anyone else in the room but you could read it clearly by now - the particular quality of stillness that meant she was extremely pleased with her game and working hard not to show it.

You looked away before you gave anything away.

Priya, who had been quiet for a while, spoke up from across the circle with the measured calm she applied to most things.

"Can I just say something?"

Everyone looked at her.

"Amber, no offense-"

"None taken, go ahead."

"You're the most competitive person I've ever encountered in a casual social setting." Priya said it with genuine respect. "And I dated a Division One wrestler for eight months."

Amber considered this. "I'll take that Priya."

"It wasn't entirely a compliment."

"I know." Amber said. "I still took it."

Jade made that noise again, the laugh-cry, and dropped her head back against the couch. "I can't. I genuinely cannot. Cap, you're lucky I love you because I am never forgiving you for this."

"What did I do?"

"You brought chaos into our home." Jade lifted her head and pointed between you and Amber. "You were already chaos. And then you found the one person on this entire campus who matches your energy and you brought her to card night."

"Pool and card night." Mia corrected.

"Pool and card night." Jade agreed. "Against us. Your own teammates."

You were quiet for a second, mostly because you were pressing your mouth against the side of Amber' head hide the fact that you were absolutely losing the battle against laughing.

Amber felt your shoulders shaking. She reached up without looking and patted your arm once, which somehow made it worse.

"Okay." you managed, pulling it together. "In my defense-"

"There is no defense." Jade said.

"In my defense." you continued, "I had no idea she was going to do any of this. I just brought my girlfriend to meet my team."

"Your girlfriend who doesn't lose." Mia stated.

"She lost the first round."

"Because we cheated." Jade declared. "And then she just - recalibrated. Like a machine." She turned to Amber directly. "Do you ever just let things go? Like, does that happen for you?"

Amber thought about it with genuine seriousness, like it was a real question that deserved a real answer.

"Not usually." she said finally. "No."

Jade looked at the ceiling. "Of course not."

"It's not personal." Amber added. "I'm like this about everything. Practice, competition, skating, cards." A small pause. "Arm wrestling, apparently."

"I noticed." Taylor replied, with residual feeling.

"You went too fast-"

"Amber, I know, you told me."

Mia had gone slightly limp against Jade's shoulder, the theatrical exhaustion of someone who had been outplayed repeatedly and was now just processing it.

"Okay." she announced, to no one in particular. "Okay. New rule for next team night."

"What rule?" you asked.

Mia pointed at Amber. "She gets a handicap."

The circle reacted. Rosie laughed. Becca's boyfriend nodded vigorously like this was the most sensible thing he'd heard all night.

Amber tilted her head. "What kind of handicap?"

"I don't know yet." Mia said. "I'm still devastated. I'll think of something."

"She doesn't need a handicap." you replied, hands tightening on Amber‘s waist.

"You and your whooped ass don’t get a say in this." Mis uttered drlyly.

You mouth opens flabbergasted by that, while everyone in the circle including Amber begins to laugh. "whatever, she'd still win..."

Amber turned to look at you, and this time she didn't bother hiding the pleased expression. It sat quietly in the corners of her eyes, in the slight ease of her mouth.

"Thank you." Your girlfriend says with a genuine smile.

"Always." you return her smile.

Jade watched the two of you for a second.

"Disgusting." she said softly, with enormous affection. "Completely disgusting." She reached over and grabbed the deck of cards, already shuffling. "Right. New game. Everyone in. Amber, you're going first this time so we can all watch what you do."

"That defeats the purpose of going first." Amber said.

Jade began to move her hands furiously around as she replied "That's the point…. We want to study you."

"You want to study me."

"We want to understand you." Mia lifted her head from Jade's shoulder, some life returning to her expression. "Because right now you're an enigma and I refuse to lose to an enigma twice in one night."

Amber looked at them both for a long, measured moment.

Then she reached out and accepted the first card Jade dealt her.

"Deal everyone else in." she said calmly.

Jade dealt. The circle settled. The low music drifted through from the other room.

You leaned in toward Amber's ear. "You're going to win this one too darlin."

She didn't look at you. Just adjusted her card slightly in her grip, expression perfectly composed.

"I know." she murmured back. You smiled against her hair.

Across the circle, Mia pointed at you both without looking up from her cards. "I can feel you two doing something smug over there." she announced. "Stop it."

You give Mia a narrowed look. "We're just sitting here."

"Smugly." Mia remarked. "You're sitting smugly."

You said nothing.

Amber said nothing.

Jade looked between you both and then at the ceiling with the long-suffering patience of someone who had accepted their fate.

"Deal the cards." she utters already annoyed.

„Lets just get over with this…“

Most of the team had already filtered out by midnight - some heading home with partners, others calling it after one too many drinks and early morning commitments. The house had quieted into that comfortable late-night hum: low music, scattered cups, and the warm glow of string lights.

It was just the core circle left now - you, Amber, Jade, Mia, Taylor, Priya, Becca, and their respective partners. Everyone was now sprawled more messily around the couches, beanbags, and the floor, relaxed and a little buzzed, the kind of easy tiredness that comes after a good night.

Jade, never one to let a gathering wind down peacefully, sat up with a mischievous grin.

“Alright.” she announced, clapping her hands once. “The normies have left. Time for the real game. Truth or Dare - spicy edition. No backing out, no half-answers, and if you pick truth you better spill something good.”

Mia immediately perked up. “I’m in. But we need rules. No boring shit. If it’s not making someone blush, it doesn’t count.”

Taylor groaned but was already shifting to sit cross-legged. “You two are going to regret this when I ask something about your sex lives.”

Priya raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume we’ll answer.”

Becca laughed. “We’re all athletes here. We can handle it.”

Amber glanced at you, one eyebrow raised in quiet amusement. She was still curled against your side on the big armchair, your arm around her waist. “You good with this?” she asked softly, just for you.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “As long as you’re comfortable. I can always veto if it gets too far.”

Amber’s eyes sparkled with challenge. “I can handle myself, Captain. But thank you.”

Jade started the game with a wicked grin, spinning an empty bottle in the middle of the circle. It landed on Mia first.

“Truth or dare, Mia?”

“Dare.” Mia said without hesitation.

Jade’s grin widened. “I dare you to give your boyfriend the most detailed, filthy description of what you want him to do to you later tonight. No holding back.”

Mia didn’t even blink.

She turned to her boyfriend, leaned in close, and in a low, sultry voice started describing exactly what she wanted - slow kisses down his neck, hands gripping her hips, taking her from behind while she moaned his name. The room went dead silent for a second, then erupted in cheers and laughter as her boyfriend turned bright red.

“Jesus, Mia...” he muttered, pulling her into a kiss to shut her up.

Next spin landed on Taylor.

“Truth.” she chose.

Becca leaned forward. “What’s the hottest thing your girlfriend has ever done in bed?”

Taylor didn’t hesitate. “The time she tied me up and edged me for an hour straight while whispering every dirty thing she was going to do once I begged. I still think about it.”

Her girlfriend smirked beside her, clearly proud.

Amber smiled at that, while you hid your tiny blush in kissing the back of her head.

The game continued, the dares and truths getting progressively spicier.

Priya got dared to do a body shot off her boyfriend’s abs. She executed it with calm precision, then kissed him deeply, tasting the liquor on his skin.

Becca admitted in truth that she had a thing for being watched - which earned a round of surprised but supportive cheers.

Then the bottle landed on Amber.

The room went a little quieter, everyone curious how the “ice princess” would play.

“Truth or dare?” Jade asked, eyes gleaming.

Amber leaned back against you, perfectly composed. “Dare.”

Jade’s grin turned predatory. “I dare you to sit on your captain’s lap and give her the slowest, most teasing kiss you can manage - hands only on her shoulders, no grinding, but make it filthy with just your mouth.”

Amber turned to look at you, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. “Easy.”

She shifted gracefully, straddling your lap facing you, knees on either side of your hips. Her hands rested lightly on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your collarbones.

The room watched, suddenly very invested.

Amber leaned in slowly, lips hovering just above yours, breath warm. “You ready, Captain?”

You swallowed. “Always.”

She kissed you - slow, deliberate, and devastatingly teasing. Her lips moved against yours with soft, lingering pressure, then parted just enough for her tongue to trace your bottom lip before pulling back. She did it again, deeper this time, tongue sliding sensually against yours in a slow dance that made heat pool low in your belly. Every time you tried to deepen it, she pulled back just enough to keep control, nipping your lip, sucking gently, then soothing with her tongue.

The room was dead silent except for the low music.

When she finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, lips smudged by her lipstick and you were breathing harder than you wanted to admit.

Amber stayed on your lap, fixing your lips while looking entirely too pleased with herself. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Evil. You’re evil.”

She leaned in and whispered against your ear, just for you, “Good. That was practice for later.”

Jade fanned herself dramatically. “Okay. I regret that dare. That was way too hot.”

Mia was staring. “Ice princess my ass. That was straight fire.”

While the game kept going, you felt the dynamic change drastically. It was more intimate and charged.

After a while the bottle landed on you for the first time this night.

“Dare.” you chose.

Mia’s eyes lit up. “I dare you to describe, in detail, what you wanted to do to Amber the first time you saw her in that competition dress at the rink.”

Your face heated. Amber turned to look at you, curious and a little smug.

You cleared your throat. “She was in that deep emerald dress… the one that hugged every curve. When she landed that triple axel and looked straight at me in the stands… I wanted to pull her off the ice, press her against the boards, and kiss her until she couldn’t think straight. Hands in her hair, her legs around my waist, telling her how fucking beautiful she looked out there.”

Amber’s cheeks flushed. She leaned in and kissed you again - quick but heated.

“Your turn to ask.” she whispered.

The game went on - more dares, more truths, more laughter and blushing. Jade had to do a lap dance for her boyfriend. Priya admitted her favorite fantasy involved being blindfolded. Becca dared Mia to text her boyfriend exactly what she was thinking about doing to him later.

Mia’s eyes lit up with mischief. She’d been waiting for this.

“Dare duh…” you reply, already bracing yourself.

Mia’s grin turned positively evil. “I dare you to give Jade a slow, slightly spicy lap dance - thirty seconds, hands on her shoulders, but make it convincing. Clothes stay on.”

The room went dead silent for a beat, then erupted.

Jade’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh this is going to be good.”

Amber tensed slightly beside you, her hand tightening on your thigh. She didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift - that tiny spark of jealousy she tried to hide.

You glanced at Amber. “You okay with this?”

She met your eyes, a small, challenging smile on her lips. “It’s a dare. Just don’t enjoy it too much, Captain.”

Mia laughed. “Oh she’s going to enjoy it. Jade, sit.”

Jade moved to the center of the circle, legs spread, looking entirely too pleased. “Make it good, Cap. I’ve been waiting for this since the pool video.”

You stood up, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and the game’s energy. Amber’s gaze followed you, intense and possessive.

You stepped between Jade’s legs, placed your hands on her shoulders, and started moving - slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, body close but not touching too much. You kept it teasing, sensual, grinding lightly in the air above her lap while maintaining eye contact with her for the performance.

Jade whistled low. “Damn, Captain. You’ve got moves.”

Mia cheered. “That’s what I’m talking about! Work it!”

You kept the rhythm for the full thirty seconds, hands sliding lightly over Jade’s shoulders, body moving in a way that was clearly meant to be spicy.

The room was loud with laughter and encouragement.

When the time was up, you stepped back, breathing a little harder, and immediately looked at Amber.

She was watching you with dark eyes - not angry, but definitely jealous. The kind of jealous that made heat flare low in your belly.

You sat back down beside her and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “It was just a dare, baby. You know I only want you.”

Amber turned her head, lips brushing your ear. “I know. But watching you do that with her still made me want to drag you into the nearest room and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Later, when the bottle landed on Amber again, she chose dare without hesitation.

Mia, still riding the high of her previous dare, grinned. “I dare you to straddle your captain’s lap and whisper exactly what you wanted to do to her after watching that lap dance - loud enough for the circle to hear the highlights.”

Amber didn’t even blink. She moved into your lap facing you, hands on your shoulders. She leaned in close, lips against your ear, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I wanted to push you against the wall-” she whispered, voice low and filthy. “Strip you out of that shirt, run my hands down your body, and ride you right there while reminding you that no one else gets to see you move like that. Only me.”

The room erupted in cheers and whistles.

Amber stayed in your lap, looking at you with dark, heated eyes. “Still think the dare was fun?”

You swallowed hard. “It was worth it just to hear you say that.”

When the game finally wound down, people started drifting toward the door, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. Jade and Mia were the last to leave, both of them pulling you and Amber into tight hugs.

“Best team night ever.“ Jades boyfriend declared. “Don’t be strangers, you two. And Amber - next time we’re doing cards again. The girls need revenge.”

Amber smiled. “Y’all can try.”

Once the door closed, the apartment felt suddenly quieter. You turned to Amber, pulling her close.

“You were incredible tonight.” you murmured. “With the pool, the cards, the dare… everything.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck, pressing her body against yours. “I had fun. Especially when you got all possessive and kissed me in front of everyone.”

You kissed her slowly, deeply, hands sliding down her back. “Couldn’t help it. You’re mine.”

“I am.” she whispered, kissing you again. “And you’re mine.”

The night air was cool and quiet as you and Amber left Mia’s house, the distant thump of music fading behind you. Most of the team had already scattered - some calling Ubers, others walking in small groups laughing about the night. You walked side by side down the tree-lined street toward Hurricane Hall, your hand laced with hers. Amber’s fingers were a little tighter than usual.

She was quiet for the first few minutes, the kind of quiet that felt loaded.

You glanced at her. “You okay?”

Amber looked straight ahead, ponytail swaying with each step. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

She let out a soft breath, then finally turned to look at you. Her eyes held that familiar spark - not full anger, but a lingering edge of jealousy that hadn’t quite faded.

“I know it was just a dare...” she said, voice low. “I know you were only doing what Mia told you to do. But watching you dance for Jade like that… even if it was playful… it did something to me.”

You squeezed her hand. “Tell me.”

Amber slowed her pace a little, pulling you closer so your arms brushed as you walked. “It made me jealous. Not in a bad way, but… possessive. I kept thinking about how you’re mine. How no one else should get to see you move like that. How I wanted to pull you off her lap and remind everyone in that room exactly who you belong to.”

Her voice dropped, a little rougher. “When you had your hands on her shoulders and were rolling your hips… I wanted to be the one under you. I wanted to be the one feeling that.”

You felt heat rise in your chest. “Ambs…”

She stopped walking under a streetlight, turning to face you fully. Her free hand came up to rest on your chest, fingers curling into your shirt.

“I’m not mad at you baby...” she said softly. “I’m just… still feeling it. That little spark. The same one I felt when that boy was flirting with me all week. It’s stupid, I know. But seeing you give even a tiny bit of that energy to someone else made me want to drag you somewhere private and mark you up so everyone knows.”

You pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her waist. “It was just a game. Thirty seconds of acting. You’re the only one I want like that. The only one I think about when I move like that.”

Amber searched your face, then leaned in and kissed you - not soft, but deep and claiming, her body pressing against yours under the streetlight. When she pulled back, her breathing was a little uneven.

“I know.” she whispered. “But I still want to hear you say it. Tell me I’m the only one who gets you like that.”

“You’re the only one Amber.” you said immediately, voice low and sincere. “The only one I want grinding on my lap. The only one I want kissing me like the world is ending. The only one I dream about pinning me down or letting me pin her. Jade got a dare. You get everything.”

Amber’s eyes darkened. She kissed you again, slower this time, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck.

“Good.” she murmured against your lips.

“Because watching you with her made me think about all the things I want to do to you when we get home. How I want to push you against the bed the second we’re inside. How I want to feel you under me again, like that night after the game, but slower this time. So I can remind you exactly who you belong to.”

You swallowed hard, pulse racing. “Ambs… you’re killing me.”

She smiled, a little smug, a little possessive. “Good.”

She started walking again, still holding your hand, but pulled you closer so your sides stayed pressed together. “I’m still a little jealous, you know. Even now. I keep picturing your hands on her shoulders.”

You chuckled softly. “Then replace it. Tell me what you want my hands on instead.”

Amber’s voice dropped, low and heated as you continued down the quiet street. “I want them on my waist when I’m riding you. On my thighs when I’m straddling your face. On my ass when I’m grinding against you like I wanted to do the second you sat back down after that dare.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

She squeezed your hand. “And I want your mouth on me. Everywhere. Telling me I’m the only one while I come on your tongue.”

You stopped walking again, pulling her into another kiss - deeper, hungrier. When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against hers.

You grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love my possessive ice princess. And I can’t wait to get home so you can show me exactly who I belong to.”

Amber laughed softly, the last traces of jealousy melting away as she linked her arm with yours and started walking again.

“Good. Because I have plans. And they involve you, me, my bed, and absolutely no clothes.”

The rest of the walk home was filled with quiet conversation, teasing touches, and the kind of comfortable silence that only came after a long, chaotic, perfect night.

The air in the dorm room was thick with the lingering adrenaline from the soccer team's party. The truth or dare game had been definitely slight foreplay for the both of you.

The door had barely clicked shut before she had you pinned against it, her lips crashing into yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

"Let me show you, what i've been talking about Captain." she whispers into your ear , slightly out of breath.

"Im all yours darlin."

You were sprawled across her bed, the sheets rough against your skin. Amber was hovering over you, her athletic frame poised and powerful. She was still wearing a team hoodie, though it was pushed up, exposing the toned lines of her stomach. Her eyes were dark, shimmering with a predatory sort of heat as she looked down at you.

"You were acting so noble in front of the girls." Amber whispered, her voice a low, husky vibration that sent shivers straight to your core. She shifted, straddling your hips, the weight of her pressing you deep into the mattress. "I could see you shaking every time I touched you. You want this so bad, don't you?"

You tried to reach up, to pull her down for another kiss, but she caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. She wasn't hurting you, but the grip was firm, asserting a dominance that made your heart hammer against your ribs. She leaned down, her breath hot against your ear.

"But here's the deal Y/N." she murmured, her teeth grazing your earlobe. "I’m in charge tonight. And before I give you what you want, I want to see how much you want me. I want you to make me cum first. Show me exactly how good you can be for me."

She released your wrists, but only so she could arch her back, sliding her hips slowly against yours. She wasn't giving you full access yet; she was teasing, grinding the heat of her pussy against your thigh through the thin fabric of her underwear.

"Go on." she challenged, a smirk playing on her lips. "Prove it."

You didn't need to be told twice.

You reached down, your fingers trembling slightly as you hooked them into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs. When she was finally bare, the sight of her - flushed, wet, and wanting - made your head spin. You moved your hand upward, your fingers finding the swollen heat of her clit. "Fuck."

Amber let out a sharp, jagged gasp, her hips bucking instinctively against your touch. "Yes… right there." she groaned, her head falling back, exposing the long line of her throat.

You focused all your attention on her, using your thumb to circle her clit in a rhythmic, demanding motion while your other hand slid between her thighs to hold her open. You could feel her pulsing, the lubrication slicking your fingers as you increased the pace. Amber began to move with you, her breath coming in short, ragged hitches.

"Fuck, you're so good at this, sweet girl." she praised, her voice breaking. "Look at you… taking care of me. You're doing so well, baby."

The praise only fueled you. You slid a finger inside her, feeling the tight, hot walls of her pussy clench around you. You worked in tandem - the internal pressure and the external friction - driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Amber was no longer just dominant; she was unraveling. Her fingers dug into your shoulders, her nails scratching lightly into your skin as she chased the peak.

"Almost… I'm almost there." she whimpered, her hips snapping faster, her entire body vibrating. "Don't stop… please, don't stop!"

"Cum for me Ambs."

With one final, intense surge of pressure and a fast, fluttering motion of your thumb, Amber screamed into the quiet of the room. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her internal muscles squeezing your finger in rhythmic spasms as she collapsed against your chest, her heart racing in sync with yours.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the heavy breathing of two people completely spent. But as Amber recovered, she lifted her head, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. She kissed you deeply, tasting the salt and heat of the moment, before shifting her weight.

"My turn." The blonde whispered.

She moved with a sudden, focused intensity. She stripped you bare with efficient movements, her eyes roaming over your body with an appreciative hunger. "You're so beautiful my girl." she murmured, her voice dripping with affection. "So perfect."

Amber moved back between your legs, but she didn't go straight for the finish. She started slow, her tongue swirling around your clit in agonizingly slow circles.

You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips, but every time you felt yourself climbing toward the peak, she would stop.

She would pull back, kissing your inner thighs, then your stomach, then your breasts, leaving you shivering and desperate.

"Please, Amber." you pleaded, your voice small and needy. "Please, I need it."

"Not yet..." she whispered, returning to your center. She used her fingers to open you up, sliding two fingers deep inside you while her thumb maintained a steady, torturous pressure on your clit. You were right there - the tension was a wire stretched to the breaking point.

Just as you felt the first spark of the climax, she stopped completely. She pulled her hand away, leaving you hovering in a state of excruciating sensitivity.

"You want it so bad, don't you?" she asked, her voice a soothing contrast to the torture she was putting you through. "You're such a good girl for me. Just a little longer. Let it build."

She started again, but this time she varied the rhythm - fast, then slow, then a deep, grinding pressure that made you cry out.

She edged you three more times, bringing you to the very precipice of release and then pulling back, forcing you to savor the ache, the longing, and the sheer intensity of the desire.

"Do you even want it?" Amber utters with a pout.

You trash underneath her, getting slightly exhausted from all the edging she’s been doing to you. "Amber... fuc- fucking fuck, ofcourse i want it. Please... make me cum."

"Hmmm, I don’t know Y/N , seeing you grinding on Jade earlier... Made me rethink your options." Your girlfriend smiles, while moving slowly up your body again.

She's laying on top of you right now, chest to chest. You try to clench your thighs together, desperate for any kind of relief.

"Y/N, don’t act like a bad girl now ,hmm." She warns you, her muscular thigh immediately interrupting the clench from in between your legs.

"I-- uh... Amber. You've been edging me for so long. Why?" You whine out.

"Cuz, Im still not sure if you deserve it, my little girl. What makes you think you do?"

"I've done everything you wanted me too, made you cum, waited patiently while you edged me for sooo lon-"

"... I can make it even longer." she remarks, while choking you slightly with her left hand, veins popping immensely on her whole arm.

Your eyes darken at the sight of her veins. “…okayy, tell me what i've gotta do to earn it then."

Ambers grip on your throat slightly tightens. "You're going to show me, that you’re only mine. Not anyones elses, just mine."

"Im yours - not sum stupid truth or dare. Yours only. You're the one I want to wake up to, fall asleep next to and get fucked by too. So please Ambs, im literally begging you."

"Look at that, the tough captain begging for her ice princess girlfriend. Well then - let me reward you, my good girl." Amber said, as she finally took pity in you.

"Fuck, yes please."

Finally, after seeing the desperation in your eyes and hearing the way you were practically begging for it, Amber leaned down and whispered, "Okay, baby. Go ahead. Move those slutty hips on my fingers."

She didn't hold back this time. Her fingers worked in a blur of expert motion, hitting every nerve ending with precision. The build-up from the edging made the explosion catastrophic. You screamed her name, your entire body locking up as a violent, crashing orgasm ripped through you.

As you drifted down from the high, Amber pulled you up into her arms, wrapping her limbs around you and holding you tight. She kissed your forehead, her voice soft and full of love.

"Told you I'd take care of you baby." she whispered, pulling the covers over both of you.

The orgasm left you trembling, every muscle loose and spent, your body still buzzing with aftershocks as you collapsed back against the pillows.

Amber was right there with you - warm, solid, and immediately gentle. She shifted off you carefully, pulling the covers up over both of you before wrapping her arms around you and drawing you close against her chest.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Y/N.” she whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your eye. Her hand stroked slowly up and down your back, soothing the shivers still running through you. “You did so good for me. So perfect. My sweet girl.”

You buried your face in her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin mixed with the faint trace of sweat and vanilla. Your voice came out small and shaky. “Amber… fuck. That was… intense.”

She chuckled softly, the sound warm and affectionate as she held you tighter. “I know. I edged you for a long time. I’m sorry if it was too much, sweetheart. I just wanted to make it really good for you. You were so desperate and prettily begging for me… I couldn’t help myself.”

You let out a tired, content laugh, nuzzling closer. “It was perfect. Terrible and perfect. I think I saw stars.”

Amber smiled against your hair, her fingers continuing their gentle strokes along your spine. “Good. That’s what I wanted. You deserve to feel that good.” She pulled back just enough to look at your face, her eyes soft and full of love. “How are you feeling now? Any pain or sore anywhere else?”

You shook your head, still floating. “All fine. Everything’s… floaty. Warm. Really good.” You paused, then added with a small, shy smile, “You’re really fucking dominant when you want to be, you know that?”

Amber’s laugh was bright and delighted. She kissed the tip of your nose. “I do know that. And you love it.”

“I do princess.” you admitted, voice still a little hoarse. “It’s hot as hell. The way you pinned me, the choking, the edging… calling me your good girl. I didn’t know I needed that so bad until you did it.”

She hummed happily, pulling you even closer so your head rested on her chest, her heartbeat steady under your ear. “Then I’ll do it more often. I love taking care of you like that. Making you wait. Making you beg. Watching you fall apart for me.” Her fingers threaded gently through your hair. “But I also love this part. Holding you after. Making sure you’re okay. Telling you how proud I am of you.”

You melted further into her, one arm draped across her waist. “You’re really good at both. The scary dominant ice princess and the soft, caring girlfriend. It’s unfair how perfect you are.”

Amber pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m only like this with you. You bring it out in me. The need to take control… and the need to protect you after.” She stroked your cheek with her thumb. “You were so good tonight, baby. Taking everything I gave you. Coming so hard for me. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise made you feel warm all over. You tilted your head up to look at her. “I love when you praise me like that. Makes me feel… safe. Wanted.”

“You are safe Y/N.” she whispered, kissing your forehead again. “You are wanted. So much. I love you, Y/N. I love how strong you are on the field, how soft you let yourself be with me. I love that you trust me enough to let me edge you for that long and still look at me like I hung the moon afterward.”

You smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “I do look at you like that. Because you kind of did. You make everything better. Even when you’re torturing me.”

Amber laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest. “Torturing you with orgasms. Poor baby.” She shifted slightly so she could pull the blanket higher around your shoulders, tucking you in. “How’s your breathing now? Still shaky?”

“A little. But it’s good shaky.”

She nodded, continuing to stroke your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Tell me if you need water or anything. I can get up.”

“Don’t you dare move Amber.” you mumbled, clinging to her tighter. “You’re warm. Stay.”

“Bossy.” she teased, but there was nothing but affection in her voice. “Alright, I’m staying. But only because you asked so nicely.”

You lay there for a long time, wrapped up in each other.

Amber kept talking softly - telling you how beautiful you looked when you came, how much she loved the little sounds you made, how proud she was that you trusted her enough to let her take control like that. Every word felt like a warm blanket, soothing the last lingering edges of overstimulation and bringing you gently back down to earth.

At one point you tilted your head up again. “You know… when you had me edged for so long and then finally let me come… I think I blacked out for a second. It was that intense.”

Amber’s eyes widened with delight and a touch of concern. “Really? Baby, if it was too much you have to tell me. I never want to push you past what you can handle.”

“It wasn’t too much.” you reassured her quickly. “It was perfect. Overwhelming in the best way. I just… forgot how to exist for a moment.”

She smiled, kissing you softly. “Good. Because I loved watching you like that.” Her hand slid down to rub gentle circles on your lower back. “You’re always so strong for everyone else. I love being the one you let go with.”

You hummed happily. “Only you get that version of me. The one that begs. The one that falls apart.”

Amber’s voice turned soft and serious. “I cherish that. Thank you for trusting me with it.” She kissed your forehead again. “Now close your eyes, baby. Let me hold you while you come down. I’ve got you. Always.”

You let your eyes drift shut, safe and warm in her arms, her steady heartbeat and gentle touches lulling you into a deep, contented haze.

“I love you, Ambs.” you whispered sleepily.

“I love you more, my Y/N.” she whispered back, pressing one last kiss to your hair. “Sleep. I’m right here.”

ANON REQUEST:

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　　　　　　　

warnings: 18+; pet names; anxiety; insecurity; emotional distress and crying; low-self esteem; softdomDakota; femsubReader; youngerReader; domestic fluff and comfort

Find more stories on my masterlist. Pinned Post.

NOT PROVEREAD

---------------YOUR POV---------------

It doesn’t start all at once.

It starts in little moments you try not to linger on.

The way Dakota’s laugh turns heads when you’re out together.

The way people seem drawn to her without effort.

You catch your reflection in windows and mirrors beside her and feel… muted. Like the world rendered you in softer colors while she’s all sharp lines and brightness.

Dark brown eyes. Black hair. Safe. Familiar. Forgettable.

You sit curled into the corner of the couch while Dakota showers, knees pulled to your chest, fingers laced together so tightly your knuckles ache.

The apartment is quiet except for the distant rush of water, and your thoughts fill the space she leaves behind.

Why would someone like her choose someone like you?

When your girlfriend comes back into the room, hair damp and loose, t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, she pauses the moment she sees you.

Dakota has a way of reading rooms—reading you—like it’s instinctive.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She crosses the room and sits beside you, close but not crowding, thigh pressed gently against yours. Her hand settles over yours, warm and solid.

“You’ve been quiet sweetheart” she murmurs. “That’s usually not a good sign.”

You shrug, eyes fixed on your lap. “Just tired.”

Dakota hums softly, unconvinced. She lifts your joined hands and presses a slow kiss to your knuckles, lingering there longer than necessary. “That’s not the whole truth darlin girl, talk to me if you want. Im here for you always.”

The tenderness in her voice breaks something open.

Your throat tightens.

“I just…” You trail off, embarrassed. Then, quieter, “I feel really plain today.”

She turns toward you fully now, eyes softening slowly.

“Plain how?”

You swallow. “Like… I don’t stand out. I look at you and then I look at me and it’s just—dark eyes, black hair. Everyone looks like this. There’s nothing special about me.”

Dakota stills.

Then, very deliberately, she slips one hand under your chin and lifts your face until you’re looking at her. Her expression isn’t upset—just focused, intent in that way that makes you feel seen whether you’re ready or not.

“Hey baby” she says gently. “You don’t get to talk about my girl like that.”

Your heart stutters at the words.

She shifts, guiding you into her lap with quiet confidence. One arm wraps around your lower back, firm and secure, holding you there as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You melt into her warmth despite yourself.

Dakota presses a soft kiss to your temple. “You know what I saw when I walked in hmm?” she murmurs.

“Someone I love sitting here, looking like she’s carrying the weight of the world alone.” she says cooing you.

Her fingers trace slow, calming lines up and down your spine, tryin to take your mind off the bad thoughts.

“You think being ‘common’ makes you less. But it’s quiet the opposite my babygirl.”

You frown slightly, confused.

She smiles, small and fond. “Your eyes-” she says softly, brushing her thumb beneath one.

“-they’re deep. They’re steady. When you look at me, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to perform.”

Another kiss - this time to your cheek.

“and your hair?” She gathers a handful gently, letting it slide through her fingers. “I love how it frames your face. I love how it smells like you. I love burying my face in it when you’re half-asleep.”

Your chest tightens, emotion blooming painfully warm.

Dakota leans back just enough to look at you properly. “You don’t exist to be rare sweet girl” she says firmly.

“You exist to be you. And I want you exactly as you are.”

She presses a kiss to your lips—slow, unhurried, full of intention. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.

“Look at me sweetheart.” she whispers.

You do.

Her gaze softens. “You’re enough" she says. “On your worst days. On the days you feel invisible. You don’t have to earn your place with me.”

She rocks you gently, a grounding motion, thumb brushing small circles against your side. Every now and then she drops another kiss - your nose, your brow, the corner of your mouth - each one accompanied by a quiet coo, like she’s soothing a nervous animal.

“That voice in your head?” Dakota murmurs. “It’s lying to you. And I won’t let it be mean to you when I’m here. I promise you my sweet girl, i love you for being you, no matter what i'll always be there for you”

You tuck your face into her neck, breathing her in. She smells like soap and warmth and comfort. Her arms tighten around you instinctively.

“There you go my baby” she murmurs, pleased but gentle. “Let me hold you.”

You stay like that for a long time. The world narrows to the steady beat of her heart, the warmth of her body, the quiet certainty in the way she keeps you close.

And for the first time all day, you don’t feel plain.

LATER AT NIGHT

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp and the city lights bleeding softly through the curtains. Dakota comes to bed later than you. She fell asleep on the couch with you, but you being the light sleeper you are, woke up before her. And since you didn’t want to disrupt her sleep for once, you’ve decided to go to bed early.

You curl onto your side, facing away from her bedside, shoulders drawn in tight. You’ve had a bad dream again.

After a while your girlfriend comes to your bedroom to. Still drowsy from her nap but when she suddenly sees you like this, it’s like she woke up immediately.

She comes to you without hesitation.

Dakota slips under the blankets and pulls you back against her chest, one arm draping over your waist, hand settling warm and sure against your stomach. Her presence surrounds you—steady, grounding, real.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Then your chest stutters.

You try to keep it in. You really do. But the tears come anyway, hot and humiliating, soaking into the pillow. Your breath breaks, small and shaky, and the insecurities you pushed down earlier come rushing back twice as loud.

"Hey sweet girl, for how long have you been here hmm?" she asks gently.

“I’m sorry” you whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t know why I can’t just - stop feeling like this.”

Dakota tightens her hold immediately.

“Oh no darlin” she murmurs, low and soothing. “Hey, Hey - You don’t apologize for that.”

She shifts closer, her chin resting on your shoulder, her lips brushing the skin there in a soft kiss. Her hand begins slow, repetitive strokes over your stomach—up, down, up, down—anchoring you to the moment.

“It’s okay baby” she coos gently. “I’ve got you.”

You turn slightly, burying your face into her chest now, fists clutching the fabric of her shirt. The tears come harder, your body trembling as the words spill out between sobs.

“I feel so… small,” you choke. “Like I disappear next to you. Like anyone could replace me.”

Dakota exhales slowly, deliberately, like she’s grounding herself so she can ground you too.

She cups the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair she loves so much, holding you there with unmistakable intent. Not trapping—claiming.

“Listen to me okay” she says softly but firmly.

“No one replaces you”

She tilts your head just enough that she can kiss your forehead, lingering there. Then your temple. Then the corner of your eye, catching a tear with her lips.

“You’re not small to me okay, do you hear me babygirl” Dakota whispers.“You’re my softness. My quiet. The place I rest.”

Her thumb brushes beneath your eye, wiping away another tear.

“You feel deeply. You care deeply. That’s not weakness - it’s one of the things I love most about you.”

You shake your head faintly, doubt still clawing at you. “But I don’t look special.”

Dakota lets out a small, almost fond huff. “Baby” she murmurs.

“Come here.”

She rolls onto her back and pulls you with her, guiding you so you’re half sprawled across her chest, your ear over her heart. One hand cradles your lower back; the other cups your cheek, thumb brushing slow, comforting arcs.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” she asks quietly.

You sniffle, closing your eyes from the tears. “What?”

“I see someone real,” your girlfriend says. “Someone warm. Someone whose eyes soften when she’s happy. Someone whose hair I know by touch alone.”

She presses a kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to look rare to be irreplaceable.”

Her hand begins to move you gently, back and forth, the motion slow and rhythmic, almost lulling. Every so often she hums low, absentminded, comforting.

“You’re allowed to feel insecure alright” she murmurs.

“But you’re not allowed to believe it makes you unlovable.”

She kisses the top of your head again, then rests her cheek there. “Cry if you need to. I’m not going anywhere, okay my sweet girl”

Your breathing slowly evens out. The tears taper off into quiet hiccups, your body still heavy with emotion but no longer spiraling. Dakota keeps holding you, never rushing, never loosening her grip.

“There you are” she whispers fondly when she feels you relax. “Safe. Right here. Brave girl.”

Her thumb traces lazy circles against your cheek. “I choose you when you’re confident,” she murmurs. “And I choose you when you’re curled up in my arms like this.”

The last thing you feel before sleep pulls you under is the steady rise and fall of her chest, her warmth wrapped around you like a promise.