I'm freezin' outside - MV3 x olympic!iceskater!fem!reader
You enter the Winter Olympics as the favorite for gold until a fall during your final program changes everything for you.
warnings: abusive dinamics, swearing, enemies to lovers, injury
a/n: im back bitches!! feels good to be back, wtf is going on w mclaren already, osc come on, get up!! ik u can do it xx
support me here: ko-fi
🔊 listening to: Stateside - PinkPantheress, Zara Larsson
The thing about Olympic athletes is that people only see the medals.
They don’t see the mornings when it’s still dark outside and the rink lights are the only thing awake in the whole city. They don’t see the bruises under tights or the way ankles get taped so tight you can barely feel your toes.
They definitely don’t see the parts where you’re 16 years old and your coach is yelling at you because you landed a jump slightly tilted.
But people love the medals.
And right now, everyone expected one from you.
You were 23, an Olympic figure skater, and for the past 4 years your entire existence had basically been leading up to this exact competition.
The Winter Olympics in Italy.
You hated it.
Not the skating. Never the skating. Just everything around it.
Your name had been everywhere the past week. Sports channels, interviews, TikTok edits with dramatic music.
The favorite for gold.
"The girl who could land quads like normal boring jumps". "The Red Bull athlete who trained for more than six hours nonstop"
Red Bull had been cheering on you for the past months.
They liked the whole image: aggressive programs, difficult jumps, the reputation of being a little brat. So you showed up to a few of their events, wore their gear during training camps, appeared in some random videos where they made athletes try each others sports for fun.
Which was how you ended up being loosely connected to the same brand as a certain Formula 1 driver.
A driver you didn’t like.
Not that you actually knew him. But still.
Max was somehow one of the most talked about people anywhere near the Olympics that week even though he wasn’t competing in anything.
Red Bull had sent him to Italy for a few appearances and promotional stuff. Interviews. Social media clips. Probably skiing badly for a video.
You'd seen him once already in the athletes’ lounge two days earlier. Surrounded by cameras and people who looked very impressed by him.
He looked exactly like you expected.
Confident in that annoying way that came from being very good at something and having too much money and fame.
Formula 1 drivers were like that. At least in your opinion.
They sat in machines that did half the work and then everyone acted like they were superheroes risking their lives for a greater good.
Skaters, on the other hand, had exactly one engine.
Their bodies.
Your coach would probably say something like that if he was in a philosophical mood. Which he almost never was.
He believed in exactly 3 things: discipline, repetition and winning.
Second place didn’t count and obviously third place didn’t exist.
And pain was just part of the process.
You'd been training with him since you were fifteen.
Which meant most of your teenage years were basically a blur of airports, rinks, and criticism.
“Again,” he would say if a jump was slightly off.
“Higher.” “Faster rotation.” “Again.”
Sometimes you wondered if he'd even notice if you collapsed on the ice.
Probably only if it affected the program.
Your family wasn’t much better.
They liked telling people their daughter was an Olympic athlete.
They liked the headlines and the medals.
They didn’t like answering calls when you had bad competitions.
So somewhere along the way you learned that you were on your own and the only thing that really mattered was the result.
Winning meant approval, a smile and maybe a hug.
Which was why the Olympics mattered more than anything.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
The arena in Italy was packed.
Bright lights, huge crowd, commentators speaking in three different languages somewhere above the ice.
Figure skating finals were dramatic by default but this one had an extra layer because everyone knew who the favorite was.
You.
You'd already finished the short program in first place.
Now it was the free skate. Four minutes that would decide everything.
Backstage, your coach barely looked at you.
“Remember the layout” he said.
Quad lutz, triple toe combination and a quad flip later in the program.
You nodded. You already knew.
You'd practiced that program so many times you could probably do it asleep.
“Don’t hesitate on the last jump" he added. “That’s where you lose speed.”
You didn’t answer.
There was nothing to say.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
Max hadn’t actually planned on watching the entire skating final.
He'd shown up mostly because Red Bull people suggested it would be good content. Some cameras, a few photos, maybe a quick interview about winter sports.
But then he realized the competition was the same one that girl was skating in.
The one who had made that comment about motors.
Someone had shown him the clip earlier.
“I prefer sports where the athlete does the work, not the engine.”
He'd laughed at the time. Fair enough. Still rude.
So now he was sitting in the stands, jacket zipped up against the cold, watching something he barely understood.
The programs before yours were impressive in a general way.
Lots of spinning. Lots of jumps. Crowd clapping like idiots.
Then your name was announced.
The reaction in the arena changed immediately.
Louder. More attention.
He leaned forward slightly without really meaning to.
You stepped onto the ice like you owned it.
Focused, serious, the kind of expression people had when they were about to do something very difficult. The kind of expression Max had while driving.
The music started.
First jump.
Quad.
You landed it clean. The crowd reacted instantly.
Max blinked, okay, that actually looked hard.
Second jump combination. Perfect again.
Third pass. Still clean.
By the middle of the program the commentators were practically shouting.
“She’s unstoppable tonight.”
“She could secure the gold medal with this performance.”
Even Max could tell everything was going right.
Until the last jump.
It was the hardest one in the program.
Quad flip.
And...Perfect!
The crowd went wild. You were smiling to the stadium when you saw him.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
The ice gleamed under the arena lights, quiet now except for the faint hum of cameras and your own skates cutting the surface.
You took a deep breath and launched into your quad flip. Again.
Tomorrow was a big day and only you knew how close you were of falling on the last jump.
You hit it perfectly, the blade slicing into the ice like it was nothing. Clean.
The crowd had left, just a few stragglers and some media people lingering, but the scoreboard flashed anyway.
Your coach nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before moving off.
You leaned against the barrier, feeling the adrenaline fade, and unbuckled your skates. The familiar click of straps released, letting your feet stretch free.
And then you realized he was still there.
"What?" you asked the man.
Max, leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed.
“Not bad, you’re really something” he said, voice low, teasing.
You raised an eyebrow, smirking despite yourself. “Not bad? Didn’t realize you were into skating.”
“I’m not, It's quite boring actually” he said. “But I like watching the girl who can actually do stuff. Not just spin a wheel.”
You laughed softly. “Yeah, well, one of us has a motor and thinks that makes them impressive. Sorry to break your bubble, it's not” you argued putting your sneakers on.
A beat passed, and then you leaned closer, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You can keep pretending we’re the same, but we’re not. Your sport runs on money and sponsors. Mine runs on discipline.”
He chuckled. “Honestly, I’d hate to see you try surviving a real competition without someone holding your hand. Couldn’t handle it.”
Max smirks, leaning just a little too close. “Honestly… hope you wipe out on that quad. Wouldn’t be the first time someone underestimated me.”
You glare at him, jaw tight. “Dream on, Max. At least when I fall, it’s because I’m pushing limits.”
He chuckles darkly. “Limits? Cute.”
You step forward, eyes blazing. “Keep fantasizing about me failing. Maybe focus on not embarrassing yourself first. Asphalt isn’t forgiving either.”
Max leans back, grin widening. “I’ll take my chances. But don’t worry, I’ll be front row for your spectacular flop.”
You throw him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “You wish.”
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
The next day, the rink smells like sweat, you haven’t spoken to Max since yesterday’s fight. You’re stretching, lacing up your skates, focused as hell, because today’s the big final, the one where you have to repeat the quad you almost didn't land yesterday.
You needed that gold.
Your coach yells from the side, voice sharp, making every tiny mistake feel massive. You grit your teeth and push harder, every muscle screaming, there's no point in apologizing.
Your coach storms over, waving a clipboard. “Listen kid, if you want to take gold today, you need to throw in a double Axel into the combo.”
You freeze mid-stretch, heart thudding. “Wait… a double Axel? I haven’t even practiced that enough—”
“No excuses” your coach snaps, voice sharp enough for everyone in the rink to hear. “You’re here to win. You either adapt or walk off that ice empty-handed.”
You bite back a sigh, staring at your skates. Your routine is solid as it is, but you know a refusal would mean drama you don’t need today.
“Fine” you mutter, finally, voice tight. “I’ll do it… but don’t start blaming me if it goes sideways.”
Your coach grins like they just won a mini battle. “That’s the spirit. Now go show them what you’ve got.”
You nod, pulling yourself together, muscles tense, mind racing, but underneath it all, a spark of stubborn pride flickers. You’ll land it… somehow. You need do.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
From across the stands, you don't notice Max leaning against the railing, watching. He flinches a little when he sees your coach snap at you. Something about the way you’re grinding through the pain hits him. He realizes this isn’t just a show, this is everything you’ve got.
Then, just as he’s watching, someone mutters under their breath, trying to take a cheap shot at you. Without thinking, Max steps forward, voice low and firm.
“Hey… back off. She’s not the one you want to mess with.”
He freezes, realizing he just defended you, without even knowing why.
You glance up at him mid-stretch once you notice him, eyebrow raised, heart beating fast, and he looks away, like maybe he’s embarrassed or...nah that can't be, not after yesterday.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
The rink is loud, you are the next one.
You skate onto the rink, heart pounding, blades slicing the ice. The stands are noisy, but you shut everything else out, focusing on the routine.
First, a quad Lutz, clean. Smoothly into a triple toe loop, solid landing. Later, you go for the quad flip, everything perfect.
Then comes the double Axel your coach insisted on. You went into it fast, almost aggressive.
Takeoff looked normal.
Landing, her blade hit the ice slightly wrong and for a split second she tried to save it.
Then she slipped. Hard.
The sound of the fall carried across the entire arena.
You let out a piercing scream, the crowd gasped all at once. Pain explodes up your leg as you collapse hard onto the ice, clutching your ankle, unable to move.
Max felt his stomach drop even though he had no idea why.
You stayed on the ice for a second longer than expected.
Your coach rushes over, panic in his voice. You scream again, this time is anger, every movement agony, as they carefully lift you onto a stretcher. The rink feels like it’s spinning, your vision blurred through tears, and the sound of your own heartbeat is deafening.
The announcement over the loudspeaker tells the crowd you’ve been injured. Max, in the stands, freezes, staring down at you, the fight from yesterday forgotten, replaced by a shockingly unfamiliar worry.
_____________________________________<3__________________________________
The hallway behind the rink was quieter.
Snow had started falling outside the arena windows.
Max wasn’t even sure why he was there.
He had just walked down from the stands almost automatically.
Then he saw her sitting on a hospital bed, near the exit door, jacket around her shoulders, an ice pack pressed against her ankle.
For the first time all week you didn’t look intimidating.
Just tired. And angry.
He hesitated for a second, then walked over.
“Oh great” she muttered. “The driver.”
“That was impressive” he added.
You rolled her eyes slightly.
“Yeah, that fall really had some mysterious touch to it,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Sorry,” he said calmly. “Just checking if your ankle is still attached.”
Ypu tried standing. Bad idea.
Max instinctively reached out, steadying your arm.
“Oh, and congratulations, Max” you said, voice dripping with venom. “Looks like your wish came true—I actually broke something.”
Max freezes, eyes wide, voice low and rough. “I… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t serious! I...shit, I didn’t actually want that to happen.”
He runs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but you, a flicker of panic and guilt in his gaze.
“I… I messed up.”
For a second neither of them said anything.
Snow was falling harder outside now.
“You did.”
“You should sit,” he said.
“I hate sitting.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
You looked at the snow for a moment.
Then he sighed. “Fine.”
A few minutes later you ended up walking slowly outside.
Just along the edge of the Olympic village where the paths were covered in fresh snow and the noise of the arena faded behind them.
You limped slightly as Max matched your pace without commenting.
“You looked terrified when I fell,” you said suddenly.
“I wasn’t terrified.”
“You were.”
“I was concerned.”
“Why?”
Max shrugged. He couldn't answer, he didn't know the answer himself.
You didn’t talk for a while. Just walked, the silence stretching, comfortable in a way you hadn’t felt in years.
And for the first time, she realized that maybe she didn’t have to carry everything alone.
Max glanced at her, finally breaking the quiet. “Seriously, you’re amazing. And stubborn. Dangerous combo.”
She snorted. “I know.”
“You’re stubborn,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And crazy. Dangerous combo.”
“Thanks,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.
Snow crunches under your boots as you walk along the frozen path. Then your foot catches on a hidden patch of ice. You stumble, arms flailing but before you can even react, Max’s hand shoots out, gripping yours firmly, steadying you.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low, almost hesitant, eyes scanning yours like he’s scared you might fall again.
You catch your breath, cheeks flushed, and nod, a small, wobbly smile forming. “Yeah… thanks.”
He doesn’t let go. You don’t let go.
The snow keeps falling around you, soft and quiet, but in that moment, neither of you cares about the world outside this small circle. Hands still locked, you keep walking, step by step, together.
And you can’t help but think… maybe you've always liked him. Something about him was like looking in a mirror. And maybe that’s why, against all odds, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling anyway.
