#warmup drawings sure as hell warm me up

[caycanteven]

sigh...

...he's hot your honor

Horror belongs to Sour Apple Studios

[sankyeom]

batter up! | e.s

pairings: eric sohn x female reader genre: baseball player!eric, college au, strangers to lovers,  summary: in which you are assigned to interview the unapproachable baseball team ace eric sohn, and things end up going sideways word count: 6.1k (did i get carried way with the concept? yes i did) requested: nope i literally have other requests from months ago that i should get to but i’ve been having writers block and i couldn’t write any of them without it sounding awful sooooo here we are!!! enjoy lol note: all of the boyz are the same age for the sake of the story. also, the start of the plot is based on rowoon’s episode of sf9’s drama click your heart. 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

“So, you want to join newspaper,” the newspaper editor, Choi Chanhee, said as he crossed his arms and surveyed you. It was the start of the second semester, and you soon realised that you had very few clubs and activities under your belt. “What makes you think I’ll let you join in the middle of the year?” Chanhee inquired, raising an eyebrow in question. His full cheeks and baby pink hair usually made him seem approachable and soft, but his hard expression cancelled out any comfort his other features might have brought you.

You blinked at him. “We’ve been best friends since freshman year?” you deadpanned, irritated that Chanhee was making such a big deal out of it. From the corner of the room, you noticed Changmin suppress a giggle by clearing his throat and pretending to cough into the bend of his elbow. “Come on, Chanhee. You’re a reporter short since Bomin quit, right?” you recalled what he had been moaning about for nearly three months. “I can fill in for him! I’ll be great.”

Despite being your best friend and normally having quite a warm personality, Chanhee was skeptical. “Alright,” he decided, drawing the word out and unfolding his arms. Chanhee sauntered over to where Changmin was standing and – after giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs – grabbed his clipboard, pretending to look for something to assign you. You could tell by the ways his eyes didn’t even skim the words that he already had something in mind for you. “If you’re so desperate to join the paper, then you can do the interview on Eric Sohn,” he stated, giving you a challenging look.

So much for him “going easy on you”, as he had said moments before the two of you entered the media room together.

Dramatically, a few gasps sounded through the media room and you sighed. “Who’s Eric Sohn?” you almost regretted asking, since everyone seemed mortified that you didn’t know him.

“He’s the baseball team’s ace,” Juyeon explained while trying to balance his water bottle on his head. It was half full and he had been at it for the entire time you tried to convince Chanhee to let you join newspaper. “Unapproachable as hell, though. We’ve tried to interview him before and believe me, it was terrible,” he added with a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the outer corners. “He’s a friend of ours but he doesn’t really say much.”

“Everyone wants to know more about him,” Chanhee elaborated, causing your eyes to flicker back to your best friend. “And if I want to be the best editor in history of the paper, I’m getting that story,” he smiled sweetly, as if he hadn’t given you – what seemed like – an impossible job. “Like you said, you’ll be great!” Chanhee pumped a fist in the air half-heartedly to encourage you.

Sunwoo snorted, lying across three chairs he had lined up for him to curl up on. “Or not,” he sang, tossing a hacky sack between his hands with ease. “Eric’s my best friend and the last time I tried to interview him, he yelled at me for interrupting his practice and had the coach kick me out,” Sunwoo seemed amused by the turn of events, but it didn’t motivate you to carry out your interview. “I’m banned from the baseball field now.”

It wasn’t long before other members of the paper brought up their own horror stories, describing attempts at interviewing the baseball team’s ace. The negativity in the room surprised you; it was supposedly only an interview assignment. Was Eric Sohn really that difficult to be around? And if so, why was your best friend making your first assignment so hard on you? 

“So far, this assignment has been proven impossible to complete,” Chanhee explained. “Do we all agree that if Y/n can do this, she gets to join newspaper? No questions asked?” he glanced around at his team of writers, photographers and editors. Immediately, the members all nodded. Chanhee smiled at you. 

Well, that answered your questions. 

Feeling burdened, you asked Chanhee, “How long do I have for this?”

Chanhee flicked through the stack of papers attached to his clipboard until he found the paper’s schedule. “I can give you about a month, but no more than that,” he insists. “I may be your best friend, but I do have a weekly paper to put out,” he adds, making you nod.

“A month is more than enough,” you promised. “On what days does the baseball team meet?”

The indoor baseball stadium your university had was cold in the mornings. Chanhee had managed to get Eric’s practice schedule from Sunwoo, and the next morning at 5:30am sharp, you arrived at the stadium to try and interview Eric. As you opened the main door, you could hear a loud and clear voice  telling everyone to do their warmups so they could start practicing. Since you didn’t know much about baseball, you decided to make your way towards the bleachers and watch the team practice for a while.

Chanhee had shown you a picture of Eric so you would know who you were looking for, and you were slightly miffed that it hadn’t done him any justice. He stood out much more in person; his features sharper and body leaner and stronger from the years of practice. You were almost intimidated by his overall aura and piercing gaze.

Checking your notes, you recalled basic information that Chanhee had given you so that you weren’t completely clueless going into your interview. Eric Sohn was the ace player because he was their best batter and fastest runner. This combination along with his precision allowed him to almost always hit home runs and also be an excellent fielder. A summary of his past scores had also been provided, but that might as well have been a completely different language because you couldn’t understand it.

With a sigh, you tightened your jacket around you in order to warm up more in the cool stadium. Watching Eric practice, you noticed that he wasn’t batting very well on that day. There was a crease between his brows and he kept hitting the ground with his bat in frustration, occasionally throwing it down staring at the floor in contemplation.

You really felt for him.

It was clear that the team relied on him a lot and his reputation of being unapproachable and cold surely couldn’t have been entirely fair, either. His coach was chastising him, pointing his finger and raising his voice as Eric stood still and nodded, face void of any expression. You assumed his coach had told him to take a break, because he started removing his batting gloves and making his way to the bench.

You knew it probably wasn’t the best time to approach him for a favour, but you had been sitting for nearly an hour and your legs and thighs were starting to feel numb. The walk down the steps was welcome, even when your heart raced with nerves as you approached Eric. When you were a few steps away from him, the boy glanced up and raised an eyebrow at you. “This is a closed practice,” he told you.

Of course he had to have the most incredible voice to go along with his looks. Great.

“Um,” You stammered dumbly for a moment, tucking your hair behind your ear to give your hands something to do. “I know. I just- I was hoping you had a moment?” you asked, voice far less confident than you had wished. “I’m on the university’s newspaper and I was assigned an interview on you.”

“On me,” Eric repeated, tilting his head to the side. “Chanhee really doesn’t give up, does he,” something resembling a chuckle left his lips. “I’m at practice right now,” his tone was firm, as if he was trying to tell you to leave without expressing those exact words.

You felt yourself nodding. “I get it… if you’re having a hard time with your practice,” you added, thinking back to how his coach yelled at him. “I understand that and I can leave you alone.”

Eric observed you; you weren’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he suddenly motioned towards you. “What’s the first question?” he asked. You were pleased that he had decided to do the interview and, in fear of him changing his mind again, immediately opened your notebook to search for the questions Chanhee had wanted answered.

“Right,” you said, finding the right page. “Um, what made you-“

“Heads up!” a shout distracted you from your thoughts. Your head whipped to the side to see who was shouting, only to see a baseball being hurtled at you at a blistering speed.

“Watch out!” Eric exclaimed, jumping in front of you to grab the baseball before it could smack you directly in the face. You flinched at the sound of his hand coming in contact with the baseball, stunned that he had expertly caught the tiny sphere at the speed it was going at.

Just as you were about to thank Eric for saving you, the boy fell to the ground, moaning in pain at the impact. The ball fell from his grasp and he held onto the hand that caught it with his other; tears building in his eyes. You kneeled down next to him, panicked. “Are you okay?” you questioned, concerned at his reaction.

“Sohn!” his coach yelled, running over to where you and Eric were crouched. “What the hell were you thinking, catching a fastball with your bare hands?” the man chastised, kneeling with the boy and calling the team medic over to inspect Eric’s hand.

“Is that bad?” you asked innocently, confused as to why Eric was in so much pain.

The coach gave you a glare. “Get out of my stadium,” he ordered instead of answering you.

You glanced between him and Eric, feeling embarrassed at the situation. “I’m really sorry,” you told Eric sincerely, picking up your abandoned bag and running out of the stadium.

Chanhee was going to kill you.

“I thought you wanted to be on the paper,” Chanhee said with a frown. “Not that you wanted the paper to write an article about you injuring the baseball team’s star player,” he emphasised, making you flinch.

“That isn’t fair!” you exclaimed. “I didn’t do anything wrong! If anything, we should be asking ourselves why a teammate of Eric’s blatantly hurled a baseball in his direction,” you tried to defend yourself. “And I was in the midst of getting that interview, thank you very much.”

“And now I’ll never get it,” Chanhee sighed. Younghoon rolled his eyes at your friend’s theatrics.

“Shouldn’t we be more concerned that our friend is injured than the fact that you didn’t get your story?” he reminded your pink-haired friend. Chanhee waved his hand at him, as if physically swatting Younghoon’s words away, before going back to picking at his lunch.

“Yeah Chanhee,” a voice behind you agreed, and you knew in your gut that it was Eric. Nervously, you turned around to face the blond and saw him already looking at you. Your eyes met and you were startled by how much warmer his deep brown eyes appeared. “You’re being a terrible friend.”

“Well you’re a terrible friend, too,” Chanhee argued. “How many reporters have I sent to interview you, only to have them be humiliated and turned down?” he asked.

“I’m injured,” Eric said as he took the empty seat between you and Kevin. “Can’t you lay off on the newspaper stuff for a while?” Chanhee rolled his eyes but said nothing; you knew this meant that he agreed with Eric but was too proud to voice it.

Eric’s mention of an injury made you glance down at his right hand, seeing it tightly wrapped in a bandage. “Are you okay?” you asked him, observing his hand.

“It’s a sprain,” Eric explained, lifting his hand up for your friends to see. “Nothing major, but I have to sit out of practice for at least a month, according to the doctor,” he added. “It’s a good thing the season doesn’t start until two months from now.”

Your heart sank at his admission. “I’m really sorry,” you told him. “Truly. I never meant for that to happen,” you promised. “Is there anything I can do?” you offered, wanting to help him out since you had caused enough problems for him.

“Sure,” Eric allowed. “First off, you can tell me your name.”

You smiled at this. “I’m Y/n,” you introduced yourself. “What else?”

You were surprised when the corners of Eric’s mouth lifted up into a small grin. “You could walk me to class?”

He had a stunning smile. Something about it made you want to make him smile more.

Helping Eric with his books and bag had become a regular thing. At first, you did it because you felt guilty about partially being at fault for his injury (and because you were curious about him). Soon, you found that Eric was actually quite a bright and excitable person who was a lot of fun to be around.

As Eric was always so busy juggling school and baseball, he never sat with you and your mutual friends during mealtimes. Now that he no longer had to attend baseball practise at the recommendation of his doctor, Eric was able to sit with your friends every lunch and dinner. Even your friends were surprised when Eric started openly joining discussions and laughing at Sangyeon and Juyeon’s terrible jokes. Sunwoo especially was quite startled by this change; as his roommate and best friend, it was a change that he welcomed despite the initial shock.

After a particularly tiring day of midterms, you felt compelled to do something fun instead of spending the whole night cramming for a midterm you were already confident in doing well on. At approximately 3am, you found yourself rounding up ingredients for chocolate chip cookies from your baking stash and tip-toeing your way into the communal kitchen to bake.

Your roommate had been asleep for a few hours at that point, and you knew that most of your friends would be resting after their rigorous study schedules. Thus, as you rolled up your sleeves and pre-heated the oven, you hadn’t expected anybody to be awake to join your late night – or early morning? – cookie escapades.

Which was why you nearly lost your soul when a hand tapped you on the shoulder. You had your earphones in and were humming along to your favourite playlist as you started mixing the dry ingredients for your cookies, and leapt in the air at the contact. Whirling around, you sighed in relief when you saw Eric, stood with pink pyjamas and ruffled hair, instead of your RA. “You scared me,” you told him, even though you knew he could tell from your reaction. “What are you doing awake?”

Eric shrugged. “I heard someone walking down the hall,” he explained. “I guess a small part of me was hoping it was you,” he grinned widely after his cheesy comment, urging you to roll your eyes.

“Very funny,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up and palms started sweating at his sweet words.

“What are you making?” Eric asked, hopping up to sit on the counter and slipping his glasses on so he could see better. “Cookies?”

You hummed. “Chocolate chip,” you added with a big grin, holding up the bag of sugary delights to emphasise your point.

“My favourite,” Eric noted happily. “Can I help?”

You nodded, listing off the wet ingredients that he could prepare for you in a seperate bowl. You knew he could pour it all with one hand and you would do the mixing yourself afterwards. After handing Eric one of your earphones, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you made your cookie batter, the silence only breaking once in a while by your giggles as you bumped into one another. The first time was a mistake on your part, but after that the two of you were trying your hardest to make the other person giggle and squirm.

Once the cookies were shaped and in the oven, you and Eric sat on the floor near them to relish in the heat the oven was radiating. “What were those questions you wanted to ask me?” Eric inquired, referring to the interview questions Chanhee had prepared for you.

Your eyes widened in surprise. The two of you hadn’t discussed the interview since he was injured, and you had nearly forgotten about your assignment. “Oh. They were mostly just about your baseball life and how you keep your grades up and stuff,” you admitted. “It’s not the interview I would have wanted to give, but it’s what Chanhee wanted.”

“What would you have asked me, then?” Eric asked. “What is your ideal Eric Sohn interview,” he added in an MC voice, making you fight off a grin at how silly he was being.

“Well,” you trailed off, trying to find the right wording. “That day I was at practice it looked like you were having a pretty hard time. What was going through your mind?”

Eric went silent. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I was just thinking that it’s hard to be perfect all the time. My team relies on me a lot, and while it’s an honour to be such an important member of the team, it can be really hard when people expect you to be the ace and you don’t perform.”

There was a distant look on his face, as if his thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute. “What made you want to join the university baseball team?” you asked, moving slightly so that you were facing Eric more comfortably.

A smile reached his lips. “I just really love baseball,” he chuckled. “I’ve been playing since I was a kid. Obviously I knew that university baseball was going to be on a different level, but I just knew that I wasn’t done playing yet. The challenge was exciting and it motivated me to be a better player.”

“I guess it worked,” you mused.

“I guess so,” he reluctantly agreed.

“So when did you start playing?” you asked, peering into the oven to check on your cookies. They had at least another five minutes left until they would be the golden-brown colour you wanted.

“I’ve played with my dad for fun ever since I can remember,” Eric admitted. “Of course when you grow up in LA, you watch baseball on TV with your family,” he added, reminiscing in his childhood.

“Dodgers?” you guessed his favourite team, since he said he was from LA.

“Yankees,” he corrected with a shrug. “My family used to go down to Yankee stadium to watch them play during baseball season when we visited New York. Our seats were always all the way in the back in the highest row, but I didn’t care. As long as I got to watch it all,” you laughed at his excitement. “I guess you could say my baseball career started in little league,” Eric recalled, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Sometimes I wish I could go back,” the smile slowly fell from his face. “Everything was so much easier then.”

“I get that,” you agreed with him. “I never played in little league, but I remember going to my friends’ games,” you said, almost picturing the old baseball field with all your friends running around and playing. “I didn’t even know what was going on in the game. All I knew was that I could cheer on my friends. I’d yell for them as loudly as possible and get popcorn to keep myself entertained during the parts where my friends were benched,” you smiled at the memory. “It was just... fun. I didn’t have to think about any grown-up problems.”

“That’s exactly how I felt,” Eric agreed, excitement filling his voice. “I finally got to make friends that loved baseball as much as me, and playing was fun. It was exciting and nerve-wracking, and it made me happy to practice and play another game,” he sighed. “These days, I play because the university relies on me, and because my parents want me to,” Eric confessed. “I miss loving baseball, I-“ he paused, clearing his throat. “I want to love baseball. But with all the pressure and expectations…” he trailed off, alluding to the fact that he no longer loved the sport that used to fill his childhood with happiness.

You bit your lip. “I’m sorry,” you told him, more as a form of empathy than anything else. “What made you fall in love with baseball in the first place?”

Eric pondered. “Well, at first I just enjoyed playing the sport. But the longer I played, I guess I liked being part of a team. I liked feeling supported by the other guys and feeling like I was needed and trusted by them.”

“What’s missing from your team now that makes you feel like you don’t have that?” you wondered.

“I guess my team relies on me more than I feel like I can give them,” Eric confesses, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, and you hesitantly reached your hand out for him to hold. He grasped it tightly in his, thankful for the small sign of support.

“Maybe you can find support elsewhere,” you suggested, slightly holding up your hands and smiling.

“Yeah, maybe,” Eric agreed with a smile, tears slightly welling in the corners of his eyes. You didn’t have anything else to say and were grateful for the alarm quietly going off on your phone, signalling that your cookies were ready. “Perfect timing,” he added with a laugh as the two of you stood up. You pretended not to see Eric wipe away a tear with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

They hadn’t looked like sad tears.

Chanhee flipped through the pages you had printed out for him to read. He already spent ten minutes reading and re-reading the article you had written. At this point, it was just getting ridiculous. “Chanhee,” you whined, making the pink-haired boy place the papers down.

“This is…” he paused, trying to find the words. “How did you get him to open up like that?” Chanhee wondered, unable to grasp the idea that Eric had given you so many childhood anecdotes and personal stories to fill the pages of your interview.

You smiled. “I just talked to him like a friend instead of someone to interview,” you shrugged. “He’s actually surprisingly easy to talk to. And really talkative once he gets started,” you added as an afterthought.

“I noticed that about him recently,” Sunwoo agreed. This time, instead of lying across three chairs, he was sat upside down on the only sofa in the media room, head dangling dangerously close to the ground. “These days he seems happy to tell me about his day and doesn’t leave a single detail out. It’s kind of crazy to see the change,” Sunwoo told you.

Chanhee help up the pages. “Did he really approve everything in this?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. I wrote it with his permission and let him read it all before I brought it to you. He’s happy with it,” you promised your best friend. “Wouldn’t want to upset my best friend and potential editor…” you trailed off, hopeful.

“Well obviously you’re in!” Chanhee exclaimed, hugging you tightly as you laughed. “You just got me the most personal article of a university athlete I’ve ever published. You deserve it,” he assured you. “Plus, you put a permanent smile on one of my friend’s faces. I didn’t think that would be possible,” Chanhee gave you a meaningful look when you separated, causing you to smile bashfully and angle your gaze at the floor to avoid his gaze.

“He’s way more open than you guys gave him credit for,” you retorted. You truly believed it; the first time you tried to interview him, he had surprised you with how willing he was to help you out.

“And emotional,” Changmin chimed in. “He cried during The Notebook, then he cried again when we put a horror film on afterwards. You can’t win.”

His comment made you laugh, picturing Eric curled up on the couch in the communal dorm movie room while sobbing into Changmin’s shoulder was too good to pass up on. “Make sure you invite me to the next movie night,” you requested. Changmin saluted you in response, Sunwoo throwing a thumbs up in agreement to allow you to join. “Anyway, I need to get going. I’m actually heading to surprise said cry-baby at his first day back at practice,” you informed them, picking up your bag to get going.

“His hand healed so quickly?” Juyeon asked, surprised.

“Not at all,” you denied with a sad smile. “He says it’s still hurting these days. But his coach wants him to come observe practice so when his hand heals he’ll be up to date on everything... Or something,” you shrugged, unsure of how people prepared for baseball games.

As you waved your goodbyes, Chanhee called out to you: “Don’t forget we meet every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday for newspaper!” You were pleased that Chanhee had enjoyed your article and wanted you on the newspaper, especially since so many of your friends were usually occupied by this extracurricular activity anyway.

Once you arrived at the baseball stadium, you took a seat on the first bleacher to wait for Eric to arrive. The weather had warmed significantly since the first time you came a month ago. You supposed the fact that it was an afternoon practice instead of an early morning practice also added to the lack of cold you were experiencing.

“Hey,” a member of Eric’s team approached you with a smile.

Unsure, you smiled back and greeted him. “Hello,” you said.

“You look a little out of place,” he said to you, standing in front of you. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he added.

“Oh yeah, I don’t usually come here,” you confirmed for him. “I’m just waiting for a friend,” you added politely.

“You’re far too pretty to be waiting alone,” he said, which made you freeze up. You hadn’t been approached by guys like him often, but it had happened enough for you to know that they really couldn’t take a hint.

“And yet here I am,” you replied, trying to sound curt.

“I could keep you company,” the guy suggested. You opened your mouth to protest, but he had already taken a seat next to you, far too close for your personal comfort. As you subtly scooted away from him, he seemed to take this as a suggestion for him to sit even closer to you. “I like your hair,” he said, lifting his hand as if he was about to touch it.

A hand grabbed his before he could. “It doesn’t sound like you asked,” Eric told his teammate, right hand tightening on the boy’s, voice clipped and laced with anger. “So I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Eric yanked him up to his feet, and you finally felt like you could breathe again with the distance between the two of you. With a harsh shove, he stumbled back and glared at Eric, cursing under his breath and stalking off.

“Eric your hand,” you realised, standing up and trying to inspect his injured hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, searching your body for any sign that you were uncomfortable or hurt. “That creep didn’t say or do anything?”

You shook your head. “No, no, I’m fine! But your hand-“ you soon realised that Eric wasn’t even wearing the brace anymore. After the original bandage that was put on it, his doctor had given him a small wrap brace so he could do everyday activities with more ease and support. Instead, his hand was bare and looked completely fine. “Is healed?” you stammered, confused. You glanced up at Eric, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact. “Just yesterday you told me that it was hurting.”

“I lied,” Eric confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you forgave him easily. It wasn’t a big deal and you were just happy that he wasn’t in pain anymore, especially since you felt partially responsible for the injury in the first place. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you wondered.

Eric scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “I like having you around, okay?” he admitted. “I figured that after you got whatever you needed for your interview, you would leave me alone and go back to how things were before I was injured.”

His disclosure had stunned you into silence. You opened your mouth to say something twice, but ended up closing it again for lack of knowing what to say. “You thought I was just talking to you for my interview?” you clarified. Eric nodded. “I completely forgot about it until you brought it up a few weeks ago,” you admitted to him. “I was spending time with you because I wanted to, not because I wanted to get interview answers out of you,” you promised.

“Not even because you felt guilty about being involved in my injury?” Eric inquired.

“At first I wanted to help you because I felt guilty,” you agreed. “But after the first time we hung out together I stopped caring about that.”

“Oh,” Eric said, staring at you as if he had no clue what to say. “I really thought you were going to leave…”

You were amused that Eric was so sure of himself. “Did you ever consider asking me to stay?” you pointed out, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow to tease him.

Eric paused. “Will you?” he wondered.

“Will you?” you retorted.

Eric frowned. “I’m lost,” he stated. “Will I what?”

You grinned, finding his furrowed brows and slightly cocked head quite adorable. “Kiss me,” you told him what you meant. His eye’s widened, lips parting slightly before Eric nodded. Once, twice, three times. You took this as your cue and stepped closer to him, your lips easily finding his as you closed your eyes.

“Sohn!” the sound of his coach’s voice caused you to jump apart. “This is baseball practice. You can practice that in your own time,” he said, although you could tell by his tone that he was poking fun at his ace player.

Eric blushed, clearing his throat. “Yes coach,” he called, smiling shyly at you before rushing off to put on his batting gloves.

Decked out in your university’s colours, you stood in the bleachers with your friends, anxiously biting your lip as you watched the game unfold before you. Eric and his team had made it to the championships this season, and you were more than thrilled to go and support him with the rest of your friends. Eric had been teaching you about baseball for months now, and the more you went to watch him play, the more motivated you were to remember everything he told you.

Your article had been published in the newspaper a week after you handed it in to Chanhee, and the personal interview had made it the most popular issue Chanhee had ever published as the editor of the weekly paper. Needless to say, readers wanted you to write a follow-up interview on Eric and his life on the baseball team, especially after word got out that the two of you had started dating. For a while, you were the talk of the town. You were unnerved by the sudden attention, but things mellowed down soon after people realised that you weren’t interested in satiating their endless questions.

“How much longer is this going to be?” Haknyeon whined, sighing as he leaned against Kevin for support. He had mostly been attracted by the idea of all the great snacks that being at a baseball game entailed, and hadn’t realised that a game without timing such as baseball could go on for hours.

“This is the ninth inning, so most games usually end with this round,” you spouted the information Eric had drilled into you with ease after going to his games all season long.

Next to you, Jacob giggled. “You’re turning into a natural at this,” he complimented, grinning. “Eric would be proud,” he added happily.

“Eric is their last batter,” you said in response, more focused on the game than on Jacob’s comments. “He looks nervous,” you mused, foot tapping nervously on the floor, causing your whole leg to move rapidly.

“Don’t you be nervous, he’s got this,” Kevin assured you, trying to stop Haknyeon from falling asleep on his shoulder. “Despite his injury a few months before the season started, this is the best he’s ever played.”

Hyunjae chuckled. “Yeah, I wonder why,” he teased, pointing over at you behind his hand as if you wouldn’t have known what he was doing.

You shushed your friends. “He’s up,” you said, voice shaking slightly from your nerves.

Eric stepped up to the place, looking like he was at ease and confident. This calmed you only slightly, because you knew that Eric was good at putting on a performance during his games. He knew that if he looked even slightly anxious, it would affect the other players and the audience too. Eric adjusted his grip on the bat and got in position. The pitcher threw the ball and Eric swung, missing the ball by a hair.

You groaned. “Strike one!” the umpire called, holding up a finger.

“Come on, Eric…” you mumbled, folding your hands together and squeezing tightly.

The second time the pitcher threw the ball, Eric swung the bat and hit the ball clean, sending it soaring over the outfield fence, only hitting the ground after flying between the foul poles. You gasped, jumping in the air and cheering. “What’s happening?” Chanhee asked, standing up next where you and Jacob were shouting for joy.

“Home run!” you and Jacob chorused as Eric ran his way to each base at lightning speed, reaching home base and making the winning run for your university’s team. “We won!” Jacob added and your friends all cheered with you, jumping up and down in excitement.

You could see the team celebrating together by screaming and jumping as well, and you clapped along with the rest of the audience. Eric joined their excitement after pulling off his helmet and gloves, making you smile in relief. After opening up to you and your friends, Eric had decided to speak with his team and coach about the pressure he was feeling. The team had reacted better than Eric expected, and soon Eric felt reassured and supported by his teammates.

Once Eric had given his coach a hug, he charged towards the fence separating the field from the bleachers. Instantly, your friends started cooing at you, but you only rolled your eyes. You had gotten used to the teasing after dating Eric for half a year at that point and it no longer affected you anymore. You handed Jacob your bag and raced down the bleacher steps towards your boyfriend.

“Congratulations!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him when he met you on your side of the fence. You easily fit into his arms and heard Eric’s adrenaline-filled laughter next to your ear.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he stated, pulling away just enough to kiss you. The cheers coming from your friends were almost defeating at this point but you ignored them, pulling Eric closer to you and deepening the kiss. When you pulled away, he gave you one last peck before beaming. “You helped me fall in love with baseball again, and that’s something I can never repay you for,” Eric told you, causing your heart to swell with pride.

You had noticed the changes in Eric’s attitude towards baseball before the season started. He seemed more excited about his practices and was getting closer to the people on his team. “It’s not little league, but it’s pretty good, right?” you asked rhetorically.

Eric laughed. “Really good,” he corrected. “Not only did I fall in love with baseball again, but it helped me fall in love with you for the first time,” Eric confessed. The two of you had never said that you loved each other, even though you showed it every day with your actions.

You beamed. “I love you too, Eric.”

And with that, you were pulled into another kiss. This one felt more fulfilling and warm than all the previous ones combined.

note: i’m a sucker for cheesy endings so i had to end it like this!!

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 7

Ichi shook his head, bits and pieces of ice falling off of him as he dragged himself onto a higher surface. He stood up, looking around him. First order of business: find his brothers. “Ni? San? Where are you?” San needed physical input to situate himself.

[I’m fine, and will be there soon. Just let me warm myself up a bit.] Ichi sent a wave a reassurance to Ni, giving the okay. The weak king wasn’t there (yet) so they could take a second to get their bearings back.

“Uh... look up?” Ichi raised his head in confusion, eyebrows rising up in shock when he saw San, looking down at him from a higher up surface.

“How did you- Get down from here, San!” Ichi yelled, the youngest brother nodding wordlessly and sliding down the slope. He was still giggling to himself when his older brother angrily grabbed his arm and dragged him close.

“Sorry, brother Ichi.” San said with a shrug as Ni came into view. “Hi, Ni! Wow, you look grumpy.”

Indeed, Ni looked even grumpier than usual. [It’s cold and I can barely gather energy and I have a headache from the soundwave and there’s a chunk of ice stuck in my pants-] “I hate it here.” Was what he finally settled on after his psychic tirade. “Can we just go? Maybe sink an island or two with a storm for warmup?”

“We still need to gather enough energy to travel, Ni.” Ichi reminded him, getting a groan from him as he was also dragged close. “Quit complaining, it’ll only take a few hours.”

“We don’t have a few hours.” San suddenly informed his brothers.

Ichi looked at him, looking unimpressed. “And why would that be?”

“Because-” A jet of blue fire suddenly burst out of the ice, startling Ghidorah and making them a few steps back, Ni immediately going to stand before his brothers for defense.

A few seconds later, the weak king emerged, long, wet hair drying in a few seconds from the leftover heat. “Ghidorah.” He hissed.

“... Godzilla.” Ichi answered disdainfully as Ni hissed right back at him and San hid behind his older brother further, shaking.

(Because... the weak king has been patrolling the area since yesterday.) San finally informed them telepathically, an air of resignation hovering over his corner of their telepathic link.

{Why didn’t you say anything earlier!?}

(I tried to yesterday.)

[Brother San.]

(Yeah, what is it?)

[The weak king possibly showing up just after we finally free ourselves is NOT a ‘guess what’ situation!]

(Don’t get angry at me, you’re the one who didn’t want to know anything!)

{Ni, San, now is not the time for bickering.} Ichi cut them off, eyes narrowing at Godzilla. {It looks like we’re gonna have to fight. San: you’re on lookout. Ni: focus on gathering energy while I distract him. The moment it looks like he’s going to attack, I want you to attack right back. Keep him on his toes while I start gathering enough energy to teleport us.}

[How do you know he won’t attack the moment you opens your mouth?] It took Ichi a moment to remember Ni’s psychic powers weren’t nearly as developed as his, but by the time he remembered, San was already half-way through his answer.

(Because he’s tired. Very tired. Quite a bit more than us, actually.)

{Looks like we’re not the only ones who slept while humanity tried to rise above, brothers.} Ichi smiled as he took a step forward, Godzilla growling at him. This should be easy. “Finally came to submit to us?”

“Fuck off with that shit.” Godzilla snapped right back, hair flashing brightly at the outburst. “Here’s your options: you quietly stay here and don’t do shit while I go wake up Scylla and you triple-fucks get frozen again with minimal damage for all parties involved, or I pull out you entrails and skip rope with them.”

[I’m gonna kill him.]

{Patience. Him trying to negotiate proves he’s not in form to fight us right now.} Ichi cackled, making sure all of Godzilla’s attention was on him, and not on Ni who was concentrating, or San who had climbed to a vantage point. “Oh please, you’ve never beaten us on your own before. You’ve always had the help of your little moth, or had slaves following your every orders baiting us.”

None of the Ghidorah were sure Godzilla not jumping them at that was a testament of how tired he was, or of a patience he developed while they were asleep. This said, he did narrow his eyes and bared his teeth, a low growl building up in his throat. “And there’s always three of you trying to fuck everything up.” He noted bitterly. “Doesn’t it get tiring for your brothers to not have free will?” Ichi closed his eyes at that, outrage belonging to his brothers filling his being.

[Did he just-!?]

(That bitch!)

[Alright, how am I killing him? I kind of just want to go for the head.]

(No, draw it out and make him beg for death with how much pain you’re putting him in.) 

[How much pain are we talking about?]

(I’m thinking make lightning run directly through him starting by his gills, and amplify it gradually?)

{Ni, San, while I am loving the both of you indulging in your inner sadists, we have more important things to focus on.}

[At this point, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve gathered enough energy to fight him physically.]

(And he’s on the edge of snapping. You just need to make him a bit angrier.)

{Well, San, we’re standing right in front of him and I’m telling him how weak he is. That used to be enough to make him attack in a blind rage. Do either of you have suggestion?}

[You let me jump him.]

{Very tempting idea, but if you just lunge at him, he’ll be able to counterattack quite easily. San?}

(You either tell him how bad of a king he is, or you tell him how weak his little nap made him.)

{Let’s go with that. Any objections Ni?}

[I’m not going to fight him.]

(Once Ichi is done enraging him, you’ll get your fight.)

[Then, I have no objections.]

Ichi opened his eyes, sneering at Godzilla. “My brothers chose me as our leader. It was an unanimous decision. Which is more than can be said about you.” He tilted his head in mock curiosity. “Tell me, how many of your ‘friends’ follow you out of fear of getting killed like your rivals? And how many would turn against you if they learnt of how weak you had gotten?”

Like always, San could be relied on to tell someone’s weaknesses, Godzilla jumping at them with a furious roar. And like always, Ni could be relief on to defend them, grabbing one of the weak king’s arm and throwing him beyond the ice. Now, to collect energy to get out of here...

-

Godzilla landed on all four, his claws making an horrible sound against the floor. Metal? Humans figured out metal again? Didn’t Battra kill the last ones- He was snapped out of his thought process as Right- because that’s how Godzilla made the difference between them, who stood where when they weren’t fighting- jumped at him, one of it’s legs raised and ready to strike down.

He quickly moved out of the way, Right’s leg leaving a dent in the floor where it struck. He then quickly charged toward Godzilla, lashing out with clawed hands multiple time which his opponent quickly avoided, cackling the entire time. “How the hell have you recovered so fast- ACK!”

Right had changed strategy, raising one of his legs and kicking him in the crotch. He grabbed Godzilla’s face as he started falling forward. Right’s laughter momentarily died out a bit. “I never went to sleep,” Sharp claws started digging into Godzilla’s face, what looked like very thin and very numerous veins lighting up all over Right’s hand, seemingly travelling all the way up to the crescent moon-shaped jewel on his forehead. “So I don’t have anything to recover from.”

Right started laughing again, but his breath was cut short as Godzilla’s kneed him in the stomach, unleashing a pulse of energy right after to get him away before grabbing his braid, dragging him to the ground and trapping him under his foot, a smile appearing on his face for the first time today. “If you think I’m gonna fall for the old energy absorption trick just after you woke up, you’ve got another thing coming!”

But Godzilla was so caught up in the ecstasy of almost killing a Ghidorah… (Uh, Ni? He’s starting to charge his Energy breath. You need to get out from under there.)

[Noted.] … that for a minute, he forgot they were three of them. Right rolled himself onto one of his side as much as he could, only to use the momentum to roll himself onto the other, standing up and barely avoiding Godzilla’s Energy Breath, avoiding it for a few seconds as he ran.

Not because it ended up hitting him, but because Godzilla suddenly stopped, a shocked look on his face. I’m out of energy!?

“Oh...” Right smiled with a mouth full of needle teeth, his hands lighting up. “Out of juice already?” He then raised his arms, and bolts of lightning surged out of his fingers, making Godzilla momentarily blank out out of inexorable pain as he was hit. When it finally stopped, it was because his throat had been grabbed, claws digging painfully into his gills and dragging him at a speed he still couldn’t proceed after the shock. 

And then, Godzilla was thrown into the pool of icy waters in the middle of Ghidorah’s former icy prison, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed in the meantime and Right cackling the entire time. When he resurfaced, Right was finally calming down, and Middle and Left were floating.

“I thought you wanted to kill him?” Left asked Right as he floated up to join the two others.

He scoffed, giving his hand to Middle for an energy transfer. He was, after all, the one who had been closest to Godzilla’s Energy Breath. “He’s weak and tired. I want a real challenge.”

Godzilla snarled from his position in the water. He didn’t have enough energy left to fire another beam so soon. “You cowards! What are you planning on doing now!?”

Middle cackled, raising one of his arms and releasing a burst of dark energy, the dark hole Godzilla knew they would use to get away starting to form. “Why, resume what we started before you and your slaves trapped us, of course!”

“What you starte- why the hell do you care so much about destroying humans!? They can’t do anything!”

The three of them giggled. “Who do you think freed us, you pathetic reptile!?” Middle asked Godzilla, a cruel smile on his face as the portal behind him grew. “Humans learned how to harvest your voice. Yours and the others who woke up!”

“I must say, your weak little bird friend sure has learned how to project his voice.” Left commented, reminding Godzilla that last time Ghidorah had seen Rodan, he hadn’t moved to Mara, hadn’t become the Voice of Vengeance, hadn’t a massive target painted on his back, hadn’t been beaten down enough by fate that there was a very real chance of him just letting them kill him-

“Humans did not bother with remembering us.” Right continued, the calm and cold and dead tone of his voice contrasting heavily with the shrieking cackles he emitted while fighting him. “And now, they will pay heavily for that mistake. Farewell, soon-to-be former King of Titans.”

And with that, Ghidorah disappeared in the void, leaving Godzilla to wonder just what he had missed for things to spiral out of control like that.

[bangtanstorytimetheater]

Virtuoso - A MYG Story

THREE

I was reaching into my entryway closet to grab my jacket when I saw Jin's headlights trail across the wall as he pulled into my driveway. I grabbed my things and quickly headed outside.

As I opened the passenger-side door to the white SUV, I noticed another guy sitting in the back seat. He was slouching, his shaggy, thick waves hanging over his eyes. He lazily raised one hand to wave and flashed a big, boxy smile. I could barely see his eyes through his hair, but could feel the warmth of his personality radiating from him.

"Hello!" I smiled and waved to the guy in the back as I got into the front seat next to Jin. "I'm Faye."

"Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Faye. So I hear you're going to do some Etta for us tonight." he sounded like he'd been looking forward to rehearsal. I turned in my seat to face them both and took a big breath. I noticed how unbothered Taehyung looked. He almost looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"I'm honestly a bit nervous about it. I hope no one judges too harshly. This is all new territory for me." I reached up and twirled my fingers in my hair, feeling a bit claustrophobic from my nerves all of a sudden.

"Hey, it's not like that at all. You'll like everyone. We're like a big family." Taehyung had a comforting personality, making me feel like I already knew him.

We pulled up to a large, old farmhouse overlooking a snow-covered cornfield. Not what I was expecting when Jin said it would be Yoongi's house we would be practicing in. I couldn't tell you what I had pictured, but it certainly wasn't this.

As we walked in through the oversized, ornately carved wooden front door, I saw the open door to a large practice space off to my right. It looked like it was once a dining room, but now served as a studio, full of equipment. The walls were painted navy blue, with both windows covered by thick navy blue curtains draped from ceiling to floor. The room seemed haphazardly thrown together, with stacks of amps lining one side of the room. There was a drumset that had seen some better days sitting on an unfinished plywood riser against the back wall. As I followed Jin and Taehyung into the room, I noticed Yoongi standing over a stack of sheet music on a music stand, talking to another musician standing next to him. He was yet another strikingly handsome guy, this time wearing a dark blue tee and some jeans.

I heard the familiar sound of buzzing as a tall, caramel-skinned guy with a perfectly angular jaw walked into the room, his silver trumpet tucked under his arm. He was buzzing his detached mouthpiece to warm up his lips. He walked over to his music stand and placed his trumpet on its floor stand.

Jeez. Are they all going to be this good-looking?

"Guys, this is Faye." Jin announced to the room as he made his way over to the stool in the back and started taking his bass out of its case.

The trumpet player pulled his mouthpiece away from his mouth and smiled widely, revealing two adorable little dimples, extending his empty hand to shake mine.

"I'm Namjoon. Pleasure to meet you. You can lay your things over there," he said, pointing to an oversized antique oak desk covered in a pile of jackets, bags and instrument cases.

By this time, Yoongi and the other guy had noticed our arrival and turned to greet us as well. The guy who was with him turned towards me to introduce himself.

"Hey, I'm Kookie."

He was a doe-eyed, crinkle-nosed younger guy who honestly just looked giddy to see someone new.

"It's so nice meeting both of you. I've been looking forward to this all day," I started, feigning confidence.

I was admittedly a bit intimidated by them. They were good-looking, likely extremely talented if they were playing alongside a deemed virtuoso. Plus they were obviously comfortable with each other, making me feel a bit like an outsider just wanting to become a part of their inner circle. I looked toward the man to my left, who looked more like a frat boy than a professional musician, and tried to break the ice.

"What instrument do you play, Kookie?"

"I'm a drummer. I teach lessons at a few locations, and I play with these assholes a few nights a week," he cackled.

His manner of speaking was so energetic and playful. I watched Kookie hop over to the backside of his drum kit and slink down onto the stool as Namjoon interjected.

"Hey now. I'd like to think we're pretty decent most of the time," Namjoon let out a low, breathy laugh before picking up his trumpet to attach the mouthpiece, then glancing over at me, "Don't let him scare you away. I'm sure it's nerve-racking playing with a new group."

"Come on, guys. Jimin will be here any minute," Kookie said as he started doing some paradiddles on the snare.

As I walked over to the microphone, I looked down at my outfit then back up at the room full of men wearing various flannels, tees, and jeans.

This was a rehearsal, not a recital.

Why the hell didn't I just throw on some jeans like a normal person?

I couldn't help but feel out of place. My anxiety started to boil up inside me and I felt my palms begin to sweat.

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath of air, attempting to calm my nerves. As I exhaled, I felt long, smooth fingers wrap around one of my wrists and gently rub up and down my forearm.

I opened my eyes to see Yoongi standing by my side, a sympathetic and concerned expression on his face.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, seemingly trying not to draw the attention of the others. His voice was low and gruff, and he was so close to my face when he said it that I could feel his breath on my cheek.

Feeling a sudden rush of butterflies, my hand reflexively slid across my stomach to draw myself inward.

"I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I need some air." I confessed, feeling some relief that I might get a chance to better prepare mentally for singing in a few minutes. Being too tense and nervous greatly inhibits vocal performance, so I knew I had to pull myself together.

"Come on," he said.

The others continued on with their independent warmups without seeming even the slightest bit distracted by the sight of Yoongi pulling me out of the room by my hand. He walked me out to a back sun room and motioned to a large octagonal picnic table in the center of the room. As I sat down, I watched him walk over to the row of windows and start cracking a few of them to let in some air.

"Thanks. You know, as long as I've been a performer it still baffles me how I can comfortably perform in front of literally thousands of people and be completely at-home onstage, but you put me in an intimate setting with just a handful of people and I become an amateur." I confided in him, surprising myself at how candidly I was speaking about my feelings to someone who was in essence a total stranger to me.

"Oh, I doubt that. Jin would have never invited you if you were anything less than professional," he said as he crossed the room and sat down next to me on the bench. There was plenty of space at the table, but he chose to sit next to me, leaning his head in his hand and turning his face towards mine.

"That's half the problem," I sighed, "I take everything too seriously. I seem so professional because I am. Look at my clothes. You guys must think I'm some kind of try-hard. Overdressed. And don't even get me started on improv..."

You're spiraling again, Faye.

"Hajima," he said gruffly, in almost a barking tone, but playfully bumping me with his shoulder.

"Hajima?"

"It means Stop It. And you should stop it. If you're finding that you can't improv, you're overthinking it. The whole point of improv is to let go. Look at you. You're uptight about your outfit, you're uptight about your performance, you're uptight about how you come across to everyone here, but at what point do you make time for the music?"

I didn't know what to say. No one had ever said anything like this to me before. I was always trained to treat all music as a performance, even in solitary practice. It was deeply ingrained in me to be in 24/7 professional-mode, thanks to rigorous training since early childhood.

He continued.

"I used to be like you. I could see it on your face in the other room. You have to stop thinking and just let the music out of you. You are getting in your own way," he said laying his open palm in front of me on the table. I found myself mentally tracing the veins on his exposed forearm, my trance only broken when he asked, "May I suggest something?"

"Sure."

I looked up at him and it seemed as though his face had gotten a little bit closer to mine. If it did, it was a subtle move, maybe even subconscious. He was so difficult to read that I just got stuck there, waiting breathlessly for whatever it is he was going to say next.

"Do you know how it's impossible to have good sex if you're not relaxed?" he asked, so close to my ear now that I could feel the vibrations of his low voice, making me shiver.

(Gulp)

"Um. Yes." I answered, not sure where this conversation was going next.

"Relax," he commanded softly, "You aren't relaxed, so you are missing out on the music. So let's pretend this is your musical foreplay. Sing me a song right now."

"What?"

"Sing a song. Doesn't matter what song it is. Doesn't matter if it isn't perfect. Stop thinking and just SING."

I sighed and took in a sharp inhale, drawing my eyes closed.

"Open your eyes. You can't connect with your audience if you don't make eye contact." he said and I felt his finger slide under my chin, turning my face towards his. He was only inches from my face now as he whispered, "Breath."

Yoongi leaned back, allowing me some space and sat intently as I sang the first thing that came to mind.

"I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck..."

I finished the first full verse, not breaking my eye contact with him, as dreadfully uncomfortable as it was.

"Well that was mortifying," I said, feeling color flush over my cheeks in embarrassment.

"See, that was absolutely stunning. Your voice takes me straight back to the 40's," he said, seemingly energized by my song choice, "But you're holding yourself back, Faye. I can see it. You're doing the right thing facing your fears and facing me like this."

"What makes you think I'm afraid to face you?" I said playfully, trying to lighten the seriousness of his pep talk.

"Come on. I'm more perceptive than you'd be inclined to believe. I can see the way you move around me. You squirm when I get too close to you. What are you afraid of? You came all the way out here into this room alone with me, so you must not think I'm that bad." he smiled reassuringly.

"I'm not afraid of you. I guess I'm just a bit intimidated, and it doesn't help that you're as good-looking as you are, getting me all flustered..."

He laughed, flashing his big gummy smile.

His hand reached up and tucked some loose hair behind my ear.

"Flustered, huh? Does it bother you if I do this?" his hand slipping back from my ear and to the back of my head, his fingers combing into my hair.

I couldn't help but smile and lean into his touch, closing my eyes.

I whispered, "Not at all..."

I could hear him let out a sharp breath and felt him adjust himself in his seat. When I opened my eyes his face was again only inches from mine.

"But I barely know you..." I hesitated.

His eyes narrowed as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip.

Looking directly into my eyes, he smirked and said, "But that's half the fun."

[pucks-no-fucks]

Long Distance: Kaapo Kakko X Reader (Part 1)

Authors Note: Oh this is trash. But Kaapo Kakko doesn’t get enough love on here. It ain’t fair tbh. This is a multipart, this first part sucks ass. But it’s fine. I didn’t proofread either oops.

Summary: Kaapo Kakko and Reader meet each other at the worlds (idk where this is going yet oops)

Warnings: Swear words. Other then that I think it’s okay. Didn’t proof read either, I’m sorry.

Requested: Yes | No

Word Count: 2,324

The airport was cold in Finland. It was May so you were sure that you were just dramatic. Maybe it was cold. You rolled your eyes at your own stupidity as you waited to pick up your luggage. Helsinki was scary, and you didn’t even leave the airport yet! You were alone and not even eighteen yet. You worked hard to graduate early. Taking online classes and dedicating your time to your school work. You wanted to travel for your eighteenth year of life. Your mom knew a kind older woman who was going to bring you into her home for awhile so you could explore Finland and the rest of the world. Your teeth chattered. You picked up your luggage and walked outside. You saw the small car parked outside and the older lady standing outside of it. She looked serious and it alarmed you slightly.

“Aada?”, you asked. She nodded and pulled you in for a hug. She mumbled some Finnish in your ear. She pulled back and dusted you off.

“Sorry. I just haven’t seen you in fifteen years”, she said solemnly. Her eyes were watery and although she wasn’t grinning, there was a shadow of a smile on her face. Aada looked uncomfortable.

“We are not big on touch here in Finland”, she said motioning for you to get in the car. You got in and the heat was on. You smiled. She looked at you and the atmosphere became warm.

“Your mother and I used to be close in University”, she told you. “Roommates actually. I introduced her to your father actually”, her hands gripped the wheel as she navigated her way out of the airport parking.

“Yea?”, you asked with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yes!”, she said sounding happier. “Your mother and your father made a good match. Getting them to go on a date wasn’t hard”, her lips curled slightly.

“I was one of the first people to hold you when you were born”.

Your brow raised. You were shocked. You didn’t think that was the case. “Really”?

“Why yes child. I was your mothers best friend. I held you before your Nana and Grammy”, Aada remained focused.

“So what happened to you after I turned three”? You were invested now. You obviously wanted to know the woman you would be staying with for a while.

“My family was here. My husband was missing me. A Long distance relationship from Canada to Finland is hard. Long distance relationships are just hard. So I packed up and came back here. I had the intention of visiting twice a year but life gets in the way”, she sounded so sad.

“Why are you so sad?”, your expression fell in tune with hers.

“I just missed so much of your life little one. I miss your mother and Canada”.

Her tone was monotonous. You didn’t want to keep pestering her about it. The drive, although long, went by very quick. Aada wanted to know everything. So the conversation kept the both of you occupied.

When you finally arrived at Aada’s house you looked at it in awe. Decorations welcoming you adorned the small house. A big banner over the door caught your eye as it opened to reveal her husband. You smiled. “For me?”, you asked excitedly.

“I don’t see who else”, she smiled. You excitedly got out of the car. You got out and hugged Aada’s husband. Hale was his name and honestly? That was badass to you.

Inside Aada had prepared some comfort foods. Mac and Cheese steamed on the table. Your mouth watered. Aada’s phone rung, interrupting the conversation you and Hale were having about hockey. She spoke in Finnish over the phone. She shook her head and hung up.

“Y/n could you go take the trash out? It’s being picked up early this week”, she said with an eye roll. Hale chuckled.

“Yea sure”.

You walked outside. Across the street was an outdoor rink. You saw two boys skating around on it. You smiled as you heard them laughing. You put the trash on the curb and started walking inside.

Upon opening the door, you saw Hale jump out of his chair. “Tickets! I got tickets! Front row”!

“For?”, you asked.

“World Junior Cup!”, Hale was ecstatic.

“Isn’t that in Slovakia?”, Aada asked.

“Well Y/n said she wanted to travel!”, he was excited.

“Are you okay with that”? Aada wanted to make absolutely sure you were okay with going to Slovakia.

“Yea! Let’s do it”!

~ Time Skip ~

It was time. You were in Slovakia with Hale and Aada for the quarterfinals. The arena was filling up fast. Somehow you managed to get separated from them both. So now you sat awkwardly, hoping someone was going to help you.

“Kadonnut”?

The voice shocked you. You looked up quickly. Just a boy, he looked about your age. Blonde, blue eyes. Carrying a large bag. His eyebrow was raised. You didn’t understand what he said and you knew that you had to look like a deer caught in headlights.

“English?”, he asked again.

You nodded slowly.

“Lost?”, he replied calmly. His accent still strong.

You smiled nervously, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Yea, I got separated from the people I came with”.

He nodded and stuck his lip out just slightly. “You’re new here aren’t you”?

You bit your lip. “Yea. I’m from Canada”, you said sheepishly.

That evoked a smile. “So you like hockey?”, he seemed eager with his question.

“Pft. Of course I like hockey. I love hockey, hell I almost breathe hockey!”, you said with a laugh. He let out a chuckle.

“Come with me”, he tilted his head in the direction he wanted you to go.

“I don’t think I should”, you said shyly. He held his hand out and his lip curled slightly.

“Am I scary”?

You looked up at him through your lashes. “No”.

“Come”, he told you. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“I don’t even know who you are. You could murder me or something”, you muttered.

He sighed and sat on the small bench beside you. “I could. But I rather take you to locker room”.

His bag plopped on the floor with a quiet thud. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “So your a player”?

He nodded. In fact. He did look familiar to you. “You look familiar. I know you from somewhere”, you squinted your eyes at him. You thought hard.

His brow raised again. “Do you”?

“Wait a second, turn your head”, you said lifting your hand to almost touch his face. He looked confused but complied. Your jaw dropped.

“Kaapo Kakko”, you whispered.

He smiled. It was an awkward Finnish smile and was closer to a straight line. But a smile nonetheless.

He leaned into your ear. “Who are you”?

“Is that really important?”, you smirked.

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Yea I want to take you out”.

“I don’t know if I should. Your a high profile person right now. All eyes are on you and I’m a private person”, you said passively.

“What can I do”? He smiled and leaned in closer.

“You have to win the championship”, you said matter of factly.

He smirked. “I do that easy”.

“Then do it”, you teased.

He suddenly turned really awkward. You could actually really relate to it. “How will I find you after match”? He seemed worried.

“I’ll meet you here. Win or loose”, you said gently. “I promise”, reassuring him.

He relaxed. “Go find your seat”, he said nudging your shoulder before grabbing his bag and starting to walk to his destination.

“Wait!”, you shouted. He stopped and turned on his heel. You hurried close to him and grabbed his biceps. “Good luck”, you whispered. You stood on your top toes to kiss his jaw. He went red.

You turned swiftly before he could say anything and went to look for Aada and Hale. You looked for 30 minutes before getting a call from an unknown number. “Hello”?

“Hey where are you”? It was Hale.

“I’m by the concessions, where are you guys”? You heard him let out a sigh of relief.

“Why didn’t you call?”, he accused.

“The number you gave me isn’t yours. You must of messed up a number because I called it and it was someone else”, you explained.

“If you say so”, he said reluctantly. “Come down to the rink, games starting soon”. He hung up quick.

You rolled your eyes and made your way. People were finding their seats. You knew you were front row so it wasn’t super hard.

You saw Aada and made your way to her. He boys were skating on for warmups. You made it to the glass and Aada looked up at you. “Where did Hale go?”, you questioned.

“Bathroom”, was her simple reply. You nodded and sat down.

You watched the boys skate on the ice. 24 caught your eye quick. He looked around the rink, looking for something. People stood up and got close to the glass, hoping to be recognized by one of the players. You and Aada walked up and she smiled. She loved hockey, almost more then her husband but she would never say it.

Kakko looked in your direction and made eye contact. He smiled and skated over to the glass. Maneuvering himself around other players and pucks. He bumped into the glass where you were. Aada’s eyes went wide.

“Pay attention would ya”, you teased. He laughed and put his helmet against the glass and blew on the glass. It fogged and he tried to draw something. He wouldn’t take his glove off so the small drawing looked like a mess. Aada’s jaw dropped as she watched the interaction. The people around you looked shocked.

He made a pouty face at the random scrawl on the glass. “What’s that supposed to be loser”, you smiled.

“I’ll show you who’s a loser”, he shouts back with a grin. He remained in your area for the rest of warm ups. Aada was quiet for the rest of warm ups. She looked upset but you couldn’t tell if that was just her face or if she was actually mad. Hale showed up soon after that. People whispered about you and it confused him.

You and Hale talked and talked until the game started. And it was rough. Finland managed to come back in the shoot out winning 5-4.

Finland advances to the semi-finals. They cheered and cheered. Hale was happy. Aada... not so much. Aada got up to go to the restroom, leaving you and Hale. “Um do you think I could stay a little longer?”, you asked.

He shrugged. “Sure. Aada and I are going to grab some drinks”, he kissed your forehead and left.

You felt like a little girl on Christmas waiting upstairs on the bench. You were giddy, hands clammy, cheeks red. It was getting late. Hale texted to see if you needed a ride home or if you were getting a cab. You knew Aada was freaking out at him right now but you said you’d walk.

It felt like forever. It had actually been over an hour that you had been waiting. Almost two hours actually. You were frustrated and felt played at this point. You wanted to cry and scream. However, you just grabbed your bag. He wasn’t coming and you had to accept that. You wiped your eyes dry before you heard it. “I’m sorry”!

You looked up to see an exhausted Kakko.

You glared. “I know your a superstar and shit. But I’ve been waiting for over an hour. I know all about post game interviews and celebrations, but two hours is a little insane don’t you think!?”, you snapped.

He looked uncomfortable. “Were you crying?”, he said quietly.

You took in a deep breath. “Matter of fact, I was. I knew this was stupid. I knew I was being stupid. Congrats on the win. I’m leaving”.

His shoulders fell along with his expression. Now you felt selfish. He should be happy after the win. They played hard for that win.

“I’m sorry”, he repeated. You sighed loudly. Your head was hung low as you walked over to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso and put your head on his chest.

“I’m more sorry. I was just a brat I’m sorry”, you mumbled. That was really Canadian of you, you thought to yourself.

He put his hands on your waist. “You’re tired. It is okay”, he muttered.

“You know what? I am tired”, you said yawning. “I should get back”, you told him.

He grabbed your forearm. “I’ll walk you there, where are you staying”?

It made you smile. You told him the hotel, only to find out he was at the same one. The walk wasn’t far either. “I need number”, he informed you.

“What if I don’t wanna give it to you yet”?

He chuckled. “I know what hotel you’re at. I’ll find you”, he said with a wink. You snorted and put your head on his shoulder. This was nice.

The hotel was gorgeous, and the elevator was lavish. You scrunched your nose at the marbled floor. It was so nice in the hotel. They probably used gold utensils.

In the elevator you exchanged numbers with Kaapo. You were both on the same floor, just down the hall from each other. You made a mental note to not tell Hale that.

Everything else blurred together in your tired state. You had the room key and jiggled it around. The light went green and the door unlocked with a click. You smiled and walked into the room.

You were ready for whatever this was with Kaapo. You were not prepared for the look Aada and Hale gave you when you walked into the hotel room.

[tacitoru]

Dance to This (m)

pairing: fuqboi!jhs x reader

genre: smut, dance majors!au

warnings: light bondage (?), thigh riding, self-gratification lmao

wc: 3k

notes: an old draft i found collecting dust in my wips from a year ago. i think it meant to have more plot and detail but I’m not entirely sure lol editing this was more as a mental break from my current stuff than anything else and i can't remember what my original idea for this was but enjoy lmao

synopsis: in lieu of your injured partner, you’re forced to work with one of the biggest mistakes you’ve made in your college career.

Some of the most important things came in pairs; shoes, lungs, chopsticks, dance partners.  Yet much to your inconvenience, you had managed to become the mismatched sock in an otherwise perfectly organized dresser drawer of neatly rolled - and paired - socks. Four weeks before one of the largest showcases in your college career, your dance partner Jimin, a sophomore prodigy, had badly twisted his ankle slipping on black ice that had frozen along the steps outside his dormitory in the aftermath of a winter storm. While the boy would still be able to dance in a few months' time, your instructor was quick to find someone to fill in the blank. Rather than your more preferable idea of turning your duet into a solo, you were haphazardly thrown to the whims of one irksome Jung Hoseok.

It wasn't that he was terrible. It was far from that - he was too good, and he knew it.

Flawless transitions, a body that moved with all the expression, ease, grace and passion you could only hope you portrayed. His performance pushed the limits of perfection and inspired awe to those who spectated, upper and underclassmen alike. And it just so happened he would be performing in the same show with you at the end of the semester, in an effort to attract the attention of big-name dance companies. To secure a future in the industry.

Yet the unbalanced dynamic caused by a long and awkward history between the two of you seemed to threaten all of that.

"Does it hurt?"

The question sounds silly the moment it leaves your mouth, and the odd look on Jimin's face most likely mirrors yours. Obviously, it hurt. But Jimin, the angel that he was, only smiles brightly and wiggles his toes in the cast. "Only a little."

Jimin, practically a contemporary dance prodigy, still had a year to go, hence, he avoided many repercussions of not being able to participate in the show. You, on the other hand, were grinding down to the last semester at your performing arts school. While it wouldn't be impossible to get a job teaching at a studio or even at another school, it wasn't what you were looking for - wasn't what you had dreamed of.

And now, with Jimin's eyes drowning you in that well-known look of pity, that dream felt very, extremely out of reach.

You shot up out of your seat, feeling your skin crawl and your ears burn under that familiar feeling of irritation. A hot feeling filled your head with all the pent-up frustration from the situation that had long gone out of your hands. You need to get out.  For a fleeting moment, you're tempted to step on Jimin's other ankle out of pure (unwarranted) pettiness. Damn you for leaving me in a position like this.

"I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing alright…" You hope your smile looks more amiable than it feels.

The boy nods, extending his arms as if going for a hug, and then quickly retracting into a half wave as though he's thought better about it. Over the grueling hours and months you had spent practicing hard together, you and Jimin worked together like a well-oiled machine across the floor. You were good partners, even nearly friends, but close was something you were not. At the end of each day, you both went your separate ways. Still, it felt wrong for this to have happened and to not stop by the hospital, no matter little of value the relationship was to you.

As you reach the door Jimin calls out to you, "Are you heading to the studio?" He eyes your attire and the gym bag you shoulder as if that if not an obvious enough answer.

"Yeah."

"Is everything going okay with Hoseok?"

The fingers that rest of the doorknob curl around it in an iron grip. You glare hard at the scuffed tile floors, biting your tongue at the slight idolization you hear in Jimin's tone just at speaking the man's name. He had always been a bit of a fan.

"It's great," you lament, pushing through the doorway. "Fucking fantastic."

There is only one studio ever open past ten o'clock at night, and you are one of a handful that ever wanders in there so late at night after an already taxing day spent on these very floors. So when you arrive to find a sliver of light from the doorway and heavy bass of an R&B song trembling the walls of the corridor, the sense of frustration from earlier that evening only seems to balloon. Kicking the door open and fully intending on forcing the person out of the studio, you're stopped short by the sight before you.

Two closely intertwined half-dressed bodies, moving erratically and jammed up against a foggy wall length mirror jump apart at the sound of the door slamming into the wall behind it. You mentally wince, knowing that someone's instructor will spaz when they discover a door handle sized dent in the drywall.

Jung Hoseok stands in a sweat-sticky tee, hair tousled, slowly tucking himself back into the draws and basketball shorts that had fallen to his shins, looking a hell of a lot less perturbed than the girl he was just dick-deep inside. This - this was exactly why you refused to be partnered with him.

The girl (one you vaguely recognize from an Intro to Tap class you took on a whim) looks frazzled, struggling to simultaneously reach for her leggings and pull up her bra. She opens her mouth to exclaim in anger, but you beat her to the punch.

"What the fuck is this."

You stretch in silence. It's always like this now, as opposed to the pop music blasting over the stereo Jimin would play during warmups, the mild hellos and good mornings, the partner stretches or the comfortable small talk made between switching positions. Now, with Hoseok, the closest thing to a greeting is a nod or a grunt. Warming up is done in radio silence, save for the days like today when you remember to bring your earbuds and turn the volume too low for your new partner to hear, but loud enough to block out your thoughts and the awkward tension that's more deafening than the silence.

Today is more uncomfortable than others, for a multitude of reasons. You can hardly turn your head in Hoseok's direction, the image of him pinning your old classmate to the mirror by the arms and the flash of his bare ass forever printed to the backs of your eyelids. You say nothing to him though, having shared more than enough words when all he had replied to your outrage was with a shrugged off, "Practice."

You had cursed him and his accomplice out, reprimanding them for misuse of school facilities. A reprimanding that had, apparently, gone right over their heads, because while the girl had at first a little decency to appear sheepish, she had shoulder her way past you to the door hissing, "killjoy."

Despite the fact that the previous night's events had only amplified your cold attitude toward him, you could feel Hoseok's gaze burn hole between your shoulder blades. You had a three-hour practice together before a break for lunch, and although it had only just started, you were counting down the minutes.

Little was said for the first half, aside from "Let's try that again," and "One more time from the top,". Despite being thrown into it at a moment's notice, Hoseok is a fast learner and picks up the routine quickly. However, when it gets to the point where the instructor allows you to practice without him for the last hour and a half, Hoseok feels unnecessarily entitled to fill the void. Most days you don't mind a little constructive criticism. Yet today, when his hands unexpectedly go for your hips in the middle of a turn, you practically leap three feet in the air before stumbling out of his reach.

You whip around to face him, hands planted on your hips. "Can I help you?!"

Hoseok has known you've been on edge all day, yet the look on his face is one of genuine surprise at your outburst. He blinks. "You're moving your hips all wrong."

"Wha-?"

"Your hips," He falters when you move further away from him when he reaches for you again, sighing exasperatedly. "You look super stiff like you're trying to twist your way out of a tight pair of jeans. There's no fluidity."

Chin tilted in his direction, you keep your defensive stance, still mentally gathering your bearings. The image of bare thighs flash across your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to screw your face up at the memory. "Excuse me? Instructor Lee said that I was doing this perfectly fine-,"

Hoseok snorts, "Instructor Lee doesn't want to hurt your fragile little feelings."

"My feelings?!" Is he not the damn professor?

"Y/N, I know what happened yesterday was a little…unprecedented. But if you want to be taken seriously at this showcase, you have to focus and be able to handle constructive criticism."

"Taken seriously?!" At this point you're just parroting what he says, his condescending tone rendering you shocked into disbelief. You've quickly gone from defensive to full offense, advancing on Hoseok. "You, of all people, are the very last person to talk to me about being serious! Especially after that stint the other night. Can't you take your private business somewhere a little more, I dunno…private? How do you expect me to just unsee whatever the hell that was? I can't sleep, Hoseok. I have nightmares. Don't you know how much this sucks? How much more stress you've caused me?!" At this point you've got a single pointer finger digging into his pectoral with so much force he bats your hand away with a hiss.

"Look, I think you're exaggerating a little too much-,"

"And I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. This isn't a game, Jung. Don't you know how much I want this?!"

"You don't think I want this either?!" Hoseok barks back, appearing more than a little miffed.

"You certainly don't act like it."

He huffs again, shaking his head dismissively. "Look, I'm not ecstatic that we got paired together so last minute either, but we could work so well together if you would just stop being so tightly wound-,"

"-You're the reason I'm so wound up-!"

"Then let me undo it!"

The words hang in the distance between you, which Hoseok tries to close in a quick succession of steps that bring him far too close for comfort.

"Excuse me?" You lean away,  tilting your chin to glaring up at him incredulously over the bridge of your nose. Is he offering what you think he's offering?

"Let me help you relax," he reiterates. "If it means you'll be more compliant."

"You say that as if this whole mess is my fault.  And as if I'd ever get comfortable enough to let you put your hands on me again," you scoff.

"Y/N… You know I can do it. You know I can get you there. It's a matter of morals, really. Stop being so stiff." Your name rolls from the depth of throat in a low growl. His hands hover by your sides as though he's fighting the urge to initiate physical contact, fidgeting fingers curling into fists. Suddenly, you're reminded of every other hapless run in you've had with Jung Hoseok for the past four years, how they all started like this and ended the same. A long progression of tension, sly looks, flirting, wandering hands and an offer that you had never taken upon until your junior year because you never thought he really meant it. You had thought were better than that and had more self-respect than all of the other girls before you who had succumbed to such encouragement on his part. But that night, when you had caved in because he was so damn earnest and you had managed to convince yourself he really did care, was the night that had solidified the true nature of your relationship and revealed the real character behind one determined, dazzling Jung Hoseok. When he had left you alone, in a stranger's bed in the heated aftermath of a house party held by the friend of a friend, only to reappear into your life the next day with another girl on his arm. You had felt played. Hence began the year-long tirade against anything and everything Hoseok related - until now.

"Having a sense of self-respect and morality makes me stiff? What, so you wanna bang me against the mirror like you did to your other little friend?" you sneer. 'I didn't think you'd take me for someone so easily. "

His eyes flash, more than likely reliving that night too, the last time you had ever really talked to him outside of the studio. You grip the hoodie that's tied lowly around his hips and yank him an inch forward so that you can nose up to his ear.

"Fine. I'll let you help me, but we'll do it my way this time."

And then you're shoving him backward, towards the balancing bar, quickly untying the knot of his sweater sleeves as you go. Hoseok trips over his own feet, all of his usual elegance and grace lost as he struggles to comprehend your intentions. He grimaces when his back hits the wall. "What are you doing?"

Blatantly ignoring him, you place your free hand on his shoulder pressing down, the other still holding the sleeves of his hoodie together. "Kneel." His brow furrows at the command, but he complies none the less, slowly sinking to the floor.

A feeling of satisfaction thrums through your veins at the sight of him like this, knocked off his pedestal and quite literally a few feet beneath you. In a single motion, you ruck the hoodie up from his waist, pulling his arms up from under his biceps in the process. Stepping closer so that you stand over his knees, Hoseok awkwardly attempts to reach for your waist, yet you slip the hoodie around his wrists and tie them to the bar in a haphazard yet decently secured knot.

"I said you're not going to lay a hand on me." You hiss, wedging a foot between his knees, you direct him to slide his feet from under himself and prop his legs up. Much to your surprise, your toes brush up on his crotch, finding him already half hard.

You flash him a mocking smile. "Already?"

Hoseok only looks down at the floor in response, cheeks flushing red with shame.

"It's alright. You've always been one to take what you want." He watches you with wide eyes as you undo the strings of your sweatpants, gaze quickly flitting to the mirror, and then the door.  "Now it's my turn."

"What about the door?"

A bolt of panic runs down your spine. It's daytime, and despite it being so close to lunch hours, it is more than likely that anyone could walk right in and catch you in the act. However, you remember the light in the hall, the unlocked door, the unworried look, and nonchalant air that which Hoseok had carried himself when you had found him and that girl, and you realized that he didn't really care. He couldn't have. It makes you all the more determined, and a little bold.

You step out of your sweatpants and gradually lower yourself into his lap, pinching his chin to divert his attention back to you in a show of bravado. "Let them see, then."

Straddling his left leg, Hoseok's eyes become impossibly wide as you begin a steady gyration over his thigh. "You've always had such nice thighs Hobi. How about you put them to some good use."

Slowly but surely you move your hips along the ridge of muscle in his leg, one hand on the balancing bar and the other on his shoulder for support. The pressure on your core brings a thrill of pleasure down your spine, heat filling low in your abdomen. A breathless sigh escapes you, and Hoseok groans at the sight before him. You nearly laugh at the sight of his petulance.

"Didn't think it would turn out like this, would it?" Knees braced on either side of his legs, you grind down harder. When your kneecap brushes the bulge between his legs, Hoseok gasps, responding with an erratic buck of his hips. He tosses his head back, hiding his face in the crook of his right arm. The answer to that question would be yes, but he senses that you're not looking for an answer; you already have one. "Leaving the door open, not even the slightest bit surprised when I came through the door. You knew what you were doing last night." You seethe in his ear. "Think of how unfair you're being; fucking her while you're thinking of me."

Hoseok growls. "Who said I was thinking of you."

"Nobody had to." You roll your hips into his thigh faster, seeking that self-satisfaction, and Hoseok hates it. He wants you pinned to the floor, beneath him, his mouth on the alluring juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his hands on any bare skin he can possess. Instead, here you are, rendering him subdued while you use his body to get you off like some kind of toy.

"I-I didn't even know that girl was coming last night. I-I was waiting for you," Hoseok confesses, albeit reluctant. "Wanted to get your attention again."

"Well, now you've definitely got it." One particular motion results in the material of your panties to chafe directly at your clit, causing you to stutter. "Oh, f-fuck!"

You're ridiculously wet, evident in the dark streaks left in the fabric of his red shorts. Hoseok gathers the strength to look at you again, moaning at the sight of you working yourself on him. He flexes his leg and you falter again, whimpering. You're close, he can tell. For a moment Hoseok fidgets against his makeshift restraints.

"I could make you feel so much better if you would just let my hands go."

"Not happening," You admonish gripping his jaw with the hand not on the bar when Hoseok tries to toss his head back again in frustration. "Look at me - no, look at me."

Your partner's replacement is forced to watch as you whine and wriggle yourself to completion on his leg. The pressure of your knee on his crotch leaves little to no relief, and yet he bucks up in a last ditch effort anyways. When you finally hoist yourself up, shiny streaks stick to some places where the edge of his shorts meets his bare skin. Hoseok nearly gawks at the site. Meanwhile, you pull yourself together, hiking on your sweatpants and turning to gather your things.

"Hey!" He realizes your intentions and begins to panic.  You throw him a bored look over your shoulder, halfway out the door. In his stupor, he recognizes it to be one far too identical to his demeanor the other night. Except for this time, it's no bluff. "Untie me?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"Please?"

Instead of granting his wish, you slowly stride over to him, pulling out your phone to snap a quick photo of him. The fantastic, Jung Hoseok, God's gift to the world of performance arts, looking disheveled, distraught and tied up to a balancing bar. It was too good to pass up.

"Okay. I've had my fun." With one good yank, you release the man from his confines and stalk out of the practice room. "But don't think it'll be happening again."

[the-foxes-fangs]

Warmup fragments with Ikesen/OC’s

I’ve been behind on requests so I promised @otomediary I’d post these little warmups even though they feature my OC’s 

                                                           ***

She had thought it was the wormhole opening two months too soon as the sky split like a rent cloth on the day the warlord’s had taken her out hawking, she had been riding next to Hideyoshi who had the presence of mind to grab her horses reins as it reared and jerked away in terror, nearly unseating her. 

That same feeling, nauseating pressure, the crackle of static building to a painful roar, and the sky coming undone as Hideyoshi lifted her bodily out of the saddle and held her protectively, his arm growing tighter around her as the sounds of a massive battle rolled in as if on a wave that broke against them. She held his sleeve, heart pounding as their group bunched up, each of them peering into the midday twilight, turned ochre through a cloud of choking dust that whipped across their faces and twisted into serpentine columns, falling from the broken sky. 

And then the noise receded and they appeared, four figures riding hell for leather out of the dust, pursuing something that flashed unnaturally bright even in the haze, a massive twisting mass that reminded her of a huge crumpled thermal blanket whipping and rolling in some way that was horribly alive and malicious, and utterly silent. 

They were yelling to each other in some language she had never heard, even in her own time, women crouched low on their horses, circling it, it whatever it was. The language was unintelligible, but the urgency wasn’t. 

She saw one of them vault off her horse and into the writhing malevolence, before being immersed in a silence so complete and abrupt that for a moment she felt as if all of the sound had been excised from the world at once. The snorting and stamping of the horses and the buzz of voices started her out of the dull shock of the scene, which had seemed to expand into hours but must have taken no more than half a minute in reality, if reality could still be considered a reliable thing. She had fallen through time, and now time and space were falling around her as she clutched Hideyoshi’s hand. 

It was gone, and the dust was drawing back apparently of its own volition, revealing a placid, uninterrupted sky as it receded into the outstretched hand of the woman closest to them, and she felt that same instinct for flight as she had the night she’d arrived at Honno-ji when the two groups faced each other. 

“Hey!” Masamune thundered, wheeling his horse out, sword unsheathed, always the first to run toward a fight, “explain yourselves!” 

“Masamune, stand down.” Nobunaga said quietly, holding himself quite still and carefully observing the otherworldly invaders. 

“Be cautious my lord.” Hideyoshi said protectively. 

Ieyasu and Mitsuhide were too busy aiming their respective weapons to speak, and you could almost hear the speed of Mitsunari’s thoughts as he surveyed the scene. 

***

She was arrestingly beautiful, he thought, the tallest of the strangers with the darkest skin he’d ever seen, lithe grace in her body and fearlessness stamped into her fine features, from the graceful column of her neck, the gentle smile with no hint of timidity on her full lips to the good natured intelligence that burned in her dark eyes. 

He laid out the Go board and watched her pad silently about the Tenshu, hands held behind her back, taking inventory to the smallest detail as she seemed to always do. 

“Tiaret.” He said, her name heavy on his tongue. “Why is it that the others call you one thing, but you ask us to call you another?” Nobunaga asked curiously, watching the way the golden cloth of her dress seemed to gather all of the light in the room to itself. 

“I am from a place where magic is as common as water, and there’s magic in a name-- power to bind, power to break.” She answered, her voice soft and low, a trace of amusement on her face. She wore her thick curly black hair elaborately braided close to her head, with ornaments of gold and red that gave her face a warm glow even in the moonlight where she stood on the balcony. 

Of all their guests from the further shore, she was the most amiable, but he felt as if it were the disinterested amiability of a tiger looking at a falling leaf. He had never believed in the possibility of an unseen world, of anything so childish as magic, until he had seen what she could do. As every challenge ever had, she filled with him a fierce desire to capture her attention, to conquer her disinterest, and to know her. 

“And you have my name now.” He said, tapping his fingers against his cheek as he rested his chin on his hand. 

“If I wished to harm you with magic, it would be of a far more direct kind. I was elected as intermediary to maintain some semblance of peace while we’re here, not as an assassin.” She said, with an elegant gesture of dismissal. 

“I have seen it, and I still cannot grasp the nature of magic.” He replied, searching her untroubled face. 

She seated herself elegantly across from him and studied the board thoughtfully. “It is unnatural to you, and thus beyond your grasp.” She said bluntly, but without any incivility. 

A faint scent of honey and some flower whose name was as much a mystery as hers drifted across to him, heady and soft, with the warm late summer breeze. “I commend you on your grasp of tactics, it’s rare that I am outmatched in Go.” 

“My vocation is to remember, it would be strange if I were so well acquainted with the details of so many battles and yet knew nothing of the general principles of war.” She answered with an indulgent smile as she rolled a white go piece between her slender fingers. 

***

“You have a lot of freedom for a prisoner of war,” Ieyasu said, looking askance at the unsettling wisp of a woman, sickly pale as a radish with her face framed by hair the color of an orange autumn leaf and her eyes barely a shade lighter. 

“My prison is living, but my hell is being alive to be questioned by the likes of you.” Zenaida replied acerbically as she glanced up from her reading, bitterness in her expression, distant and hard. 

“Try to be polite, Zenaida.” Tiaret said mildly from across the library, without glancing up from her book. 

“Try to be less sickeningly saintly, Sulwe.” 

The entire room seemed to seethe with cold anger, but he saw, or imagined he saw a shadow of anguish flit across her drawn features for a fraction of a moment before it dissipated. 

“Well excuse me for breathing.” He muttered. 

“Ask the gods for pardon, all I know how to do anymore is spit poison at the world that poisoned me.” Zenaida answered very softly, looking up at him with haunted eyes that said he would get no more of an apology than that. 

***

“Darling boy, you couldn’t out ride me if your life depended on it! I was just about born on the back of a horse, and I expect I’ll die there too.” Sankho said merrily, irreverent and flip, with a wildness all about her that made Masamune feel downright conventional. 

“Oh you think so? Let’s have a race then. Loser cooks dinner” He shot back amiably, watching as she made another strange dish, with a mouth watering aroma he couldn’t place at all. She had said that since she didn’t know what ingredients were safe for humans it was better that he not try it all, but his curiosity as a cook was killing him. 

Of all of them, she looked nothing like a barbarian, she could almost have passed for a resident of the castle if not for the reckless glitter in her eye, her raucous laughter and utter lack of manners that had its own kind of charm. 

He couldn’t shake his fascination with her, it was like watching a typhoon coming in knowing that it would blow you halfway to hell and still not wanting to move out of the way. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just have a duel? It would make you look more cool losing to magic, you know.” She said with a crooked smile and a daring wink. 

He grinned back at her, and felt the heat rise in his face. “And they say I’m overconfident!” 

“You’re reckless, far more reckless than a real dragon ever would be, and I’ve met a few, but I like it. There’s a little of the wild old magic in you, I think. The rest of it has gone to sleep in this world, but I feel the faintest echo from you.” She said, looking him over appraisingly.

“What does that mean?” 

“It means you should take my advice.” She said, and reached out to take hold of his chin, her eyes so dark they nearly looked like ink boring into him, into some part of him that he himself didn’t know. “Don’t let it make you cruel. It will make you feel like you can do anything, the mote that lives in you. Don’t always heed the call.”

***

“Play your hand, pretty fox.” Tura said, her voice pleasantly low, and took another drink. Mitsuhide glanced at his cards, and back at her. She was impossible to read, even for him. It was as if she could simply vanish into herself, into some stillness that held no thought or feeling. 

Her silky black hair fell down her breast in disarray, and she didn’t so much sit across from him as sprawl. But even in repose she was imposing, as tall as him or taller, with plenty of hard muscle under her curves that gave a serpentine impression. 

“My, are you in a hurry to lose, or trying to cheat while I’m distracted?” He asked, peering uselessly into her eyes, grey as ash in her angular tanned face. He fancied he could see the faint red glow of embers in their depths. 

“See, that’s why I like you. Half the fun of the game is trying to cheat each other.” She replied with a half smile softening her angular features. 

“Oh? Is that why I’m your favorite?” He asked, a little more seriously than he intended. 

She looked at him and smiled and there was a little of the wolf in her white teeth, as she laughed good humoredly. “I’d feel a little bad trying to cheat the Chatelaine or her man, but you can take it.” She drained her cup in one go. “Maybe it’s just that you haven’t got the good sense to be afraid of me.” 

The incense she always kept burning sent up a ribbon of smoke  that drifted between them and gave him the discomfiting sense that he had been there before, and had waited a long time to return. 

“I could say the same to you.” He said and filled both their cups. 

“Everything I ever feared has already come to pass.” She replied with no particular feeling. 

[soysaucevictim]

Katana Week = fun and done! I’m so happy about doing it!

-

Sept. 15

I woke up a bit after 11AM.

Did a bit of gaming and YouTube before exercising.

First, today’s DD. 1′ hooks with EC. I counted 51 reps by the end and had a lot of fun! This is one of my favorite types of punches, too! :D

Second, Katana Warmup. Straightforward stuff. I did do the infinity circles correctly this time - but better with my dominant hand. It was still a bit of a head-trip to get my left hand to do it as smoothly. :,D

Last, Day 2 of KW. Today’s workout was “Ninja Hunter“, and I went for Level 2 again. I chose the intermediate grip structure, like last time (half of each exercise/combo for each leading hand at a time.) And it was a good idea to do it outside with gloves on. I still had a lot of fun!

... d’oh. I guess I forgot to incorporate stepping back/forward with my footwork (for first and last combo). And I should’ve been crossing my arms for the first combo (misinterpreting the drawing and mis-remembering the video I watched).

I think I may have to bring the video outside with me so I can execute everything properly, as I do it (not after the fact). orz

I spent some hours with the usual, before doing a bit of drawing before bed.

-

Sept. 16

I woke up around the same time as yesterday.

Did a bit of gaming before making some phone calls about transportation, before starting today’s exercises.

First, today’s DD. 30 glute flexes with EC. This was fun and manageable. Was a bit dubious about eating a bunch of chocolate beforehand, but that wasn't a problem.

(After picking up some Subway, but not eating quite yet.)

Second, Katana Warmup. I feel like I’m getting there with the left-handed infinity circles,

Third, Day 3 of KW. Today’s workout was “Samurai“, also at Level 2 with the same structure. It did take a bit to grock that first combo - but when it clicked, I was excited! I had a lot of fun throughout! =w=

THIS TIME, I can say I did things right, and it was super satisfying to nail things down! It was a good call, if a bit clunky to take my phone out for it.

(After taking a shower and chatting a bit...)

Last, Day 10 of the B&CP, with dad. Balance & Coordination Day, with the obvious modification of using the wall for assist and dropping the foot for a bit for the transitions.

-

Sept. 17

I woke up around 7:30AM.

Got to the facility, socialized, attended group, and worked on some drawing stuff again.

One of the first things I did when I got back home was starting my exercise.

First, Katana Warmup.

Second, Day 4 of KW. Today’s workout was “Quick Draw“, done at Level 2. I think this went pretty smoothly - I think this was just a bit easier to grock quickly, but there were a few feints/false-starts due to brain farts.

(After picking up food with my brother.)

Third, I took a short walk with Dad and the dog. The dog was pretty happy.

Last, today’s DD. 40 side [elbow] planks with rotations with EC. Kinda barely, mostly due to sleep deprivation. The switch up was awkward and I smacked my desk on accident, but I didn't break plank during readjustment. Oof.

I pretty much spent the rest of my day on YouTube and gaming.

-

Sept. 18

I woke up a bit before noon.

I did a bit of gaming, watched some YouTube, and chatted before getting started on today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 40 reverse plank kicks with EC. This is definitely a personal favorite - so I had fun doing it! :D

Second, Katana Warmup.

Third, Day 5 of KW. Today’s workout was “1000 Cuts“. You would think with such a simple directive of hitting 1k cuts would be straightforward. But MAN it’s so easy to get mixed up trying to keep count while executing them (in the order illustrated, but that wasn’t required of the workout).

I counted roughly 5-10 sets, depending on how you might count them. I didn’t rest for very long in between and it was mostly because of problems keeping count than outright exhaustion.

25 combos with right then left lead (but counted each individual swing, which got confusing FAST)

5 combos right/left (got my directions mixed up, swinging same direction as lead instead of away for the horizontal one... made doing the uppercuts SUPER awkward)

20 combos right/left (back to the normal, less awkward directions)

25 combos right/left

50 combos right/left (FINALLY, actually counting by combos which was a lot easier on my brain; also these were when I started to really feel it in terms of exhaustion.)

I’ve also probably under-counted slightly due to losing my place a few times too... :/

(After some chatting, making dinner, and the usual stuff...)

Last, Day 11 of the B&CP, with Dad. Not much to say other than I thought it went well enough! Modded down the knee-to-elbows (feet allowed to tap ground) and the windshield wipers (made them knee tucks, because dad still need to work on his stability). Still happy we’re chugging along.

Did some more gaming before heading for bed.

-

Sept. 19

I woke up a bit before 8AM, today.

Went to the facility, did some more drawing, socialized, and went to group.

My neck was starting to hurt during the group - so afterwards, I spent time doing the Neck Workout (helped slightly), before doing today’s DD. It was 40 knee-in & twists with EC. It was doable despite the neck pain and sleep deprivation.

I spent the rest of my time borrowing a rag, soaking it in warm water, and raping on my neck, waiting for pick-up. Also mildly helpful.

Got home and one of the first things I did was the rest of my exercise (since I already had my shoes on.)

First, Katana Warmup.

Last, Day 6 of KW. Today’s workout was “4 Assassins“, done at Level 2. Despite getting video to help me along - I was still confused and a bit frustrated with this one. Mostly because of he awkward feeling grips (namely the middle 2) I had to make for it. So there were many stops and starts to scratch my head. Something worth practicing again, though.

I then spent my day on the usual.

-

Sept. 20

I woke up a bit after 11AM.

Did a bit of gaming before starting on my exercise for the day.

First, today’s DD. 3′ arm extensions with EC. I counted exactly 200 reps. I mostly wanted to see if I could maintain a pace of at least 1/sec and happy I did! A fun challenge! :D

Second, Katana Warmup.

Third, Day 7 of Katana Week. Today’s workout was “Dance with Dragons“, done at Level 2. Okay. This was SO MUCH fun. Took me a moment to get the hang of stringing that combo together (for both sides), but once I found my groove, it was AMAZING. This was quite possibly my favorite day in this event and was a such a great note to end on!

That being said, I did decide to revisit some of the days I found myself less confident on, afterwards. (Even though I’ve been flirting with overtraining in doing so. Oof.)

Fourth, Day 1 of KW, “Shadow Warrior“, Level 1. I made sure to work in more of the lunging action for the last combo - which got VERY aerobic. The cross + uppercut combos were still a bit awkward, but all in all, this was a more satisfying execution than the first time around!

Fifth, Day 2 of KW, “Ninja Hunter“, Level 1. I’m way happier with my footwork this time. And I did check whether I needed to have arms crossing or parallel as the illustration required. A few brain farts here and there - but better!

Last, Day 6 of KW, “4 Assassins“, Level 1. Okay, I think I started to piece together these weird grip positions, better this time.  I wasn’t as frustrated and confused, which I will count as a win!

-

With that - I feel like I’ve truly earned my Katana Week badge. \o/

To review, if I had to rank my most to least favorite days:

Day 7 - Dance with Dragons

Day 3 - Samurai

Day 4 - Quick Draw

Day 5 - 1000 Cuts

Day 2 - Ninja Hunter

Day 1 - Shadow Warrior

Day 6 - 4 Assassins

As far as what I intend to do next? For the next few weeks, I’m going to be doing some training plan stuff. Maaaybe try Hell Week at the end, no guarantees!

.-

[I’m going to post this now and add whatever else I get done today, later.]

[hitodama89]

Hope no one asked these yet (and hope they show up correctly)! 📏 ☕ 🎼 🍀 🌊 🙊

Yay thanks so much to you, too!

📏 What’s your go-to canvas size? 

The most basic ever: 800 x 600 px. It’s tiny as all hell, but my computer has trouble working together with my ancient drawing tablet if I try to use too large canvas. Most ARPG activity things are for example drawn on that size.

☕ Do you do warmup sketches before drawing? (Bonus: do you have any to share?) 

No, never; I have to put all of my energy into the actual piece if I want to get anything done. =‘) I might do some sort of thumbnailing of the piece if I’m having trouble with it, but I don’t remember ever drawing something completely else in order to warm up.

🎼 Your favorite music to draw to right now? 

I don’t often listen to music while I draw mostly because I am incredibly bad at finding myself new music I’d like, and listening everything on repeat for 124678th time gets too repetitive. When I do though I often use video game soundtracks because they are not distracting and it’s rare to hear anything that you dislike so much that you’d need to change the song. But most often I listen some Youtube videos, my favorites being people form Normal Boots and Hidden Block as well as Team Four Star.

🍀 You wish your art was more..(fill in the blank) 

Interesting. My imagination isn’t really anything to write home about, so I do often end up drawing same things over and over again: using same angles, same elements, same poses, same colors… It doesn’t bother me all the time, thankfully, but it would sure be neat if it didn’t have a need to bother me at all.

The last two were answered previously.

[beanjuice-duh]

Night Suns

a/n: I can finally stop being a fake fan and indulge. (also to preface, my warmups are uneditted and unstructured compared to fuller pieces. Spell checks, topic structures are all to the wind, this is all freeform, free hand, on the spot writing that takes me about 10-20 minutes)

“Good work tonight, Will!” The theater head clapped his hand against Will’s shoulder and smiled. “Get some rest after, you deserve it! A packed house…” He sounded as though he was still in disbelief.

Will was too. He felt as though he was walking the fine line of a dream, in moments he’d wake up in his shitty cot, in the shitty inn owned by that woman who was just perfumed a little too much. Sleeping there stung his nose but alas it was his home for the moment. “G’night, good sir.” William smiled politely watching the man walk off with his hands in the air.

“Packed house!” He exclaimed again to the emptying streets of the night. Will felt the same but he contained his limbs to his side and allowed his mind the liberty of convincing him that this was in fact a reality. His dreams were real…as far and as fast as they came, he was alive and well in the midst of all his dreams and realities. In the seas of uncertain amity with theater he was…truly, alive.

Perhaps more the reason he did not want to return to his “home”. A bed, a period at the end of this fantastic sentence and William longed for more. The curtains were drawn and the stars were out, like the remaining lights casting down from the stage ceiling. William still felt the thrill of standing in the midst of it all.

In the quake of brilliance, a sharp gust of nightly wind ran up his spine and followed by a voice than ran through his temples. “Well, well, well if it isn’t the man of night? Waiting for a standing ovation?” Snark and sarcasm dripped from every syllable. “Or perhaps are you waiting for the curtain to raise again? The taste of fame left its mark on your flesh and like a hungry whore you’re standing along the sidelines of the street waiting for your next hit?”

Kit Marlowe tossed a blond curl behind his ear as he waltzed out with a bottle instead of his famed entourage of open ended lovers. Run on sentences of one night stands and fragmented hearts subjected to verb-less night’s absence of the subject. Marlowe was a genius but the kind Shakespeare never aspired to be. For the genius came with a curse, many assumed Kit made a deal with the devil.

He was brilliant, Will had no inclination to deny him that. When Kit wrote he wrote like he simply breathed it. He wrote pieces that were twisted enough to make people retch simply from thought. He wrote helplessly that would warm the coldest heart in the midst of war. He could make people feel whatever he wanted yet he, was emptied and it was almost transparent to William.

And only William.

He was lonesome, surrounded by fans, politicians, lovers…he was thirsty with every bottle he downed. He was restless no matter how much he slept. And he was depressed no matter how many times he laughed, smiled or fucked.

And Kit was good at one other thing other than writing. He was good at the game of temptation. “You know Will most people go out for a night cap after a great performance, why not join me?” Will rolled his eyes, predictable bait. Had he been a more clueless man, a more doe eyed traveler he would have fallen face first into Kit.

Heaven knows Will would have fallen face first for a man who held a pen like he did.

“I rather not” William kept his eyes away from those hungry pupils, laid deeply against the bags along his eyes. “I’m actually riding the high down from tonight, I’m sure sleep with will come for me soon and I will welcome her sweet embrace as should …” He turned his head to give Kit an authoritative look. His breath froze in his lungs as he caught notice that Marlowe had come closer to Will.

Closer than he had thought, so close that now Will was half amused how he didn’t sense him. How he didn’t feel his breath so close to his neck. He was bewildered but not completely thrown off, Marlowe moved like a ghost. An angry…hell driven ghost.

“’As should I’ you mean?” He tilted his head with a malicious smirk that made Shakespeare’s stomach quiver with illness. “Lecturing me Will? Are you worried about my wellbeing? Afraid your mentor won’t make it to your next project?”

“You know that isn’t why I care, I care because you’re my…”

“Your what, Will?” Kit circled around Will, it was harmless, there was a skip to his step but his eyes? Those eyes were narrowed like a big cat in the midst of a hunt.

“Friend, colleague, fellow human being who’s wellbeing is a reasonable concern for any other considerate human.”

“How infantile can you be if you believe humans ever are “just concerned” for another without no motive.” Marlowe rolled his eyes then stood directly in front of Will. Hands to his sides but Will felt on edge. Any moment he was going to move in and Will would flinch from his touch. He had to.

Fight the draw that was Marlowe. The darkness that wanted to swallow up every star in the sky. Not because he was the embodiment of darkness but because he was strong enough too. Kit was strong enough to pull the moon from its orbit. Strong enough to pluck stars from the sky like grapes and consume full flames whole. Lips that could part and entire oceans would follow suit.

“Maybe that’s why I like you.” Kit spoke softly, a strange and foreign somberness in his voice. It sounded almost…fragile. “There is still…a child’s spark in you…its not hidden in your manhood, you wear him proudly on your sleeve. Like a heart…kindness…” He mused, reaching out almost to touch him but his fingers barely stroked the space between them.

William felt it, as his eyes followed Kit’s hand and the first thought was ‘touch me’.

He felt the heat of anticipation kill him like lines waiting to be delivered. Will could spend hours rewriting this scene and each one would end with Marlowe having Shakespeare every way he wanted him. In anyway, and Will would not complain. He would not stop him. In Shakespeare’s play, Kit already had him.

In reality, Marlowe smirked, watching Shakespeare’s dazed gaze follow his hand. He could snap and break him out of his trance or worse, enchant him more and bring him home. However, Kit had a soft spot for the young, up and coming talent. A soft spot for his work, for his glee. “Be careful William.” Kit purred walking around Will, stopping short to brush shoulders with him. “You should run home to your sleep mistress, for the night is filled with troubled, restless souls that wouldn’t think twice of eating you whole…”

“Perhaps…I belong out with those wondering souls.” William argued back only to get a condescending chuckle.

“Trust me William, you don’t.” Kit was already walking off towards a silhouette of a man waiting for him down the cobblestoned street. A shadow that made William’s heart sank back to sickness and unease. “The sun has no place where the moon hides with her beasts.” Kit blew a kiss towards William. “What was that line I adored from your last draft?”

“”Parting is such sweet sorrow…’”

[miriyos]

look at that body (wc: 1,611)

Somehow he and Phil don’t get invited to the All Star Weekend in Tampa, that’s fine. Tanger deserves it. The Metro Division has been hell this season. It feels a little unfair but, hey, Taylor Hall has earned his appearance and so did Brian Boyle so Zhenya gets it. It’s not his year.

Plus, now he gets a few days off.

Unfortunately, Phil gets the great idea that they should work out over the break.

“The guy who trains my sister over the summer just moved here. Expanding his gym franchise. He’s really good,” Phil said and just like that Zhenya finds himself waking up Friday morning to get ready to go to the gym. He can’t really find an excuse to tell his A otherwise.

Zhenya didn’t make any plans ahead of time because he thought he’d be in Tampa.

So Croz Fitness. It’s real close to PPG Arena, which Zhenya realizes is because this guy is a major Pens fan. Immediately when he walks in, there’s a Pens Stanley Cup replica banner hanging from the ceiling and pinned to the corkboard wall behind the receptionist desk are two photos of a smiling Amanda and Phil with their arms around a man who can only be their trainer, Sidney.

“You’re late!” Phil says in greeting. He looks a little sweaty but he’s not breathing heavy or anything. “You missed Sid’s warmup.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. He thought he was only five minutes late.

“It’s okay, I have all weekend to warm you guys up,” the trainer says. “I’m Sid.” Friendly, Sid holds his hands out for Zhenya to shake.

Zhenya smiles. He likes the implication of that.

Sidney is kind of a hard ass when it comes to putting Phil and Zhenya to work, but man, it’s hard work that must’ve pulled off.

Zhenya knows Amanda is great, has even chirped Phil that she plays better than him. To no exaggeration, Sid works them like it’s the playoffs. If a little warm up got Phil sweating, the actual workout must have him soaked by now. He feels lucky that he chose a black Pens shirt, otherwise it’d look like a different color, he’s so hot. That would be the worst, considering Sidney’s attractive.

Phil forgot to mention that.

Stature-wise, Sid isn’t small but he has to look up to speak to either Zhenya or Phil. He’s also built like a tank with thick legs that make him walk a little bowlegged and probably make Zuccarello jealous. And the hair. Just long enough for one single, sweaty curl to fall into his eyes as he demonstrates each activity he wants Phil and Zhenya to follow.

That laugh too. Zhenya isn’t sure what draws him to it, all he knows is that he’s chirping Phil harder than he’s ever chirped Phil before just so he can hear it again and again.

“It’s not that bad,” Sid says when Zhenya complains about his soreness, “my full body workouts are usually easier.”

Grimacing, Zhenya blinks sweat out of his eyes. He and Phil are back to back doing squats while supporting each other. Easy? Zhenya doesn’t really buy that. He could give Sid an English dictionary if he needed one to prove that nothing about today has been easy. He has plenty stored away in dusty boxes from his rookie days. He could prove it.

“You joking,” Zhenya says. His thighs are starting to quiver but even if he stopped, he’s pretty sure his back must be glued to Phil’s.

Phil who barks out a laugh, tilting his head back to rest it on Zhenya’s shoulder. “I wish. He’s even worse in the summer. It’s how Amanda tortures me.”

“Well, Amanda tougher than you,” Zhenya chirps because he might be tired but he still has enough energy to push his teammate’s buttons.

Sid laughs, attempting to remain professional as he puts his hands on his hips. His stopwatch beeps. “Okay, guys, you’re done. We’re gonna go into some easy stretches and call it a day.”

If things could get worse, they do.

Easy. Sid keeps saying easy but Sidney doing downward dog in front of him is nothing but difficult for Zhenya’s heart. Gym shorts are not the kind of pants he wants to be wearing when he pops a boner.

Sidney is bendy. He shows them the downward dog pose, then transitions to a standing forward bend, which might be even worse. Sid has, as Tanger would say, an ass that won’t quit.

Zhenya’s brain short circuits for a moment but his eyes trace every moment as Sid stretches his left leg out for a lunge. While Zhenya got the memo of not wearing compression pants alone to the gym, Sidney doesn’t follow that rule.

Life is hard.

“You need help?” Sid asks. Phil is already in the downward dog phase and Zhenya is still staring with his mouth open.

“No,” Zhenya lies. He glares momentarily at Phil’s back, thinking yes.

On Saturday, Zhenya makes sure that he’s on time. Which seems like a good idea when he gets into his car to drive to the gym. 

Sid told him to be on time, so he’ll be there on time, and get to hear Sid compliment him. He likes that. Only, when he gets there, Sid greets him in yet another pair of tight stretch pants to tell Zhenya that they’ll be starting off with more yoga.

Fantastic.

The Crocs though.

“What those?” he asks, pointing.

Sidney looks down at his feet, puzzled. His socks are plain white but his Crocs are bright yellow. There’s a cartoon penguin charm on them. “They’re practical,”

“You work out in those?” Zhenya teases.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t take it easy on you,” he shoots back.

Zhenya licks his hips. He’s in trouble.

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow?” Phil asks Sid as he walks him and Phil to the door.

“Yeah,” Sid agrees. Zhenya feels somewhat left out and very confused. “I’ll be at yours at two for some pregame?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Phil pats Zhenya on the back, acting as the guiding force to keep him going forward.

Sid opens the front door, says his last goodbye, and Zhenya is still confused.

“What?”

“Well, Sid is a hockey fan so I figured I’d invite him over to watch the games tomorrow. You cool with that?” Phil asks. He frowns. “Sorry, guess I should’ve asked but I figured you guys were getting along pretty well.”

Zhenya nods robotically. “We get along great.”

“Cool,” Phil says, nodding. “Cool. You know Sid’s single, by the way. He didn’t tell me to tell you that, I just figured, I don’t know. I’ll - uh - just see you tomorrow, G.” Awkwardly, Phil pats Zhenya on the shoulder.

Zhenya must stand in front of the gym doors for another minute before he gets his feet moving again. With his back turned he doesn’t get to see Sidney staring at him from inside.

Zhenya drives to Phil’s as cool as a cucumber. But also nervous. Super nervous.

Most of their teammates have gone home for the weekend. They rarely get this many days off in a row and it’s not like they’re allowed to skate.

So it’s just the three of them. Three buds hanging out to watch some good hockey.

Sidney is there first, making himself at home in Phil’s kitchen to fix up the snacks he brought. He’s still wearing gym clothes, but they’re nicer than the ones he’d been wearing throughout the weekend so far. Like, he picked out these clothes with intent to look nice.

Zhenya does a slight double take when he realizes that Sid is wearing a Fleury shirt.

“Is that jealousy I see?” Phil teases in Zhenya’s ear and far away from Sidney’s.

Sid turns around to pop pizza bites in the oven, which surely aren’t on Phil or Zhenya’s meal plan, giving Zhenya another nice view of Sid bent over.

“No, no, no. Flower best,” Zhenya replies, his voice becoming higher pitched than normal as he lies through his teeth.

“Best after you,” Sid supplies, suddenly in front of Zhenya.

Phil makes his getaway faster than Zhenya has ever seen him on the ice, yelling out that the beers are getting warm. Which, terrible excuse, Phil. But maybe not the worst. He contemplates using it as well but Sid is looking at him expectantly.

“I just want to make sure so I don’t have to guess anymore, but, do you want to go out sometime? For dinner?” Sidney asks, doing this move. Tilting his head down and looking up through his lashes.

“You want to go out?” Zhenya asks dumbly.

Sid laughs. “I don’t usually work out in just compression pants. I thought I was being pretty obvious trying to get your attention.”

“You have,” Zhenya says quickly. “Most definitely, yes.”

Brightly, Sid smiles, one hand reaching out low to grip the hem of Zhenya’s shirt. It’s so natural and if Zhenya didn’t feel Sid’s warmth, he probably wouldn’t have noticed either. Sid steps a little closer, maybe looks like he means to lean in for a kiss but the oven decides it’s time to let them know that it’s done preheating. The sound causing them to jump apart.

That laugh becomes something like a giggle. Sid wraps his arms around Zhenya’s waist and buries his face in his chest, just the perfect height to tuck his head underneath Zhenya’s chin.

So maybe Zhenya didn’t get to go to the ASG but he worked his ass off this weekend, got some time off, and now he has a date to look forward to.

[taylorj8771]

Prompts from this post: the way you said "I love you". My intention was to write small fills for all of these prompts when I hit blocks on other works. I had all the prompts in this one post and, with a bunch still unwritten, Tumblr told me I hit the maximum amount of text blocks allowed in a post. So I'm going to do this in sections.

All fills are Sid/Geno, not all in the same verse though some very well could be. I don't think any of these ones are a first-time-saying-it, but more during their day to day interactions. Also, I'm not very angsty so some of the sadder prompts were interpreted differently than they were likely meant to be.

There is one that's explicit. Be forewarned.

More prompts here

As a hello

Sidney can't control his excitement when he hears Geno's key in the front door. It's been a long summer spent on two different continents and they're finally together. Fit to bursting, Sidney races down the steps and slides into their entrance-way just as Geno pushes the door open. He stands there staring, just sharing a smile neither of them can contain, before Geno steps inside and Sidney throws himself in his boyfriend's arms.

He holds on tight and whispers, "I love you," over and over until Geno being there finally feels real.

Over a beer bottle

Riding high on their win and a few victory shots, Sidney's relaxing at their table in the bar and nursing a beer.

It was a hell of an evening, a 5-4 win over the Flyers, a moral victory just as much as a physical one. Most of the guys are still recapping the game in the booth but a few of the singles are mingling around, looking for a warm body for the night.

Sidney toes the arch of Geno's foot where his is pressed against it under the table. Geno looks up at him so Sidney fiddled with the wet label on the beer bottle and turns so his eyes are on the other side of the room. Out of the corner of his mouth he says, low enough that only Geno will hear, "Love you."

On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

Sidney loves the porch swing at his house in Cole Harbour. He spends hours at a time on it, reading, watching the lake, talking on the phone, each day he's home. It's the perfect length for him to lay back on, one leg curled up on the swing and the other pushing lazily at the porch to sway him to and fro.

It's also the perfect length — Sidney finds out the first time Geno visits him at this home — for Sidney to sit tucked into one corner and Geno to lay draped across him, head resting in the crook of Sidney's arm on the armrest. They've spent hours here just listening to the calm, Geno drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sun has been setting for a while and Sidney really should get up to start on their dinner, but the sun's last rays have them both cast in fiery hues and Geno is lit up like a God, every part of his summer tan shimmering and his hair glowing in the light. It hits Sidney like this sometimes, like a Mack truck he's just slammed into, a suddenly overwhelming wave of love that leaves him breathless, achy and clingy all at once. He brushes his hand through Geno's hair, as soft as he can so they can sit undisturbed just a little while longer, and whispers so feverently even he can hear the ache in his voice, "I love you."

Over and over again, till it’s nothing but a senseless babble

Sidney grips at Geno's back, arms wrapped around his shoulders and his face tucked into Geno's neck. He's only holding on at this point, his back arched off the bed and his hips moving in time with Geno's. There are tears pricking his eyes and Sidney gasps every time Geno thrusts into him, clutching harder at Geno's back.

Hes so close to the edge, his cock rubbing against Geno's stomach with every movement. His spine is lit up in pleasure from the overwhelming sensations and Sidney feels torn, wanting to come and wanting to stay in stasis just as he is for the rest of his life.

His mouth is moving but he's to the point where he can't tell what he's even saying anymore. He shouts when Geno wraps a hand around him between their bodies, coming on an upstroke, throwing his headback and riding the sensation of white-hot bliss.

When he comes down, still writhing beneath Geno while the other man holds still, he can recognize his babble for what it is; a constant stream of "I love you".

From very far away

Geno's been back in Russia for a few days now and Sidney's yet to go home to Cole Harbour. The season took so much out of them both, Geno was happy to leave town and leave another year without the cup behind him. Sidney prefers to drag these things out rather than try to run away from his problems. He's been sulking around the house since Geno left 5 days ago, only just getting started on closing down the house for summer.

He wants to give Geno his space — it's the least he could do after the blowup that was their round one exit — but he misses him. He misses the low rumble of his voice in his chest when Sidney would lay with an ear pressed against it. He misses how Geno's hugs are more like an envelope of love surrounding him, drowning him. Sidney wraps his own arms around himself in lieu of Geno's and tries to get on with his packing; the sooner he goes home the sooner he's back in Pittsburgh with Geno.

Later that night, Sidney's in the kitchen, trying to satisfy a late night hunger for junk food that just won't leave. He gives it all up for the summer every year, the last piece of it always being before the potential last game of the season so there's no excuse to not start on his summer diet right away. He hasn't touched it in more than a week but figures he can have just one more bowl of ice cream, if to do nothing other but soothe the ache in his heart where Geno sits. He pulls open the freezer and grabs his tub of chocolate ice cream. He's skipping the bowl — Geno isn't there to judge him while he eats it straight from the container — and notices a small piece of paper tucked into the edge of the lid once he sets the ice cream down on the kitchen island. It wasn't there the last time he has a bowl, he knows that for sure, and his heart beat picks up as he pulls it off the lid and flips the paper open.

It reads, "я люблю тебя".

Over your shoulder

It's the start of a new season. The ice is fresh, smooth and cold, ready for their blades to slice through it. The crowd is roaring itself into a frenzy after having gone months without their sport, their team.

Sidney feels the anxiousness of it all boiling through his blood. He feels on fire, lit up and aware like only hockey can make him. He's ready, the motions of his game-day routine already broken in like an old hat. Warmup gear, peanut butter sandwich, soccer, and warmups, all before changing into his pads and skates, freshly taped sticks leaning on the bench to his left.

The last part is with Geno, their handshake engrained in both their routines. He's doesn't know how he ever stepped onto ice before it. They bump fists first and then to the crest on each other's chest, before they lean in, helmets tapping. Geno swats his stick softly at Sidney's ass as he turns to head to the ice, crowd drawing him out. Sidney turns his head over his shoulder and glances back at Geno, mouth where the cameras can't see. "Love you."

Muffled, from the other side of the door

"What were you even thinking? Locking them in the closet like this?"

"You're not Flower."

"This isn't even a funny prank."

"I'm sorry, okay? They were fighting and I've heard locking people in a room together can make them sort it out. I've even seen you guys do it!" Rusty flails to explain.

Sidney sighs and tips his forehead against the door. Ian's been wiggling a credit card through the lock for a solid five minutes now while Dana searches for the key. It isn't a well used storage closet, and who knows how long Geno and Phil have been in it for. Rusty makes it sound like it was a while before he came to get help.

"Guys?" Sidney calls softly through the space where the door meets the jam. "We're working on getting you out, okay? Bryan's sorry." He throws a glare over his shoulder to watch the young kid hang his head.

"I'm lucky Geno hasn't eaten me yet with the way his stomach keeps growling. Can you guys work faster?" Phil calls through the door, voice muffled.

The door creaks with weight as someone on the other side shifts. Sidney feels it press into where his shoulder is, just a little.

Geno's "Love you, Sid," is right in his ear.

[dantestormbrand]

A “Father’s“ Retribution

This was it, this was the night. He knew it deep down but somehow it still didn't feel real, like a little part of him was still trying to reason with this beast of unyielding rage that'd taken up residence in the forefront of his mind. It didn't matter now though, the bait was placed, the trap set, and undoubtedly the game was in motion, this would be the night Dante killed the man that saved him as a child.

There was a chill in the air as the sun started to set over Thanalan, but the rock on which Dante had decided to wait was still warm from the days heat. It was an unusual spot for him, right on the side of the road, out in the open, his instincts were screaming for him to hide, find a place for an ambush, but that wasn't what he needed, no, he needed something more personal. He couldn't have been waiting that long he kept telling himself, but every moment felt like an eternity. His mind kept drifting, What if he doesn't take bait? What if there was another way? What would Jade think? No, that was why he needed to stay resolute, for Jade.

He hadn't said where he was going in his note, after all why burden her with information that would only cause her to worry, or worse, tie her to the deed if he was discovered. Instead he simply promised he'd return soon, so that was what he told himself, why he couldn't fail, he wouldn't let a silly thing like the danger of death cause him to break a promise to his wife, and he was reasonably sure death wouldn't save him from her retribution if he did.

The Miqo'te's ears flicked once he realised he was no longer alone, the sky was flaring orange with the last light of the day as he rose from his seat, turning to face the unmistakable silhouette of the large Roegadyn just sauntering over the rise in the road. Dante couldn't see his face, but he could just feel that cocksure grin, the confidence radiating from him now that he had the upper hand.

“Evening lad. Did you really think your contacts hadn't been bought yet? If you're waiting for my caravan you'll be here a while, it's just me tonight. I'm getting tired of this battle of retaliation so we're going to work this out just you and me, that letter your misses sent offering me a cut of your profits should help.” bellowed the Roegadyn as he slowly closed the gap between them, stopping just a few yalms from his former protégé. Dante stared him down for a few moments, quietly moving his left hand to the sheath of his sword as the sunlight faded, giving way to a clear sky of stars and silver moonlight.

“Pays to know who you can trust, don't it, everyone knows tha', people forget though, pays to know who you can't trust too... Aye, I thought you'd catch wind of my little plan, an' 'ow else would you answer that insult than to come teach me a lesson, eh? I wasn't after any bloody Caravan, I'm after you.” Dante tried to keep calm, it wasn't usually a hard thing to do, but looking upon Father's face again, and that damned grin, his words were almost snarled out as his mind flashed to Jade's injuries and utter lack of regret the Roegadyn had.

“That so? And what now, hmm? You try and threaten your Father again and we go our separate ways? I don't think so. Drop that steel of yours and lets settle this like men, hand to hand, either that...” Father let out a sharp whistle, in an instant just over a dozen figures appeared, some on the ridge above, some from behind rocks, wielding an assortment of bows and knives. “Or we get the lads involved. Didn't think I'd trust you enough to come alone did you? These boys'll make you a right pin-cushion too, Talarado's squad, you remember him don't you?” He motioned to a lalafel stood on the ridge in the centre of the archers.

“You're gettin' too old for this game” Dante snapped back “Nobodies gettin' involved that ain't already, an' I sure as shit ain't droppin' my sword, I've seen how you beat on kids that disappoint you or refugees that can't pay you back in time, you're strong but it'll count for bugger all when I cut you to ribbons.” with the final word he extended his thumb, popping the collar of the blade free from the sheath as he dropped into his stance, his right hand sweeping smoothly to the grip, waiting to draw. “Oh an' you're not my Father anymore, I've been diggin' more than you think, I know everythin' about you now, Rhylharr Ostornsyn.”

“You little shite... Digging like that, signed your own execution order that's all you've done now!” Father spat the words, the use of what should have been his hidden name unveiling the threat to his organisation. He motioned to his archers, then to Dante. “Fire! End this traitor let's be done with it.”

The archers looked to Dante, then back to Father, Talarado snapped his fingers, prompting the armed teens to stow their weapons and back off, leaving the Lalafel stood alone and watching, his grin glinting in the moonlight.

“I told you, nobodies getting' involved. You always said everyone 'as a price, so now it's jus' you an' me.” said Dante, regaining his focus and composure.

“You rat bastard... I gave you everything, All of you! Fine, I don't need them to send you burning into the seventh hell!” Through gritted teeth Father yelled before making his move. Retreat never occurred to him, he never was the kind to back down easily, and so in he charged, a plume of dust billowing from his feet as his massive frame surged forward with surprising speed, ready to strike.

For Dante it was one of those moments in life, those few seconds that feel like minutes, where everything slows down and your mind clears. He recalled his training with ease, he knew this would end with one strike, one to hew his former mentor in twain. As Rhylharr closed the distance Dante drew his blade, swinging it in one smooth motion, this was it, the end... except it wasn't. The strike that Dante was so sure of was only met by a sharp clang, a metal bracer hidden under Rhylharr's sleeve pushing the sword off it's course, he hadn't even seen him raise his arm but in an instant his blade was parried and the split second of surprise was immediately replaced by crushing pain in his chest as the Roegadyn delivered a punch powerful enough to lift Dante off his feet before setting him back down, stumbling back a few paces trying to find both his footing and his breath.

Rhylharr came barrelling in with another swing but it was as if something within Dante recognised it before his own mind did, forcing him to duck below the blow just in time, the ring of sharp steel cutting the air rang through the pass as the Miqo'te took Rhylharr's brief moment of recovery from the failed punch to swing again, and again Dante couldn't quite believe his eyes as his hulking former master simply leapt back, avoiding the strike entirely. Their positions reset, Dante readied his blade, centring his energy and resetting his focus, he wouldn't be caught unawares this time. His mind cleared of all but one thought, this was what all his training had led to, the speed and deception of his dagger fights, the instincts and creativity taught to him at the Manufactory, the perpose of movement and flow of Kenki he'd learnt in Kugane, this was where they all combined, and very possibly for the first time, he understood it, all of it in unison.

Rhylharr let out a bellowing roar as he rushed in once more, ready to deliver a series of blows that made the first look like a warmup. Before making contact, however, his rage filled gaze met that of the black-haired Miqo'te, and this time he saw something new, a cold sharp focus that almost warned him of the new danger, but before he could react Dante had side-stepped his furious charge, spinning with the motion and striking as enraged fist-fighter stumbled past him, his sword seemed to sing out in the night as it drew across Rhylharr's back, blood splattering onto the stone road in time with an agonised cry.

“You... you thankless piece of shit... I could've left you to rot on the streets!... I should've too!” Father turned back to face Dante, dropping to one knee and panting for breath, watching the Miqo'te take a few sombre paces. “Everything I taught you, all the time I spent on you... and that's the best you can do?! That won't stop me, boy!” In the blink of an eye he rose to his feet, summoning another burst of incredible speed and already raising his fist into potentially crushing blow. Letting instinct guide him, Dante's blade stayed motionless at his side, instead his other hand following a practised and lightning fast motion, whipping under his coat for the concealed holster on the back of his belt, the dull glint of gunmetal in starlight swinging round to confront Rhylharr for a single instant before becoming obscured by smoke and fire.

The shot rang out through the pass, echoing off the stone walls and fading into the trees, the round found it's mark in Rhylharr's chest with an eruption of blood, sending him wheeling off his course, roaring out in the face of the pain, pushed those last few steps by his few, the blow once meant for his former son's chest instead made contact with his shoulder, hitting with a dull crunch and sending Dante flinching back with an anguished yelp as the Roegadyn fell to the dusty ground with a thud.

Holstering his gun and taking the sword from his now immobilised right hand to re-sheath it with his left, the black clad Miqo'te stepped back over to his target, pushing a boot against his shoulder to roll him onto his back, examining his wound before looking back to his face.

“Tha' was a good shot for my left... you won't linger long...” He offered in consolation, holding his own disabled arm, his breathing laboured as he watched the man that'd had countless impacts on his life cough up his own blood. “You're supposed to be old... off your game, go down quick and easy... didn't want to draw it out... you had to go down, but not like that.”

Rhylharr spat the blood from his mouth, staring back up at his assailant, the man he'd trained to be a killer so many years prior. “You were... supposed to be loyal... cold... take over one day.... look how that worked out.”

“Aye, I s'pose neither of us were right” Dante chuckled a little, quickly cut off into a wince by a surge of pain from his chest.

“Neither of us were...” The dying Roegadyn grinned just a little, looking up at the stars, struggling to take another breath. “...But your mother was... never would've fit in...” the last words fading out as the final breath rattled from his throat, the light leaving his eyes.

Dante's brow furrowed at Father's final words, mulling them over silently. Having seen that final moment enough in other peoples eyes to know he won't get any answers he decided to put it to the back of his mind, instead eyes catching sight of a familiar trinket, pulling the amulet from around the corpses neck, eyeing up the smooth yellow crystal before stashing it away in a pocket. Running his still usable hand through his hair, and still trying to catch his breath, he stared off into the trees for a moments before hearing the Lalafel striding up behind him.

“We good then long-shanks?” asked Talarado as he circled round, pushing a brass looking eye-mask into Dante's pocket. Looking over his perished master with disdain.

“Aye, deals a deal, wills set in place, you're now the sole and rightful heir of legitimate businessman Rhylharr Ostornsyn... these are the goggles, and the other part of your end?” Dante inquired, examining the brass goggles.

“Yeah yeah, quit the illegal stuff, use the businesses to find solid legal jobs for orphans and refugees, y'got my word already. You know not everyone’s goin' to thank Saint Dante for this change though, right?”

“Aye” Dante nodded “Jus' do what you can for who you can, splinter groups'll get dealt with.”

“Right... well we'll fix things round 'ere as a last act I suppose, spin some tale of a Garlean patrol, blades always buy that crap, you'd best be getting' on your merry way” Talarado made a shooing motion towards the tree-line. “'Helpin' you back wasn't part of the deal.”

“Aye, I can feel the charity already.” Dante rolled his eyes, pocketing the goggles and placing his left arm over his chest, holding his right shoulder in place as he started the long walk back, battered and beaten, but finally free.

[itscooltobefanficy]

Feeling Alive- Part 6

Summary: Dance school!AU (or the Step Up/Pride and Prejudice mash up nobody asked for). Bucky Barnes is forced to take twelve hours of commercial dance classes to pass the year- and that just happens to be your regular weekly dance class.

Introduction

Part 1 (Slow Hands)

Part 2 (Stay)

Part 3 (There Will Come a Time)

Part 4 (Weapon of Choice)

Part 5 (Came Here For Love)

Where the Sky Hangs OR Strip That Down

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Chapter 7/?: Where the Sky Hangs

Word count: 2590

Back up in the word count and racing ever onwards! Although I’m only halfway through chapter twelve, so I might have to ease off the gas a bit (not to mention my other fics are crying out for attention), but don’t worry- we’re going to get to the end of this! But, for now, simply enjoy ;)

The next week, an unexpected heatwave rolls across the country: weather forecasters fan themselves, insisting it’s just a flash in the pan, and the students stumbling into the library at all hours now carry sunglasses and moan about the missed opportunities outside. Trapped in your office during shifts, you can’t help but sympathise. Still, the discomfort is almost worth it for the moment you come through the door each evening, kicking off your shoes and pulling on a pair of shorts with the windows thrown open and music blasting from your laptop. A certain someone, however, is not enjoying it at all.

B: I’m melting

You’re slowly recalibrating your brain from James to Bucky. Changing his name in your contacts helped a bit.

B: I hate this

B: this is hell

In fact, you get a message complaining about the heat pretty much every day. It’s like a regular touch-base; something to be expected. It makes you feel a whole different kind of warm inside.

On Wednesday, you manage to get the early shift, so you have plenty of time to come home and get ready before class. Half an hour before you leave, you get a group message from Wanda.

W: shorts ladies!!!!

You grin, relieved: the air con in the studio can’t really cope with these kind of temperatures. You wander across your flat and begin picking out your most breathable clothes (which happen to be very revealing. Not that you’re concerned about that. Not at all).

Ten minutes before you need to leave, you’re frantically texting Pepper.

Y: is the purple sb too much??

Then you pace anxiously waiting for a reply. You’re currently wearing the aforementioned purple sports bra- it’s one of your favourites, completely comfortable and a vibrant colour- and you can’t help but scrutinise it with every pass in the small square mirror by the door. Wanda always dances in a sports bra… But that’s different. That’s Wanda, who has abs of steel and body confidence a mile high. You’re you.

P: I’m sure it’s fine! I’m wearing my green one.

You sigh, then yelp when you check the time. You don’t have time to change now, and anyway, at least you won’t be the only one. You grab your bag and hurtle out the door.

Outside, the sun is still beating down, despite the lateness of the evening. Even though you feel slightly self-conscious walking down the street with this much of you exposed, you’re glad to be dressed in lightweight clothes. To your relief, when you draw in sight of the bus stop, you can see that Nat is also dressed in a pair of black shorts and a crop top.

“Hey!” You stick your arm up and wave. Then you give a cheeky smile as Bucky turns towards you. “Enjoying the weather?”

“How can you even ask that?” He growls, and you laugh. Nat smiles brightly.

“Makes me feel almost human,” Sam says, “After being cooped up in the studio all day.”

“Good to get some vitamin D, Buck,” Steve claps his friend on the shoulder, and gets a swift jab below the ribcage for his trouble.

“You were in the studio all day? That sounds rough.” You adjust your bag on your shoulder as the bus comes grumbling up behind you.

“Yeah, things are pretty intense at the moment,” Steve says. “Big round of auditions coming up.”

You pull a sympathetic face, even as your stomach drops a few inches. As you walk to your spot at the back of the bus, the other four continuing to chat, you find yourself withdrawing from the conversation as a horrible, logical thought occurs to you. Auditions mean contracts; contracts mean jobs; and jobs mean- well, jobs mean them leaving. Mean Bucky leaving. To dance on the world’s stage. Of course, they’d said that they were intending to go professional- but, for whatever reason, the reality of that hadn’t sunk in.

They would be leaving to pursue their dream, you tell yourself, firmly. That’s more important than anything. Certainly more important than any half-fledged imagining that had yet to happen between you and Bucky.

Something seizes hold of your heart at that moment. The sunshine flares through the window; Nat throws back her head and laughs, as Bucky looks on, grinning. The air feels warm as you breathe it in.

I get caught up in your heart-strings,

Way up, where all of the sky hangs,

I’ll take all that I can get,

Just don’t make me go…

And you decide to just let things run where they will. To take whatever chance that comes your way. Bucky looks at you, and the spark in his bright eyes makes you want to smile and jump to your feet and run all the way up to the moon. Surely that’s worth taking a risk on?

~~

Warmup and blocking passes in a blur, before you separate, once again, to review the routines you went over last week. All those hours practicing in front of the oven paid off- Weapon of Choice goes down without a hitch. Then Wanda’s calling for you all to come back together.

“Time to make those brains work for a change! Let’s go back to Stay. Solo to start with- I don’t trust you that much.”

You snort, but your heart has kicked up a gear. It might be today…

“Get ready!” Wanda calls, then the music begins to play.

Wanda has a great deal of criticism to hand out after that first run-through, (“How many times must I tell you to extend, Y/N?!”) so it takes them a while longer to get to a state where she’s happy to partner you up. Then she leans back, folding her arms and scrutinising you all. Her gaze meets yours, and you recognise the glint within them all too well. It means trouble to come.

“Anna, are you happy to partner Steve? Y/N, I think you can partner with James. We’ve got time for it once more, people! Don’t let me down!”

Swallowing, you look for Bucky, who raises his eyebrows at you as though to say- would you look at that? You screw up your courage and walk over to him.

“Ready to have fun?” You ask, hoping your voice sounds normal. He ticks his head from side-to-side.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Just don’t drop me,” You joke, and that makes him crack a smile. Then Wanda’s telling you all to get in position and you’re hurrying to comply.

The first part is simple unison work- but the hardest thing about unison work is making it look perfectly in-sync. You find yourself forgetting your nerves as you scrutinise your reflection in the mirror, comparing it to Bucky’s every move. There’s something… Off.

The partner work is the same. You forget how close he is as you chew over the problem. Something just isn’t matching up. (The backbend goes off without a hitch, though, which is a relief). When you reach the end of the dance, you’re surprisingly deflated.

“You’re frowning,” Bucky says, but before you can answer him (not that you know how to answer him), Wanda waves her hands in the air.

“Excellent work, guys! I’ll leave the sound system on, you can dance to whatever you want. Or,” She fixes you with a stare, “Do some stretches. Whatever. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

She turns on her heel and disappears through the door.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice is puzzled, and you turn back to him. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to work you out. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s just…” You chew on your bottom lip, then turn back to the mirrors. “Run through that unison section again?”

The pair of you ignore the music playing as you examine your reflections through the moves; still, you can’t pinpoint what’s not right. Then, as you look off to the side, you spot Clint and Pepper practicing together, and it hits you like a train. You almost want to laugh out loud. Instead, you rub your hand across your sweaty face and stare up at Bucky’s face.

“OK- I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you’re too stiff.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t mean flexible-stiff, I mean... Ugh, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding like I’m in a Step Up movie. You need to let go! Like, look at this-” You drop into a squat and roll your hips easily in time to the beat. Bucky’s eyebrows draw further together as he watches you. “You should feel it. The music.”

Still nothing but confusion from Bucky. You sigh in exasperation.

“It’s like a sensation inside you. Like a fire burning up. Flaring out.” Still nothing. “I can’t believe you’re making me say all this ridiculous shi-izzle and it’s not getting anywhere!”

“No, I know what you mean,” Bucky says, immediately looking more apologetic, “I just- this isn’t my kind of music, maybe?”

“It’s not just that,” You say, realising something else. “You’re too stiff here.” You place your hand on your abdomen to illustrate. “Like, yeah, you need tension. But you need to be able to follow where the music leads. You’re not trying to impose your own will on the beat, you’re trusting in it.”

Bucky’s expression morphs into Really? You wave him away.

“Like I said, making me say all this ridiculous stuff. Clint!” You shout, frustrated. “Help me with this one!”

“My services are required?” Clint wanders over.

“He can’t feel the music,” You put your hands on your hips. “Please help. I’ve tried explaining it.”

Clint shakes his head, tuts, then effortlessly spins you round so you’re face to face with Bucky. “That’s because you can’t explain it, Y/N. Pep, put on that Liam Payne song, would you?”

“Clint,” You hiss, “This was not-”

“Relax, Y/N.” Clint’s grin does nothing to settle your nerves, not to mention having Bucky so close is throwing off your logic circuits anyway. “Just shut your eyes. Now, Bucky, I want you to copy what she does.”

“Simple as that?” Bucky sounds suspicious.

“Yep. Simple as that.”

“Now, Clint?” Pepper calls, and you look up at Bucky with the most apologetic expression you can muster.

“Now.”

The beat throbs out of the speakers.

“You know I’ve been taking some time

And I’ve been keeping to myself

I had my eyes upon the prize

Ain’t watching anybody else…”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, then let your eyelids slide shut. And before you know it, the music has bloomed inside your abdomen and it’s directing your every move. Your hips swing, circle, jerk in time to the pulse of the drumbeat. Your arms sketch out embellishments. This is how it should be: easy, like breathing, like running. You daren’t open your eyes, though.

“Good!” Clint’s saying, “Don’t try to match her movements like that. Make it your own, but centre it round her. Yes! Better! Now you’re dancing like you were dancing last week. God, I’m good!”

“You know I love it when the music stops,

But come on, strip that down for me, baby.

Now there’s a lot of people in the crowd,

But only you can dance with me.

So put your hands on my body,

And swing that round for me.

You know I love it when the music stops,

But come on, strip that down for me.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Somebody whoops as you hit your final pose, and your eyes fly open in surprise: to find Bucky inches away, mirroring you exactly- and the tension that had been holding him back has entirely gone.

“Yes!” You shriek, jumping up with a fist-pump before holding up your hand for a high-five. Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he slaps his palm to yours.

“Um, who just solved your problem?” Clint wants to know, and you laugh before tackling him in a hug.

“Yeah, you’re a genius, we all bow down to you- but that was so great!”

You spin back to Bucky, feeling like you’re riding a wave of excitement.

“I didn’t even know you could do that,” Steve says, looking at his friend with mock suspicion.

Bucky snorts. “Don’t think I knew I could do that,” He mutters, and you grin widely, nudging him with your elbow before you can stop yourself. He smirks at you. “You still need to stretch.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “You had to burst my bubble, didn’t you?” Nonetheless, you sit on the floor and begin the stretch Bucky showed you last week.

“Shall I grab our stuff?” Steve asks.

“How come you don’t need to stretch?” You say, in an accusatory tone. Steve gives a smug grin.

“Because I take good care of my muscles, kid- yours is the bag next to Pepper’s stuff, right?”

You huff, but nod, and Steve wanders off. Finally, your attention is entirely devoted to Bucky, which is probably not the best idea, because you can finally fully notice the bright spots of colour in his cheeks, and the strands of hair that are escaping to curl over his forehead, and the fact that his eyes seem to have been (impossibly) turned up a couple of watts. He’s looking at you with that same expression: like you’re a puzzle, but one that’s causing him some frustration. For a moment, you sit (well, stretch) in silence.

“Do you normally dance with your eyes closed?”

Your stomach doesn’t so much drop as swoop. Admit it, a chorus of excited goblins chant inside your brain, admit it!

“Uh, no,” You say, dropping your eyes to the floorboards. “No- it’s kind of a- nervous habit?”

“You were nervous?” Bucky sounds- surprised. You look up, hoping the flush in your cheeks will say enough.

“Well, yeah. I was.”

Bucky’s expression opens instantaneously, a brief, sudden bloom that sets your heart racing- and then there are footsteps and Steve is dangling your bag over your head.

“Come on, you two. I want to get home at some point.”

“Mmm,” You say. It’s about all you can manage.

~~

The walk home passes in strange skips and jumps, as though your brain can’t hold onto everything that’s been going on. You find yourself zeroing on strange things: the cornflower blue of the dusky sky, the smell of car fumes and cooling air, the way Bucky keeps running his fingers through his hair to settle it this way or that. You feel as though you’re hovering on the edge of something; as though you’re poised, waiting, holding your breath.

As you turn into your road, Bucky looks across at Steve, his expression unreadable. Before you can decipher what just passed between them, Bucky clears his throat.

“Y/N, are you free this Friday?”

You frown.

“I- yeah. I’m free. Why?”

“It’s open practice,” Steve says, on your other side. “Fury opens up the school for people to come and watch us rehearse.”

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come?”

You don’t miss that Bucky said I. Your heart seems to have been filled with helium. “What, come and watch you dance?”

Bucky shrugs, while Steve says, wryly, “That’s the general idea.”

“Funny, Rogers. Yeah, I’d love to!” You allow enthusiasm to colour your tone, smiling widely. “I’ll see you on Friday, then!”

“You got it,” Bucky says, and you dash up the steps to your door feeling as light as a cloud, like you’re floating on air.

AN: I wanted to post this today because we are actually in the middle of a heatwave, and I’m with Bucky on this one- it’s hell. Anyway. Are you getting the feeling we’re starting to build up to something? Because if you are, then you’re right ;) Tag list as per usual. Thank you a bajillion times to all you wonderful people who have opted to engage with this story (and comment and send in sweet feedback aaaahhhhh AMAZING). (Also I know not everyone would be comfortable wearing a sports bra to work out in- it’s a small detail, but I get that not everyone will identify with that when reading).

Tag list:  @vintagesaph; @debzybrazy; @madeofstarsdust; @beingcrushedbysociety; @plumsforbuck2016; @buckybabybaby; @seb-styles; @youtube-obsessed-duh; @casdoesntunderstandthatreference; @sunnycolors; @imthemishamigo; @themarvelousmaximoffs; @blonde0n; @smaug-the-homedog; @gabby913; @sexyashmike; @fuckinxqueenx; @velociraptorinae; @frnkensteingrl; @tattooideasforthefuture; @inlovewithnovels; @ipaintmelodies; @whimsicaldreaming; @olicia-leeshy; @xxamix; @xxblackteabinchxx; @v-ickie; @imnegativetillbepositive; @lilythelionflower; @witchinghour24; @hollycornish; @lucyvaughan-omg-

Part 7

[the-volatility-blog]

to let myself go; part 3 [gladio×ignis]

(( i may or may not have edited this 1000 times~ <3 ))</i>

“It needs what, exactly?  And for how long?”  There was a brief pause as Ignis stared vacantly off into the distance, cell phone pressed to his ear, deciphering the reply on the other end.  The Regalia had, this morning, simply ceased to stop working - one moment they were driving along just fine, and the next the acceleration had just stopped.  No lights, no engine noise, just a controlled steer into a ditch.  Ignis, vexed and slightly embarrassed, had called Cindy for a tow to the nearest large city - Lestallum.

“Mm. All right, if that’s what we need to do.  ... Yes, absolutely.  Just let me know. ... Thanks, and you as well.”

Ignis clicked his phone shut with a sigh, glancing skyward as he tucked it away smoothly in one pocket.  “Cindy says it may take a bit.  She knows what parts we need, but she doesn’t have them readily available.  So after transport and labor, we’re looking at about... four, five days max.”

“What?!” Prompto’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.  “That’s almost a whole week!  Without a car?  We’re totally stranded?!”

“In Lestallum, dummy.”  Noctis shouldered his friend slightly, sending Prompto off balance and staggering to one side.  “Not like we’re lost in the wild.  Civilization, readily available food, shelter..”

“... Soft beds,” Prompto muttered thoughtfully, his expression turning from panicked to a little more serene and wistful.  “Yeah... yeah, okay, I’m so on board with being stranded.”

"Yes, and lucky for us, we’ve got a connection here.”  Ignis tilted his head, glancing sidelong at Gladio, who was perched contentedly on the hood of their broken car.  The larger man grinned and lifted one hand in a thumbs-up gesture.  “And lucky for you, you’re with me.” Chidingly and with a wink, Gladio reached into his back pocket for his phone. “Lemme give Iris a call, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

The fates had been kind in stranding them in a place with not only a Crownsguard family member but also their butler, and Gladio had to hold the phone away from his ear a few times, wincing at Iris’ outward shrieks of excitement to have her big brother and friends around for a while.

× × ×

Jared was more than accommodating, and happily put the group up in the Leville for no charge while the Regalia repairs were underway.  Ignis thanked him profusely, much to Gladio’s embarrassment, to the point where he pulled the other man aside while their room was being prepared to ask him to kindly “cut it the hell out.”  Ignis obliged indignantly with a soft blush across his cheekbones.  “Just expressing my appreciation,” he muttered, as Gladio eyed him for a few lengthy seconds before a timely interruption from Noctis, interested in the whereabouts of the local fishing shop.  Gladio steered the young prince out the front door and out into the square, leaving Ignis alone and in his own head for a bit.

× × ×

Of course they would end up sharing a bed.  Why not, right?  Prompto and Noctis were the Best Buddy Squad, which left Gladio and Ignis to occupy the remaining bed.  To be fair this was commonplace and truly nothing out of the ordinary, and of course Gladio didn’t mind, but his rampant thoughts on whether Ignis minded or not kept him from meeting sleep a little longer than usual.

He was the first to rise early next morning as the sun breached the cloud cover.  Nine times out of ten Gladio was the first awake out of the group.  Old habits really do die hard - from a young age he had awoken at the crack of dawn to train.  Today was no different.

He slid smoothly from beneath the covers as not to disturb his sleeping bedmate, casting a long glance back over one shoulder as he stepped into his familiar grey training sweatpants.  Ignis was fast asleep, breathing shallowly, normally authoritarian features relaxed into a rare and subdued peace.  Again his gaze lingered for a few lengthy moments before he realized, yes, you are staring you idiot, and with a start Gladio hastily laced up his shoes and hurried out the door for a run.

Stupid cute Ignis, he thought to himself, as he set out at a slow warmup pace across the early morning emptiness of the square.  Lestallum was a sleepy morning city that awoke closer to noon and did nightlife better, and Gladio had always enjoyed the solitary respite of an daybreak jog through the winding alleyways and along the palm-lined streets.

So you’re admitting he’s cute; the next thought that rolled through his head.  The pace of his run echoed through the narrow streets, footfalls heavy and measured as he went, almost meditative in its own right.  Gladio idly wondered when this idea had begun to take root in his mind.  He and Ignis had known each other for many years now... at least 5.  (Gladio was terrible with details, tending to eschew them for the big picture.)  The two of them, working in tandem as an unspoken pair to Noctis as a youth - both his right hand and his left.  Where one lacked, the other filled the gaps, training and molding and creating over the years, the prince - no, king - that now slept soundly through today’s sunrise.

He allowed a brief bout of quiet to settle over his thoughts as he cautiously crossed the main roadway and jogged easily alongside the parking lots overlooking the landscape beyond.  The street vendors were closed, carts shuttered and abandoned for the time being, and tall palm trees swayed lazily in the warm morning breeze.  Gladio slowed to a stop as he turned away from the city to catch his breath and stretch out a twinging hamstring, gazing out over the lots, past the wall edge, over the widened expanse of trees and mountains dotting the horizon.

... Yeah.

And that was all it would take, a simple affirmative.  No overthinking, no spending days observing or pondering or weighing his chances or options.  It had never been his style to get caught up in the minutiae of things, and he certainly wasn’t about to start.  Gladio was nothing if not a man of decisive action, and he stretched a for few moments more in his own silence before he turned, crossing the street once more to finish his jog back to the hotel.

× × ×

He returned to find Ignis fussing with the coffeemaker, Prompto in the shower, and Noctis predictably still asleep.  “The kid that slept through a car accident,” he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him before turning his attention across the room.  Ignis had his slim form craned across the table, apparently examining the back of the coffeemaker, a deep frown etched all over his face.  “What are you doing?”  Gladio was across the room in a few long strides.

“I swear, I’ve tried everything, this thing just won’t... it’s not...” Ignis’ words trailed off as he prodded at the rear of the coffeemaker urgently, the place where the cord met the machine.  He had coffee grounds on his face and on his fingertips, a small can of ground Ebony sitting near the edge of the table, forgotten in the stress of the moment.  Leave it to a malfunctioning coffeemaker to shake the unshakable man.

Gladio felt a small smile curve his lips.  “Dude, your plug’s probably in upside down.  Hold on.”  He crouched down, reaching under the table and to the outlet on the wall to pull the plug, turning it halfway around and replacing it in its socket.  “It’s these old buildings, you can only plug stuff in one way or it won’t work.”  Gladio stood up, dusting his hands on his pants.  “Give it a go.”

Ignis regarded him skeptically, but replaced the machine’s filter and grounds, pushing the ‘brew’ button.  The red light turned on, and a hissing noise wisped from the coffeemaker as it began heating the water inside. The tension visibly left Ignis’ body as he exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses. “Well.  I’ve not encountered that problem before.  I’ll have to remember that for the future.”  He glanced up to Gladio with a grateful smile.  “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.  Just another example why you’re lucky to have me around.  Jeez, Iggy, you’ve got shit all over your face.”  In a smooth and decisive moment, Gladio stepped around the table to draw up next to the other man, the rough pad of his thumb casually pressing to Ignis’ cheek as he began softly swiping stray coffee grounds away.

He noticed the barely there sharp intake of breath, slight widening of eyes, a wordless anticipatory tension as Ignis stood up a little bit straighter at the gentle ministration.  His skin was impossibly soft, and Gladio found himself staring intently at his thumb as it moved, slowly dusting the debris away bit by bit. “Looks like you lost a fight with a coffee grinder,” he murmured softly, his voice a comfortable and heady rumble that bridged the small space between them.  And he noticed it when, just scarcely, Ignis made no motion to shy away from the touch but instead leaned into it, the subtle bit of pressure against his thumb, and somewhere in the recesses of his brain he absently hoped his facial expression wasn’t giving away the racing of his heart.

The room suddenly quieted as the shower shut off, and the two of them simultaneously took a tiny step back from one another, faces flushing.  Ignis redirected his attention quite intently to the coffeemaker as it completed its brew cycle, and Gladio coughed softly into one fist as he closely sidestepped the other man, passing alongside of him to step out onto the balcony and remember how to breathe.  It had been so easy to forget that there were other people in close proximity, too easy.

He sat alone for a few minutes more, collecting himself and taking his time unlacing his shoes; getting his head straight as the room behind him awoke and prepared for the day.

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

You Know Better - Part 21 - Up Against The Wall

-gif source-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: You struggle to focus during your next training session.

Warnings/Labels: The gif is all the warning you need @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales

Approx. Word Count: 2,100

A/N: Hottest gif set of Ian Bohen ever right there. Just saying. Let me know what you think about this part. Is it worth it?

Story Masterpost

You hate how nervous and unsure you are as you knock on his door. You take a deep breath and tell yourself to relax. You’re here to train. The door swings open on your exhale and Peter looks at you like you’ve got an extra head.

“You knocked,” he states.

“Well the last time I didn’t knock, Derek was here and things blew up and you ended up with blood on what I can only assume is very expensive carpet,” you babble. “So yeah, I knocked.” Peter shakes his head amused and simply walks away from the door, leaving you to let yourself in.

“We’ll start with sparring,” he says as you close the door behind you and put your gym bag down. “And then end with some recon and rescue drills.”

“Sounds good to me,” you tell him. Honestly, you’re happy to get right into training. It saves you from having to go through the awkward standing-there stage wondering if you’re supposed to bring it up or not.

The warmup is simple enough; casual, regular. He puts up his palms and has you alternate punching them and then kicking them while he shifts their position. Then he starts sidestepping, making you follow him and move as you keep it up. You keep your focus on his hands, on how your body starts to warm up with the actions and how not to get your feet tangled.

When he’s satisfied, he tells you to get a drink and you start to think that maybe this is going to be okay. Maybe it doesn’t have to be weird. When you put your water bottle down and turn to face him again, you catch his eyes lingering on your ass. He doesn’t even hide it, letting them crawl slowly back up as they flash blue. He bares his teeth and then rushes towards you and you slip into an easy habit and fight him like normal.

Except it’s not normal at all. 

Every time he touches you, it sends a shock of fire through your veins and it’s so fucking hard to concentrate when he keeps looking at you like he heard you get off the night before. It’s all hot and steamy and his eyes keep rolling over you every chance he gets.

You try though. You throw your punches and dodge his. You search for something to look at on him, something that doesn’t threaten to turn you on, but it’s nearly impossible. His tongue keeps darting out of his mouth or he keeps biting his lip. The muscles in his arms flex with every move he makes. The thick muscles in his legs are no better.

At one point, just to try to snap yourself out of it, you charge him in a stupid fashion. It backfires entirely. He knocks your knees out and guides you harshly to the ground, straddling your legs, and pinning your extended arms down by the wrists. The bastard keeps you there, pauses as you wriggle underneath him trying to get back up.

“Your head’s not here,” he tells you, voice cocky and teasing. You breathe out heavily and attempt to blow some of your hair off your face. He hovers above you, thoroughly enjoying the frustrated look on your face.

“Get off,” you huff and arch your back in a frail attempt to buck him off of you. He chuckles darkly and pushes his hip harder into yours, making it clear you’re not going anywhere until he says.

“Watch your choice of words,” he advises. He brings his head down to your ear and whispers, “Might give a guy the wrong idea.” His fingers loosen around your wrists and simply rest on your skin. “And you don’t want to do that,” he breathes warmly on your neck. His fingers start trailing down the underside of your arms, gentle enough to tickle. “Unless you’re willing to follow through.” When he grinds down on you, it’s such a small and quick movement that you could probably convince yourself you imagined it. But it’s more than enough to make you squirm and bite your lip.

Peter lifts himself up quickly, leaving you lying on the floor. He tilts his head side to side, cracking his neck. You close your eyes and take a moment to breathe and calm yourself.

“You’re trying to kill me,” you say quietly as you start to pull yourself off the floor.

“I’m just trying to prepare you.” He says it seriously and you’re not sure if he’s talking about the training or about whatever the hell is going on with you two. You both watch each other carefully and there’s something stirring in your belly, something hot and bold. You stand up tall and slide your eyes over his body, openly letting him watch you check him out for the first time. 

“I wasn’t complaining.” Your voice is a lot sultrier than you’d ever heard it before. Peter draws his face back and rolls his chin in the smallest circle, looking like he’s holding himself back, resisting something.

“Keep going.” He raises his fists and smirks at you, urging you to attack. Not one to defy Peter right now, you continue sparring.

The feel of the spar has shifted after your little exchange. He runs you harder. He moves faster and attacks smoother. He takes every opportunity he can to put his hands on you and you find yourself doing the same. You’re out of breath and sweaty, but you keep going, holding heated stares through it all, never looking away for more than a moment.

You throw a punch and he ducks back, his hand darting out to grab your fist. Using more force than he needs to, he yanks on your hand, spinning you around and pulling your back to him. He wraps his arms around your middle, holding your forearms in tight to your body.

“Get out of it,” he breathes roughly in your ear, mimicking his words from your very first training session. You feel his hard chest against your back and his arms tighten around you. You lean your head back to draw in a deeper breath, ignoring that it would be a bad idea in an actual fight. His lips brush by your neck and you can feel his stubble scratch against your skin.

Your skin is on fire and you lean back into him, pressing your back and your legs flush against his body. He growls lowly and tightens his grip around you, holding you there and pressing back with you. You can feel his lips open on your neck as he hisses in a breath and then lets it fan out over you. Your eyes flutter closed and you relax in his arms.

“Get out of it,” he repeats a little less harshly.

“What if I don’t want to?” The words come out of you almost breathlessly. He groans into your ear as his lips trail up to it. You tilt your head to the side, making it easier for him and exposing your neck, leaning your head back on his shoulder.

“Don’t tempt me,” he growls. You arch your back and press your ass into him. You can feel him hardening behind you and you have to hold in a moan. His teeth scrape across your earlobe as he bites gently on it. “Last chance.” It sounds slightly strangled, like he has trouble restraining it.

“Peter,” you moan out. His movements are quick, pulling away just long enough to spin you around again. He puts your back against the nearest wall and his hands fall possessively on your hips. Your hands rise up to his shoulders, fingertips digging into him and trying to pull him closer.

It’s barely a second before his body is pushed against you and his lips are crashing down. There’s no gentleness, no uncertainty or hesitancy. You’re both so far past that. The first taste of his lips is intoxicating. His fingers curl over your hips, pulling your pelvis to his as his mouth opens in the kiss. You let a moan escape as he grinds against you, pressing you even harder into the wall.

He groans, almost growls, when you wrap your arms around his neck and grind back. Your body is tingling everywhere and when you feel his cock rising up between your legs, you can actually feel yourself getting wet. He bites roughly at your bottom lip before darting his tongue out to soothe the sting.

His hands finally start to release your hips. He doesn’t waste time trying to be nice. He finds the hem of your tank top and slips his hands underneath of it, splaying his warm hands over the skin of your stomach. He lifts them up, following your ribcage and lifting your shirt with his wrists.

Even that is too slow for you. The blood and adrenaline rushing through your veins is making your skin buzz. The feel of his skin on yours is too addicting and you want more of it. Now.

Your hands come back to his shoulders and give him a hard shove. He takes a small step back, surprised and a little confused. It’s all you need. You cross your arms down at your waist and grab the bottom of your shirt. You yank it over your head and toss it to the side.

Peter watches you, eyes hungry and heated. He steps forward again, watching your hips collide and mesh with his. He slowly drags his eyes up your body. You arch your back, trying to feel more of him, his eyes on you driving you crazy. His mouth is open, breathing heavily, panting even, and you have a feeling you’re driving him just as crazy.

You put your hands on the sides of his face and guide his mouth back to yours. He kisses you hotly and messily. He grabs your hips again and pulls them off the wall so he can slide his hands around behind you to cup your ass. You start to fumble with his belt buckle, undoing it and yanking it through the loops of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding again, squeezing the flesh of your ass in his hands. “I’m going to ruin you.” All you can do is moan, the sound of his voice all husky and lust-filled turning into nothing but a puddle.

When your phone rings out into the room, breaking the silence you didn’t even know was there, Peter lets out a small roar in frustration. Your head drops back against the wall and you let out a heavy breath while you bite your tongue.

“Ignore it,” he tells you. You both know you won’t. Usually when someone calls, it’s important. You press another kiss to his lips before slipping away regretfully out of his arms. He stays where he is, putting his palms on the wall and hanging his head between them.

The caller ID reads Derek and you take a moment to gather yourself and clear your throat. You slide your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“What do you want?” It comes out a lot harsher than you meant to, but god dammit, you’re staring at Peter’s jean clad ass as he tries to control his hard-on and talking to Derek is not what you want to be doing.

“We have a problem,” he says gruffly and you have a hard time not making a smartass comment. “You’re going to want to get over here.” You bite hard on your lip and squeeze your eyes shut.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan more to yourself than to him.

“Get over here.” Just like that he’s hanging up, leaving you frustrated in too many ways to list. 

“We need to go to Derek’s,” you announce very annoyed.

“If it’s not important, I’m going to rip his throat out,” Peter straightens out and turns back to you. He struts across the room, staring into your eyes the whole time. He shakes his head very slowly. “And then I’m going to fuck you in his damn loft.” Small chills go down your spine when he cups your jaw.

He gives you one more deep, passionate kiss that leaves your knees weak. You melt into him and sigh when he pulls away. He leans his head down so his lips are next to your ear.

“I’m bringing you back here after,” he whispers roughly before nipping at your earlobe. You struggle to stay standing once he pulls away and walks back to the wall.

“I’m counting on it,” you whisper, voice suddenly gone. He smirks over his shoulder at you before picking up your shirt and throwing it at you.

“Better get going.”

A/N #2: Okay so I’m still a bit of a tease. I’m only a little sorry.