#gymnastic ring routine

[idiopathicsmile]

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.

[frownyalfred]

I know there’s tons of fics where Dick starts training for Robin and obviously wows Bruce and Alfred with his gymnast abilities, but I need a follow up fic where ten year old Dick is highly suspicious of Bruce doing ANY sorts of flips or gymnastics routines because even though he’s seen Batman do some gravity-defying things, maybe that’s all theatrics.

And then there’s childish awe and a little bit of humor as Bruce does some sort of elaborate rings or pommel horse routine just to make Dick laugh and clap. And Alfred joins in because normally Bruce trains for function (cough, blindfolded) but not for fun, not just to make a lonely child laugh and offer up tips on form/timing. There’s things Dick can do that Bruce can’t, just because of weight/size, and there’s things Bruce can do that Dick can’t do because of strength limitations. But one day he will.

And he trains like that, with that goal in mind; light like Robin, strong like Batman. And that’s how Nightwing is born.

[austerfit]

Gymnastic Ring Workout Routine: A Comprehensive Guide

Auster Fit is a well-known fitness industry brand specialising in high-quality gymnastic ring equipment and accessories. Their products are designed to provide stability, durability, and versatility for effective ring workouts, making them a popular choice among fitness enthusiasts and athletes.

[airosuiren]

The Abandoned Wayne.

Bat Family x Neglected Reader x Tokyo Revengers

A/N: Omg I had this idea stuck in my head for AGES!!! Batfam neglect trope combined with Tokyo Revengers is literally my new obsession!!! Hope you enjoyyy this twisted tale of neglect, revenge, and finding your true family!!! (this DOES NOT follow cannon)

Part 2

Wayne Manor had two daughters, but only one that mattered.

You and Lila Wayne - twins born to Bruce Wayne through a brief relationship with a woman who disappeared shortly after your birth. Identical in appearance but worlds apart in treatment.

From the moment Bruce took you both in, it was clear who the favorite was.

Lila got the bigger bedroom. Lila got the newest clothes. Lila got Bruce’s proud smiles whenever she mastered a new gymnastics routine or brought home perfect grades. Lila was “the good twin” - the perfect Wayne daughter who fit seamlessly into Gotham’s elite circles.

You? You were the afterthought.

“Dad, I got an A+ on my science project,” you said, holding up your graded paper at age twelve.

Bruce barely looked up from where he was helping Lila with her homework. “That’s nice. Did you see Lila made the honor roll again? Third time this year.”

You lowered your paper slowly, the familiar ache spreading through your chest. “Yeah. Great job, Lila.”

Your sister smirked at you over Bruce’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

It wasn’t just Bruce. Dick treated Lila like a princess, always bringing her souvenirs from his travels. Jason taught her self-defense but claimed you were “too clumsy” to learn. Tim shared his tech knowledge exclusively with Lila. Even Damian, though generally unpleasant to everyone, reserved his rare moments of tolerance for her.

Only Alfred seemed to notice you, slipping you extra cookies when no one was looking or patting your shoulder when you retreated to your room after another family gathering where no one acknowledged your presence.

“Patience, Miss [Y/N],” he would say. “Family can be… complicated.”

But your patience was running out.

By fifteen, you had stopped trying to earn their attention. You found solace in martial arts, training secretly at a local dojo where no one knew you were a Wayne. The feel of your fist connecting with a punching bag became your therapy, each strike fueled by years of being overlooked.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You returned from training to find the manor in chaos. Lila was sobbing in Bruce’s arms, her perfect face marred by a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The entire family surrounded her protectively.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping your gym bag.

Six pairs of eyes turned to you, cold and accusing.

“As if you don’t know,” Lila hissed through tears.

Bruce stood slowly, his face transforming into something you’d only seen directed at Gotham’s criminals. “Lila says you attacked her when she confronted you about stealing her homework.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? I didn’t touch her! I’ve been at the dojo for the past three hours!”

“We found your hairbrush in her room,” Tim said, holding up an evidence bag like this was a crime scene. “And the bruise pattern matches your distinctive ring.”

You looked down at the simple silver band you always wore - a gift from Alfred on your twelfth birthday. The only birthday gift anyone in the manor had given you.

“This is ridiculous,” you protested. “I would never hurt Lila!”

But as you looked around at their faces - Bruce’s fury, Dick’s disappointment, Jason’s disgust, Tim’s clinical detachment, Damian’s contempt, and Lila’s exaggerated fear - you realized with crystal clarity: They had already decided you were guilty.

No trial. No defense. No presumption of innocence.

Even Alfred looked uncertain, standing back from the family circle, his eyes troubled.

“I’ve made a decision,” Bruce announced, his voice Batman-cold. “This behavior cannot continue. You’ve been acting out for years, but this crosses a line.”

“But I didn’t���”

“Enough!” Bruce cut you off. “I’m sending you to our associates in Tokyo. The Moriyama family owes me a favor. They’ll take you in, get you into a good school, and hopefully… straighten you out.”

Your world collapsed around you. “You’re sending me away? To Japan? Because of a lie?”

“It’s not a lie!” Lila wailed, burying her face against Dick’s chest. “She threatened to do worse next time!”

“Pack your things,” Bruce said flatly. “You leave tomorrow.”

That night, alone in your room, you didn’t cry. The hurt had crystallized into something harder, colder. More dangerous.

In the darkness, you made a vow: You would never beg for their love again. You would never again call Wayne Manor home. And someday, they would realize exactly what they had thrown away.

Alfred came to your door as you finished packing.

“Miss [Y/N],” he began, his elderly face lined with regret. “I don’t believe… that is to say, I find it difficult to imagine you would harm your sister.”

It was the closest thing to support you’d received, but it came too late.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Alfred,” you said quietly. “It never has.”

The flight to Tokyo was long and silent. Bruce didn’t accompany you - he sent his corporate assistant instead. Your final glimpse of Gotham through the plane window felt like watching a chapter of your life being forcibly closed.

The Moriyama family was polite but distant. They provided you with a small but comfortable apartment, enrolled you in a prestigious international school, and otherwise left you entirely alone.

Freedom, you discovered, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first two months, you focused on school and perfecting your Japanese. You kept to yourself, the wound of your family’s betrayal still too fresh to risk new connections.

Then came the night you took a wrong turn walking home.

Three men cornered you in an alley - local thugs looking for an easy target. What they found instead was a Wayne with years of repressed rage and six months of intensive martial arts training.

When the dust settled, two were unconscious and the third was running away with a broken nose.

You were catching your breath, knuckles bloody, when you heard slow, appreciative clapping.

A tall, lean Japanese boy with bleached blond hair and an unsettling empty look in his eyes stood at the alley entrance. Despite his slender build, something about him radiated danger.

“Impressive,” he said in Japanese. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

You straightened, wary but unafraid. “Gotham City.”

His smile widened, revealing a charm that didn’t quite reach those empty eyes. “I’m Sano Manjiro. Everyone calls me Mikey.”

“[Y/N],” you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. You weren’t a Wayne anymore, not in any way that mattered.

“You should come with me, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, turning to leave as if your agreement was a foregone conclusion. “I think my friends would like to meet you.”

Something about his absolute confidence, the casual way he had watched you fight without interfering, and yes - the dangerous aura that reminded you of the Bat Family at their most intimidating - made you follow him.

Kanto Manji headquarters turned out to be an abandoned building retrofitted with surprisingly comfortable furnishings. Inside, a group of young men looked up as Mikey entered with you in tow.

“Found something interesting,” Mikey announced, dropping onto a couch. “This is [Y/N]. She just took down three Tenjiku guys without breaking a sweat.”

“American?” asked a tall, serious-looking man with dark hair.

“Gotham,” you corrected.

Something in the way you said it - like the name of the city was a wound - made the room go quiet.

“I’m Sano Takemichi,” the serious one said. “That’s Hakkai, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, and the one eating all the food is Baji.”

Over convenience store bento boxes and cheap beer, you learned about Kanto Manji - a gang formed from the ashes of several others, now one of the most powerful in Tokyo. Their operations walked a fine line between legitimate business and underground empire.

You didn’t share your full story that night, but something in your eyes must have spoken to them. The way you fought. The way you carried yourself. The obvious absence of anyone looking for you or caring where you were.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Baji asked as the night grew late.

“An apartment,” you said. “But no one waiting there.”

Mikey, who had been unnervingly quiet for most of the evening, just watching you with those empty eyes, suddenly spoke: “You should work for us.”

The others looked surprised.

“Mikey,” Takemichi began cautiously, “we don’t even know her—”

“I know enough,” Mikey cut him off. “She fights like someone with nothing to lose. That’s valuable.”

You should have been offended. Instead, you felt a strange relief at being so perfectly understood.

“What would I do?” you asked.

Mikey smiled that disconnected smile again. “You’re from Gotham. Home of criminals and bats. I bet you know how to plan.”

And just like that, you found your place.

The Kanto Manji gang became your new family. Takemichi treated you like a little sister, always checking if you’d eaten or slept enough. Hakkai taught you Japanese street fighting to complement your formal training. Chifuyu, discovering your knack for strategy, spent hours discussing territory maps with you. Mitsuya even designed clothes specifically for you - practical but stylish outfits that became your signature look.

And Mikey… Mikey watched you. At first, it was unsettling - those empty eyes following your movements across rooms, his sudden appearances outside your apartment, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as if marking territory.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Hakkai warned about three months in. “Be careful.”

But the truth was, you didn’t mind. After years of being invisible, Mikey’s focused attention felt like water in a desert. He saw you. Really saw you.

Your tactical mind proved invaluable to the gang. You planned their operations with precision Batman himself might have admired - if he had ever bothered to notice your intelligence.

Within a year, your reputation spread through Tokyo’s underground. The foreign girl with the cold eyes and brilliant mind who stood at Mikey’s right hand. Some called you “The Ghost” because of how you seemed to appear from nowhere, always one step ahead.

Not once did Bruce or any of the Bat Family reach out. Not a call. Not an email. Not even Alfred. It was as if [Y/N] Wayne had ceased to exist the moment her plane left Gotham airspace.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, Kanto Manji threw you a party that lasted until dawn. For the first time since arriving in Tokyo, you allowed yourself to fully relax, to laugh, to feel genuinely happy.

As the others finally passed out from too much sake, Mikey led you to the roof. The Tokyo skyline glittered before you, so different from Gotham’s gothic spires but beautiful in its own way.

“Happy birthday, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, producing a small black box.

Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“Mikey, it’s beautiful,” you whispered as he fastened it around your neck.

“You’re mine now,” he said simply, his fingers lingering on your skin. “My strategist. My ghost.” His empty eyes seemed to fill with something like hunger. “My everything.”

You should have been frightened by the possessiveness. Instead, you felt a thrill. Someone wanted you. Not your sister. You.

When he kissed you, it felt like claiming and being claimed.

“Yes,” you agreed against his lips. “Yours.”

The next two years passed in a blur of power, respect, and a strange kind of happiness. Kanto Manji grew under your strategic guidance and Mikey’s fearsome leadership. You moved into his apartment, your foreign clothes mingling with his in the closet, your strategic plans spread across his dining table, your body wrapped in his arms each night.

His obsession never faded. If anything, it intensified. Mikey wanted to know where you were every moment. He called randomly just to hear your voice. He left marks on your skin where others could see them.

“It’s not healthy,” Takemichi told you once.

You just smiled. “Nothing about my life has ever been healthy.”

Besides, you thrived on Mikey’s attention. On being the center of someone’s world. On mattering.

You hadn’t spoken the name “Wayne” in three years when the past finally caught up to you.

It started with a text from a number you didn’t recognize:

They’re coming for you. Wayne Industries expanding to Tokyo. Family accompanying Bruce for the opening. Be prepared. - A

Alfred. It could only be Alfred.

You stared at the message for a long time before showing it to Mikey.

His reaction was immediate and intense. “They abandoned you. They don’t get to come back now.”

That night, he called an emergency meeting. The entire gang gathered as Mikey explained the situation.

“Wayne,” Baji spat the name like a curse. “The bastard who threw away our [Y/N]?”

“The same,” Mikey confirmed, his arm possessively around your waist. “They’re coming to Tokyo. Business, they say.”

“But really for [Y/N],” Hakkai finished, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want to do?” Takemichi asked you directly. “It’s your call.”

You looked around at the faces watching you - these men who had become your brothers, your protectors, your true family. And Mikey, whose empty eyes filled only when looking at you, whose obsession had become your safety net.

“I want them to see exactly what they lost,” you said finally. “And who I’ve become without them.”

The gang nodded in unison.

“Then that’s what will happen,” Mikey declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ll see our Ghost. And they’ll regret the day they sent her to us.”

A week later, Wayne Enterprises opened its Tokyo branch with a lavish party. You watched from across the street as limousines delivered Gotham’s elite to the red carpet - including five tall, well-dressed men and one woman in a shimmering gown.

The Bat Family had arrived.

And they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A/N: There is a part 2 for thiss Please wait for itttt

[rainroses45]

My Niece is a Goldfish?

۶ৎ description: Imagine when Dean goes to go pick up Sam from college, not only is the news of John being missing brought up but another little surprise was on its way. Dean Winchester x fem! reader ۶ৎ a/n: I have like 4 different incomplete stories in my notes app rn and I'm just so lazy because who the hell wants to read my garbage when people want smut but oh well i tried…not my best not my worst idc (Not edited) ۶ৎ song inspiration: Back to the Basics - Lana Del Rey ۶ৎ Warnings: ZIP ZERO NONE NADA

“Woah dude, why is there a car seat in the back?” Sam stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at the floral pink booster.

Dean had just broken into his apartment like a serial killer in the middle of night, dragged Sam out into the street after somehow convincing him to join him on trying to locate their dead beat father, and now there is a missing infant.

“Great.” Sam thought, “Dean caused an Amber alert.”

“Shit!” Dean scurried to the impala, hoping - no, praying that his brother developed cataracts or something. “I told them not to leave the car.”

“Them?!” Sam followed Dean around the impala. “What are you talking about?!”

“I told her not to leave,” Dean angrily said while dialing your number, “and what does she do,” he puts the flip phone to his ear, “she leaves.”

“Dean,” Sam walked over to him, still being completely ignored, “hellloooo??” He waved his hands in front of his older brother. “Who are you talking about?”

“Pick up, pick up,” Dean ignore him, anxiously tapped his thigh looking around, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, and your voice to answer.

“Okay if you are about done now with your little tap routine, I’m going back-“ Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt pulling him back like a dog on a leash.

“They couldn’t have gone far-” He shoved the flip phone in his pocket, frantically searching the area with worried eyes. “Dean let go man…” “You take that direction and I’ll check this side, maybe if we..”

“Dean, sweetie did you find Sam?”

And is if the lights from heaven sent a giant satellite beam on you, Dean turned around blindly searching for your voice.

“Oh my dear cream of tartar where have you been?!” Dean flared his hands down looking at you like you’ve been missing for months.

“Okay what the actual fuck is going on?” Sam was close to just throwing his duffle bag at the window, heading back into bed, and taking a melatonin.

Dean waved him off unfortunately to his demise. “Not right now bowl head I just saw all of my lives flash before me.”

“You’re such a baby.” You commented. You held what looked like to sam a tiny sack of potatoes with a pink blanket covering it from the winds.

“Does that mean I get to-“

“NO!” Both you and Sam scream - both for different reasons but the same sense of warning nonetheless.

“Okay can someone explain to me what is happening right now?”Sam ran his hands through his hair desperately trying to contain a forming headache from all this mojo of chaos.

“Well my dear Sammy, while you went off to college I decided to adopt the brady brunch- what the fuck do you think happened?” Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance walking over to you and the baby.

Sam now able to adjust his eyes realized the sack of potatoes turned out to be a little baby with the rosiest checks ever.

“I didn’t think you would end up with child.” Dean groaned at Sam’s comment.

“What are we the England Monarch? No of course I didn’t plan on bringing a baby into this world but stuff happens..” Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. Sam on the other hand was having a whole mental gymnastics session trying to figure out how the hell things changed so fast.

“How is my little precious princess doing,” your husband pulled the blank down gently to see his daughter’s beautiful eyes peak out. She had the same sparkle and shape as yours to the point he could even see the tiny hew surrounding the pupil - she was beautiful.

“Sorry for leaving sweetheart,” you said to Dean, watching his cute reaction to his daughter gazing up at him. “She was getting fussy in the car waiting so I decided to take her on a little stroll.” You moved her down to your arms, cradling her into your chest.

“Would it have killed you to answer the phone at least?” Dean sighed as the rate of his heart finally matched his breathing.

“Sorry my phone died.” You knew your husband would be worrying about you but by the time you thought to call, you phone screen turned black with a red battery sign on.

“That’s okay just- I don’t know, shoot a flare gun or something just please don’t leave without telling me.”

“I won’t.” You smiled. He in return left a soft kiss to your check and a butterfly kiss to your daughter. She smiled at her father’s touch, making you both smile back; hearts so full with love, before the moment was ruined.

“So I have a niece?”

“No you have a pet goldfish, suprise!” Dean sparkled his hands around annoyingly, if he had known picking up his brother would be this tiring he might have just let Sam be stuck in his cob web filled books. . “How the hell you got into Stanford is beyond me.”

“That’s enough Dean,” you snickered as your husband rolled his eyes. “I think it’s nice to see you again Sam, although on different circumstances would have been nice.” You walked towards the impala, Dean already opened the back door for you as you hopped in with your little princess.

“Wow I just- I never took you as a father figure,” Sam looked down shocked, “I mean I didn’t even see you as one to settle down - no offense Y/n.”

“Umm very much taken Samuel.” You had been dating Dean since you both were 15, so to say he wouldn’t stick around after the shit show of high school was highly offensive.

“Everyone buckle up,” Dean readjusted his review mirror starring at you, as you buckled in your seven month old daughter. His whole life in the back of his car.

Sam clipped in his seatbelt, “Soooo am I going to have to interrogate the baby for answers orrr..”

“This is going to be a long car ride.” You smiled as Dean groaned.

“Well it all started when…”

[batsandbirdbrains]

Not sure how to phrase this properly, but do you think Dick ever branched out from acrobatics? Like to aerial silks or rhythmic gymnastics? Something along those lines.

I like the idea of him learning aerial silks and performing in Haly’s Circus every so often. Was Dick’s mom’s time as the Skydancer a specific kind of acrobatics? I remember the panel showing a poster of her in like a ring? Idk if that’s a specific kind of acrobatics, but I like to think he also learns a lot of her old routines. I like to think he uses the Skydancer name when he performs solo

[shelleysmary]

sauron is so *sighing facepalm* frustrating. he crawled, walked, sailed across middle-earth, made up the halbrand identity, did a boomer in-person job application tour around númenor, didn't lie to galadriel and he has the mental gymnastics to prove it, sailed back to middle earth with an army, fought a whole ass battle, faced his murderer with a mostly straight face, got impaled... somehow, risked sepsis on a six-day ride to eregion, brainstormed magic rings with celebrimbor, wielded tools and operated heavy machinery after said mysterious injury, clocked that his would-be girlfriend was starting to get the ick around him, took radical action, asked her to be his non-platonic business partner (the business being mass-brainwashing and dictatoring), took the L, regrouped, rode back to the southlands (now mordor) to enact plan b wherein he faces his murderer again, gets beat up, goes on a hunger strike (rage and self-pity are his fuel), relives his murder trauma for The Master Plan, back on a horse, rides from mordor to eregion, sadface emoji because he's not allowed to go in, stands in the square, gets rained on, risks regency-era pneumonia, flatters celebrimbor, comes up with plan b part 2 wherein he is now a representative of the valar with a great haircare routine and possibly a stylist, begins his campaign to gaslight gatekeep manipulate everyone in eregion, balancing a full-time job with psychological warfare...

my guy. you could've lived on a nice farm somewhere. gone on vacation. adopted an elven dog. being "good" is too much effort for you??? what do you call THIS?

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Catalyst

AN: The Joshua brainrot has been at an all time high and the most recent concept photos of him didn't help.

Synopsis: A trip to your brother and niece's brings feelings your husband has been shoving down for months to the surface.

General tags and warnings: Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, they're married, sibling bantering, mentions of food, implications of strained familial relationships, Josh being a horrible communicator, Reader is shorter than Josh, Reader has hair Josh can pull on and porn with a smidge of plot.

Smut tags and warnings: Hard Dom! Joshua, sub! Reader mention of past oral sex (m. receiving), petnames, heavy breeding kink, dirty talk, hair pulling (f. receiving), praise, breast and nipple play (f. receiving), biting (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), bit of a humiliation kink, degradation (f. receiving), edging (f. receiving), dacryphilia, piv sex without a condom and creampie.

Word count: 7.3k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The drive to your brother's place feels like it takes a century. In reality, you're sure it's closer to thirty minutes but, you can't help the way you fidget with your wedding ring in the passenger seat with each minute that agonisingly ticks by. 

“We're almost there,” Joshua says even though you hadn't asked him how long it's  going to be in almost ten minutes and the laugh he's failing to hold back warms your face and puts you on the defensive. 

“I didn't even say anything!” you cry a touch too dramatically but, you know he loves you for your affinity for the theatrics anyway, “I was just sitting here,” you huff, taking a sip of the smoothie you picked up from the restaurant at the hotel the two of you are staying at since you didn't have breakfast. Because a certain someone wouldn't let you get out of bed long enough to grab yourself something to eat.

You try not to think too hard about said morning because you'll be seeing your family in less than fifteen minutes and thinking about how your husband made you choke on his cock is deeply inappropriate. 

“You're sitting there very loudly,” he says with an amused tinge to his voice as he takes a left turn, a smile softening his face and crinkling his eyes and, frankly, doing horribly things to your heart. You'd think after being with him for four years and married for one, your heart would stop performing an entire gymnastics routine every time he so much as looks at you but, here you are. 

“I'm just excited. I haven't seen Aaron and Julie in months,” you sigh, sagging into your seat and taking a generous sip of your smoothie because wow are you hungrier than you realised and you know your brother isn't the world's greatest cook. 

His face softens considerably and, if he wasn't driving (rather attractively might you add), you'd reach over and kiss his cute face. “I know, baby,” he says gently, reaching over and lacing his fingers with your unoccupied hand. The squeeze he gives you makes you smile and you're sure you're looking at him like he's the best thing in the world. Which isn't totally untrue though your niece would give him a considerable run for his money. 

“I'm sure they've missed you too,” he says, taking another familiar turn until you see a home you would recognise no matter where you were in the world. 

“I think you're right,” you say with a laugh when you spot Aaron holding Julie as he waves at you excitedly. The scene is absolutely ridiculous and you wonder how long he's been standing out here with her since you sent him the text that you and Joshua were on your way. It prompts affection to bloom to life in your chest nonetheless. 

The time flies by and before you know it you're practically sprinting out of your car to hug your brother and kiss your niece's adorable face. “I still can't believe you managed to have such a cute baby,” are the first words out of your mouth and you laugh at the disgruntled look that overtakes Aaron's face as he hands his daughter to you. In the back of your mind, you were worried that she'd forgotten who you were but, her small, gleeful noises and giggles let you know she's at the very least happy to see you even if she doesn't exactly know who you are. And that's more than enough for you. 

“Yeah, well we all know I got the good genes which is why I have the cutest daughter in the world,” he says, puffing his chest out proudly and grinning when his daughter smiles at him. Julie's arrival was definitely an…unexpected one but, Aaron stepped up all the same. The thought of him being a father even three years ago sounded insane but, looking at the man in front of you, you think fatherhood suits him well. 

“Oh please,” you scoff when Joshua finally joins the three of you after parking the car, “We'll see who really got the good genes when I have babies of my own,” you snark back, adjusting Julie on your hip. 

“What is this I'm hearing about babies?” Joshua asks with a laugh, greeting your brother who readily hugs him and flashes a friendly smile at your husband. 

“Nothing,” you snort, “Just some good, old-fashioned sibling bantering and, my dearest brother over here denying reality.”

You bite back a smile when Aaoron shoots you a fiery scowl that would terrify most people but, you've had decades to grow accustomed to him breaking it out. 

“Ah, the usual then,” Joshua replies, pointedly ignoring Aaron's betrayed ‘hey!’ in favour of softening his expression to say hi to Julie. 

“You know, I was just starting to like you,” Aaron says, voice dripping with faux hurt as he points an accusatory finger at Joshua who is far more interested in drawing one of those heartstopping smiles from the little girl resting on your hip. 

“Why do you have to lie? Like you weren't tripping over yourself when I first brought him over because you were so excited about having another guy to do “guy stuff with” in the family,” you retort with a raise of your eyebrow. Joshua opts not to get involved though you do hear his barely contained snicker as Aaron falters for an argument. 

“Anyway, why are we still outside? Is this how you treat your guests? Maybe invite us inside, Aaron.” His responding eyeroll takes you back and, it really hits you in moments like these just how long it's been since the two of you have had the opportunity to carve out the time to catch up. 

Thankfully, Aaron decides to just order lunch for everyone instead of subjecting you and Joshua to more of his catastrophes in the kitchen. You just hope baby food isn't too much of a challenge for him because you worry for your poor niece sometimes.

He picks Indian food, much to your surprise since your brother is horrible with spices. “The last time you were here, you were obsessed with that one Indian place a couple of streets down,” is all he offers in explanation as you help him unpack the food while Joshua plays with Julie on the living room floor. Affection warms you to the very tips of your fingers and you're sure you look like an absolute sap as he hands you the large stack of naan bread. 

“I love you,” is all you say in response because you do and it's been painfully long since you've last told him that in person. 

His laugh is surprised but, no less boisterous, “All that over food? Man, if I knew that's all it took to get an ‘I love you��� from you, I would have bribed you with food when we were children,” he jokes but, the fondness in his eyes betrays him. 

“You act like I'm not the one regularly saying ‘I love you’ between the two of us to begin with,” you retort, grabbing a few plates and setting them down on his dining table. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, “Josh, grab Julie and come have a seat. I have some soft carrots and peas, I'll warm up for her while the two of you dig in.” Joshua follows accordingly swooping the little girl in his arms dramatically and smiling when she giggles at the motion. Small hands clutching his hoodie. The sight prompts a combination of love, endearment and another emotion you can't quite put your finger on to stir within you. 

The two smile at each other all the way to the dining table where he carefully places her in her high chair. When his eyes meet yours, they're filled with far too many feelings for you to even hope to name right now. 

Lunch goes off without much of a hitch. The hours tick by quicker than you anticipate. Aaron tells you story after story about his construction job and his apparent imbecile of a boss that he's three seconds away from throttling on a given day. Julie doesn't cause too much of a fuss (she really might be the most well behaved one year old you've ever met in your life), even when Aaron tries to coax her into eating peas which she is not a fan of. 

“Let me try,” you offer eagerly and he lets you readily. With the right amount of cooing and high pitched talks of the food airplane, Julie gleefully lets you feed her the peas. The methods you used cutting the time it took Aaron to feed her in half and you try not to look too smug about it. Though his bitter ‘shut up’ tells you that you do a horrible job. Joshua, for his part, watches the entire exchange between you and your niece relatively silently aside from a few encouragements of his own directed towards her. He's still silent as you cover her entire face in kisses and praise her for eating her peas. 

You'd consider yourself great at reading your husband in most instances but, as you sit back in your chair and meet his eyes across from you, his entire expression is unreadable in a way that is reminiscent of the time where the two of you barely knew each other. 

Your stomach twists unpleasantly. 

The rest of your afternoon catching up with Aaron carries on uneventfully. It all comes to an end when Julie, rather loudly, makes it known that it's time for you and Joshua to make yourselves scarce with a yawn. 

“You heard her, get out,” Aaron jokes, scooping up the girl who can barely keep her eyes open and letting her rest on his shoulder. 

“You should be nicer to your guests, you know,” Joshua says as your brother walks the two of you to the door. A smile spreads across your face because you know a couple of years ago he would have never dared to speak to Aaron that way but, the two had gotten significantly friendlier thanks to your (what you would consider gentle) encouragement. 

“Calling you two guests is generous,” Aaron responds, doing his best to unlock the door with a slumbering toddler occupying his arm. “On a serious note, thanks for swinging by. I know work's been hell for both of you lately so, it means a lot,” it's rare seeing your brother be any amount of serious and sincere and, it always throws you for a loop momentarily. 

“Yeah, of course, man. We've both missed you and Julie tonnes. Your sister here was practically bouncing with excitement the entire drive here,” Joshua responds before you can search for something to say. He and Aaron laugh at your sputtering reaction. 

“Can't believe you'd throw me under the bus like that,” you say, shooting your husband a scowl that is nowhere near as intimidating as your brother's, “Anyway, we'll see you on Friday. Good luck with seeing mum tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, “I'll need it.” 

The three (four? Does a sleeping Julie really even count?) of you exchange some hugs before you answer Joshua are making your way to your rental car. 

The drive back to the hotel is…odd. The moment the two of you slip into your seats and buckle your seatbelts, the air in the car feels heavy for whatever reason and Joshua is noticeably quieter than he was minutes ago. 

It's jarring. 

“Hey Joshie, is everything okay?” You ask him after minutes of torturous silence. Hoping the usage of his favourite nickname will help defuse the tension. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine,” he responds, his forced attempt at sounding relaxed clear to your ears. 

What is going on? Did something happen back at Aaron's? He was happily interacting with Julie and making heaps of jokes with your brother. The three of you were barely apart so, you're sure if something happened between him and Aaron you would have either noticed it or picked up on it. 

The weird tension remains between the two of you the entire drive to the hotel. Joshua not attempting to make conversation or supply an explanation for his drastic mood change. Once it lasts all the way until the two of you are back in your hotel room, you know you can't deal with not knowing what's wrong. 

“Hey, did something happen at Aaron's?” You ask him as soon as he shuts the hotel door behind him. Your hands anxiously clench and unclench at your sides as you examine your husband's carefully reserved expression. Your heart drops to the gaudy carpet beneath your feet. 

“No, nothing happened,” he says as though he doesn't notice the blanket of tension enveloping both of you, “Why do you ask?” 

Why do you ask!? 

You can only stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and incredulity as he walks towards the kitchen of the hotel room. His tone is light and you can hear his attempts to sweep this under the rug. 

He must know the woman he married because there's no way you're about to let this odd, unexplained behaviour from him slide. 

“Joshua, look, I'm not trying to be pushy but, you're being very weird right now and it's kinda freaking me out. And I'd really like to know what's caused all of this,” you gesture between the two of you, “If you like need space, that's okay but, at least tell me that or just tell me something,” you rush out, watching his back tense underneath his hoodie as his steps halt. 

Silence fills the hotel room for what feels like forever, only adding to the anxiety coursing through you. When he finally turns to face you, thankfully, his face isn't as impenetrable as it was a couple of minutes ago but, the emotions you manage to catch do leave you a little surprised and thrown off. 

“Julie is really cute and you're really good with her,” are the first words he says and you're even more confused than you have been since the two of you got into the rental car to leave Aaron's. 

“Um yeah?” You say but, the questioning tilt to your voice is apparent because what is even going on right now? “Is that…a problem? Did Aaron say something?” 

The sigh that escapes his mouth is drawn out and frustrated and, for a horrifying second, you're worried something did happen between your husband and your brother that you didn't notice. 

“I think seeing the two of you together, how you interact with her, made me come to a lot of important realisations today,” he explains, his words are heavy and his eyes reflect an intensity that leaves you a little breathless. 

All you can do is blink at him, your brain attempting to understand what he's telling you. “What realisations did you come to?” You ask softly but, you know he heard you clearly. The strides he takes towards you are quick and, if you didn't know any better, you'd miss the quiet frenzy in his movements. 

Joshua is a controlled man. He always has been and, you strongly doubt that's an aspect of his personality that will ever change. Even in moments where people see him act more carefree and what they would consider to be impulsively, you know better. Everything is calculated and meticulously thought out by him. 

So, when he tilts your head upwards and descends his mouth onto yours, despite the nerves you can feel rolling off of him, you know that it's a very intentional move from him. And honestly, if you still didn't have a myriad of questions buzzing around in your skull, you'd happily allow yourself to melt against his talented mouth and sturdy body. 

However, you can't stop until you get to the bottom of this. 

“Joshu–”

“I want to have a baby.” 

All of your thoughts halt in your head and all you hear is one, long record scratch. It would be comical if it weren't for your husband just dropping that he wants to have a baby with you on you. Joshua watches you carefully but, all you can do is blink up at him owlishly because your husband just told you that he wants a baby with you. 

“Wha–What?” Is all you can splutter.  

“We have talked about it,” which is true. It's one of the major conversations the two of you had when you first started dating and you were on the same page, “And you're really good with Julie. She practically lights up around you,” he sighs dreamily, resting his forehead against yours, “and you should see yourself when you're around her. It's like…magic.” 

You think it's fundamentally unfair how quickly he's getting you onboard with this idea. 

A shudder runs through your body and anticipation replaces anxiety when he places his hands on your hips and tugs you impossibly close to him, “We could have that. For ourselves,” he mutters, kissing your forehead then your cheek then the cut of your jaw. Everything feels a little turned upside down right now and all your increasingly foggy brain can think to do is grab his hoodie in an attempt to make sense of what's happening. 

“I'd love to watch you be a mum,” he sighs with that same dreamy edge to his voice and you honestly think you might melt on this shitty hotel carpet, “I think–no, I know you'd be great at it.” 

“I think I'd be a decent dad,” he says with a laugh that's too self-deprecating for your liking. 

“You'd be a fantastic dad, Joshua,” you argue with a frown, cupping his face in your hands to ensure he knows you mean it. Because it's simply true in the same way that you know the sky is blue and that grass is green. The past hour may have been a whirlwind but, you'll be damned if you let him talk badly about himself. 

“We could always test it out instead of talking about hypotheticals,” he says and the soft expression colouring his face shifts to a more lecherous one. The sounds of your blood rushing through your veins and your heart thundering in your chest are all you hear for a second. 

“I'm still on the pill,” you blurt out and it just darkens the look on his face further. 

“Well, we'll just have to see how good it is then,” are his last words before he escapes your hold and crashes his lips against yours. It's a completely insane statement and, you both know it. Your birth control pills have proven to be extremely reliable since the two you decided to do away with condoms years ago. However, based on the way he's kissing and the way his fingers dig into your hips through the fabric of your dress, you doubt Joshua is operating on much rational thought at the moment. 

Joshua doesn't give you much time to breathe, let alone think. You move totally by instinct. Clutching at his broad shoulders while his hands drag themselves along your hips, squeezing them occasionally in a pattern only he recognises. 

“Have I ever told you how sexy your hips are?” He pants against your mouth, punctuating his query with a harsh squeeze and a grind of his gradually hardened cock against your stomach. 

“I– um, probably yeah,” you breathe once you manage to catch your breath. A relief that is short lived as Joshua drags his mouth from yours to dot kisses along your cheek until his full lips make contact with your jaw. The tease of his teeth pull quiet gasps from your lips and fuel the increasing wetness between your shaky thighs. 

“Probably, huh?” He muses into your skin, pushing you backwards to the bedroom, an action you dazedly follow along with because it's really difficult to think of anything but, him and the fact that he wants to have a baby with you right now. 

“I need to do a better job of driving that fact home.” 

You nearly trip once you cross the threshold of the bedroom door but, Joshua is there to steady you. Or, rather, press your body into his while he makes love to your throat and impatiently shuffles the both of you to the massive bed. 

Every brush of his lips and tongue on your neck sets your skin ablaze. Years of exploring and memorising your body have made it extraordinarily easy for him to know exactly what causes your clit to pulse and arousal to soak through the flimsy panties you hurriedly put on hours ago. 

One of his large hands weaves its way into your hair and a high pitched mix of a moan and a gasp fills the room when he tugs on it harshly. Your lidded eyes meet his and your tongue feels like it weighs a million tonnes reading all the emotions that swim in them. 

His mouth descends on yours while his other hand impatiently tugs on the zipper of your dress. Distantly, you're worried he'll break something with how hard he's pulling on it but, the thought vanishes into smoke when his tongue licks into your mouth and forces you not to think about anything that isn't him and feeling his cock twitch inside of your fluttering pussy. 

The straps slip from your shoulders and a whine sounding not dissimilar to a wounded animal falls from your lips when he steps away from you. Blinking your eyes open, you're met with an amused and lustful Joshua who takes a second to admire your scantily clad figure as your dress pools around you. 

“So needy,” he tuts, like you can't see his cock straining in his shorts and the way his pupils are totally blown out, “Won't even let me appreciate my gorgeous wife,” he sighs while stepping back towards you. The endearment softens you but, it doesn't dull the roaring in the core of your being. If anything, it has the opposite effect. 

It's always made you feel…a lot whenever he specifically refers to you as ‘my wife.’ You're sure he's picked up on the way it impacts you and, being the menace your husband is, he's grown especially fond of letting it slip out when he's moments away from nestling himself between your thighs or when he's already kissing your cervix. 

“I can't help it,” you reply, the whiney edge making him smirk in a way that's equal parts evil and attractive. Sometimes, you really can't stand him. 

“Poor baby,” he coos without an ounce of sincerity, stepping towards you. Anticipation sits in the pit of your stomach and, you happily let him lay you down on the bed, watching him with baited breath as he savors the sight of you. 

His kisses are more biting. The sensual movements of his lips and tongue replaced by teeth and spit and messiness that make your head spin. His stupidly large hands waste no time in unclasping your bra and throwing it somewhere to be forgotten on the hotel floor. 

“Fuck,” the rasped curse is uttered into your bruised mouth as his hands grope your tits in them, kneading them and thumbing your hardened nipples while you squirm underneath him. 

“Prettiest tits in the fucking world,” he groans like hasn't seen and touched them a million times, revelling in the way the mounds mold to his ministrations and the way your body arches every time he so much as brushes one of your overly sensitive nipples. 

“Can't wait to see how they fill with milk one day,” the confessions pulls a startled gasp from the depths of your chest but, he doesn't give you much time to dwell on it as he kisses down your neck, gracing it with a few nips until he reaches his destination. 

The moment his teeth sink into your flesh, stars dance behind your eyes and you have no choice but, to shut them. The sting shoots straight to the apex of your thighs, adding to the sticky mess between them while your hands move completely on autopilot to play with his soft locks while he savors every bit of you he can with his mouth. 

The bites and nips he litters your tits with fuel the foggy state of your already muddled mind. All you can think about is him and his fucking mouth and the cock you know is leaking in his shorts while he watches you shudder and rut against him every time he bites especially hard.

The stars behind your eyes explode when his mouth envelopes one of your nipples with his scorching mouth while the other is pinched and tugged on by his thick fingers. Joshua is content to watch you grow increasingly fucked out with his mouth alone for now. Normally, he'd give you a little more grief for closing your eyes but, he's in a generous mood today. 

Plus, your perfect tits are in his mouth and hands so, he can't be too upset. 

You can feel him grin into your skin when your entire body jolts as he grazes his teeth along your nipple. Typically warm eyes flashing with every miniscule movement and shuddering noise that passes from your thoroughly kissed lips. The pain from his blunt fingernails pressing into your skin is disorientating in the best way and, fuck, are you beyond wet right now. 

A mix of disappointment and relief wash over you when he frees your nipple with an obscenely loud pop. Your eyes flutter open to watch him as he kisses your tits one last time before descending down your body. Your blood turns molten in your veins with every kiss and light nip he provides your stomach and hips, his intimidating gaze never faltering until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

With faux curiosity, he presses two fingers experimentally into you, watching the way your panties stick to you and your thighs quiver around him. 

“Guess you're more into this whole baby idea than you let on,” he muses, swapping his fingers for his thumb and rubbing random patterns against your clit. The pressure is dizzying. Your head snapping back and a drawn out whimper of his name piercing through the hotel bedroom. A few presses from his thumb is all it takes for your thighs to threaten to shut but, you know better. 

“Please, Joshie, I'm–” any further, breathless rambling is cut off by a moan as he presses his thumb more harshly into your swollen clit, his weighted gaze drinking in the way you further ruin your pretty panties and soil his thumb. 

“Please what?” He asks, glancing up at you with a facade of reservation before his ravenous eyes focus their attention back on toying with your beautiful pussy and making a mess out of you.

All he does is laugh at the frustrated huff you let out before removing his hand from your ruined panties. 

“No!” you gasp desperately, shooting a wide eyed, betrayed look at him, “Wh–Why?” 

“You know better, sweetheart,” he coos condescendingly, the tone not helping the incessant throbbing of your clit, “Good girls don't complain. Good girls use their words to say what they want.” 

All your horny brain can cling to is the desire to cum and be his good girl. Thankfully, you still have enough executive functioning to articulate yourself and your wants. Well, at least somewhat. 

“Joshie, I wanna cum. Please. Wanna be good and cum on your fingers,” you whine, tilting your hips up towards him and hoping you provide tantalising enough of a sight for your husband to just give you want. 

Based on the way his tongue runs along his bottom lip and his eyes flash, you've at least chipped away at his resolve somewhat. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “See? That wasn't so hard,” he tuts, grasping the bottom of his hoodie and tugging it off. Your lips part and your pussy clenches when his bare chest is exposed to you. If you weren't so focused on watching the way his muscles flex and contort with his every move, you'd notice the combination of smugness and amusement on his face. 

Blinking up at him in a daze, you wonder when he moved but, his mouth descending on yours intensely coupled with the way one of his hands cups you over your ruined panties evaporates the thought. You're just happy he's touching you at all. 

Joshua swallows your stuttered gasp greedily. Rutting against your thigh as his fingers drag your panties to the side and he shoves three of them into you without much resistance. It's hard to tell who moans louder at the intrusion (probably you, if you're being honest). He knows you can take it. You can take much more but, the stretch of his long, thick fingers is disorientating after what feels like hours of being wet for him. 

“Josh–Joshie,” you pant against his mouth, your eyes rolling into the back of your head when he fucks you on his fingers without abandon. No buildup. No teasing. Simply, brutally curling his fingers against the spots inside you he knows will have your toes curling and an entire galaxy dancing beneath your barely open eyes. 

“Hear that?” He asks between ragged breaths into your ear, timing his question with his fingers pushing back into and the lewd squelch reaching your ears and warming your face considerably. It's not that you necessarily feel embarrassed about how much you want Joshua but, hearing the evidence is an entirely different story. 

“Hear how wet your pretty pussy gets for me?” He practically moans into your ear and combined with the way his fingers drag along your wet walls, god, it's a lot. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and whimper out what you hope sounds like a confirmation to his ears. 

The tension in the pit of your stomach grows tenfold when he nips at your earlobe and introduces his thumb into the mess between your thighs. Moving completely on instinct, your hands desperately clutch at his forearm when he presses his thumb to your clit and draws an array of patterns that only make sense to him into it. “Fuck,” he hisses into your skin as his fingers don't falter in the slightest, drawing the most wanton sounds from you, “It's fucking crazy how wet you get. Gushing all over my hand and the poor sheets. What do you think the staff will think when they notice how soaked the sheets are? Think they'll wonder just how slutty of a pussy Mrs. Hong has?” 

The edges of your vision blur and your mouth hangs open letting out whimpers that increase in volume. Your orgasm is so close that you can practically taste it on the very tip of your tongue. Joshua doesn't seem all that bothered with the way your nails bite into his skin as he continues to bring you closer and closer to the precipice with every curl of his fingers and press of his thumb. 

Until he stops and pulls his hand away from your pussy. 

“Wha–”you gasp at him in confusion and frustration, your hips completely moving on their own in search of any friction to soothe your painfully throbbing clit and walls that clench and unclench harshly around a sudden nothingness. Blinking up at him through bleary eyes, the look on his face drags a whine out of you. A whine that only really makes the corners of his mouth tug upwards further. 

“Come on baby,” he coos, kissing your neck and running his fingers along your sticky folds. He's barely doing anything but, the brush of his fingers against your clit coupled with the faintest bit of friction have you reeling and grabbing at him again as weak moans fill the space between the two of you. 

“You know how much I love playing with you,” he tuts, using those same fingers to add pressure to your clit and nearly send your thighs snapping shut around his arm. The sensation sends your head lolling backwards, giving Joshua ample skin to bite while he works you up to a frenzy. Again.

“It's no fun if you just get to cum so easily,” he mutters, his smirk burning itself into your skin while you try not to cry from the frustration that scorches your insides as his fingers draw an array of patterns into your clit. You'd snark back a response if your brain wasn't melting in your skull and leaking out of your ears at the moment. All you can do is hope your watery eyes and fractured whimpers are enough for him to go easy on you. 

“Don't look at me like that,” he says with a breathless laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth while his fingers pick up the pace and cause your stomach to drop as the tension builds again. “You know how sexy you look when you cry,” he groans, watching your face intensely as his fingers continue to make your eyes roll and your thighs shake violently around them. 

“I–Please please please, can I cum? Ple–” your begging is cut off by a sharp gasp, “Ah Josh–Joshie please, I'm so close.” 

He doesn't give you an answer. Electing instead to maintain the strokes of his fingers and coaxing you to the proverbial edge once again while he watches you struggle not to fall apart underneath him. Joshua knows you better than the back of his hand. He knows you're close just from the way your nails claw into his skin and your eyes can barely stay focused on anything. From the way the heartbeat in your clit hammers against his fingers and your wetness dribbles onto the hotel sheets. From the way you stumble over every word that isn't his name and pleads to cum. If anything, he's impressed you've managed to hold yourself together this long. 

Too bad he enjoys toying with you too much. 

This time a wobbly sob does fall from your lips and you can feel a few, stray, hot tears streaming down your face when he removes his hand again. All you can do is lay there as you attempt to chase the relief of his fingers pathetically. Your pussy once again left painfully fluttering as the promise of an orgasm is viciously ripped away from you. Joshua kisses you before you can whine at him again. It's a messy and deeply uncoordinated kiss, his desire pouring out of him in waves while you try and kiss him back as best as you can. 

“So fucking hot,” he grits into your mouth as he rustles with something, “So hot and wet and needy just for me. Fuck, if you keep looking at me like that, I just might cum before I even fuck you,” he rushes out. Just the thought of that causes you to shake your head and whine into his mouth, clutching at his bare shoulders in desperation. 

His laugh is deep and attractive and it makes you want him even more somehow, “Don't worry, baby,” he soothes, positioning himself between your thighs, “I'll make sure to fill you up nice and good.” 

The press of his tip against your dripping entrance sends a shudder down your entire body. ‘When did he get his cock out?’ you wonder in a daze, using a considerable amount of effort to watch the way he grasps his fat cock in his hand and drags it along your puffy, dripping pussy. 

“We've been together for years and I still can't believe how wet this pussy gets for me,” he mutters to what you assume is himself but, you hear him all the same. You genuinely think you might lose your mind if he doesn't just push into you right now. 

“Joshie,” you half-whimper, half-sob, “I'm so–I want it, please. Did–Didn't you say you were going to ah fuck a baby into me?” 

The storm of emotions that flashes across his face causes the claws of anticipation to dig at your insides. A startled noise is forced out of you when he sinks his cock into you with one, sharp snap of his hips. The sting is minimal but, present. A few more stray tears fall from your eyes as you try to adjust to the toe-curling stretch. Holy shit. You don't think you'll ever quite be over the way his first thrust always sends you reeling. 

“So tight,” he grits out, heavy eyes shifting from watching the way your face morphs into expressions he's seen a million times and will happily drink in a million times more to the way his cock forces you open, “I think you might have gotten tighter somehow. If you wanted me to get you pregnant, all you had to do was ask,” he says with an arrogant laugh. You don't really have much room to argue when he draws more pitchy whimpers from you and you can feel the way you clamp down around him. 

“You–You're the one who told me that ah god you want a baby,” you gasp out in response, your tongue lolling out of your mouth when he harshly grabs your thigh with his massive hand. 

“True,” he concedes, using his other hand to grasp your chin, smearing your wetness on your face and forcing you to meet his eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, “But don't pretend like you're not as into this as I am. I can feel the way your pussy keeps trying to milk my cock and the way you're gushing onto it.” 

His fingers are in your mouth before you can respond. The taste of yourself invading your senses, adding to the haze clouding your mind and making your clit throb as you chase the taste of yourself. 

Your hands fly to his broad back when he uses his other hand to slip between your overheated, sweaty bodies to find your clit. Not giving you a second to catch your breath, he draws frenzied circles into you that send you keening around his fingers and your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. 

“I want you to cum,” he orders, panting into your ear before freeing your mouth from his fingers, “Wanna feel you make a mess on my cock,” he says between heavy breaths while his fingers and cock and words and just him bring you increasingly close to the edge at breakneck speed. 

It's an especially hard press of his fingertips that finally sends you careening over the edge he's been pushing you towards and pulling you back from for god knows how long now. Your entire body seizes and for what feels like ages all you can see is white. Distantly, you can hear Joshua saying something but, you couldn't hope to make out what it is. The bliss sending you to another dimension entirely, furthered by him not stopping his thrusts all the while. 

“–Yeah, good fucking girl,” are the first words you manage to catch as the white disapates and you somewhat return to your body, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the obscene squelching of his cock bullying your still fluttering pussy hitting your eardrums. Blinking up your teary eyes up at him, desire prods at your gut despite just cumming, seeing the way his sweaty bangs shadow his blown out eyes that have never left your face the entire time you were cumming. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a passionate kiss. A kiss he readily allows himself to get lost in as his fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place to take every one of his unrelenting thrusts.

“Want one more from you,” he pants into your lips, “Wanna feel you cum one more time before I fill up this pretty pussy,” he heaves, eyes totally glassy and nothing but, ocean deep lust reflected in them. 

“Don–Don't ah fuck know if I can any–anymore,” you whimper in response because, yeah, you really don't know if you can. You feel thoroughly rung out right now. The sparks from your orgasm are still going zipping off all over your body, fuelled by every brush of his cock against your walls and his mouth on you. 

“Of course you can, baby,” he coaxes, his hands drifting from your hips to your thighs, forcing them upwards and his cock impossibly deeper.  The depth sends your head snapping back and a choked gasp echoes through the bedroom, joining the myriad of nasty sounds ringing through it. 

“So–So deep,” you whimper, overwhelmed tears not helping in the slightest to cool your burning face. “Yeah?” He breathes, his pace unrelenting, “Gonna cum all over this fat cock? Gonna make a mess on it like the good girl I know you are?”

God. How are you not going to cum when he talks to you like that while he fucks you like that?

“Ye–Yeah,” you moan, the familiar zip of electricity courses through your entire body when he snaps his hips into you harshly, sending his tip straight into a part of you that sends your back arching, “Clo–Close. Gonna cum. Wanna cum on your big cock, Joshie.” 

“Shit,” he groans, smashing his lips against yours in a kiss that is mostly teeth and tongue, “Fuck. Your pussy is so good. It's out of this world,” he heaves, his strokes growing sloppy but, he pushes through as best as he can, “Wanna watch you.” 

The chord snaps before you even realise how slenderly it was holding on. 

Joshua greedily swallows every watery moan of his name and whatever else your fucked out brain babbles out. Large hands gripping your thighs harshly as his pace grows increasingly unsteady with every stroke he gives you as you cum all around him, gushing onto his throbbing cock. 

“Yeah, that's it,” he groans, “Cum all over me. Such a good girl, such a good pussy. Gonna make me cum so hard. Cum until you're so full that my cum is leaking out of you for weeks. Gonna get you all nice and round and pregnant with my baby,” he rambles deliriously, his cock pulsing wildy inside of you with every thrust. 

“Want it,” you cry in response, “I want it, Joshie. Want your cum. Want your baby.” 

The moan that falls from Joshua's full lips is broken and drawn out. His grip on your thighs border on bruising as he keeps you in place (as if you would go anywhere if you could even move right now) so you have no choice but to accept the ropes of cum he floods your still spasming pussy with. The warmth that fills you draws soft whimpers from you. You're always left in awe with just how much he cums. 

A quiet groan leaves your body when he drops his weight onto you, panting against your shoulder as his cock softens inside of you and his grip on your sweaty body loosens. He's heavy but, you're empathetic because your own body feels like it weighs the same as an adult elephant right now. For the moment, you're content to bask in the intimacy of mind-blowing sex. You'll nudge him off of you when it becomes too difficult to breathe. 

Your fingers move on their own, rubbing his back and smiling when he tiredly hums in appreciation. Returning your affection with featherlight kisses pressed into your shoulder. 

It might have been five minutes or fifteen or thirty but, eventually, Joshua eases himself out of you and rolls off of you. You can't help the quiet laugh that you let out when he groans at the effort before tugging you into his side. 

“So,” he starts, the scratchy quality of his voice washing over you like a warm blanket, “having a baby, huh?”

All you can do is snort very unattractively in response.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Seventeen Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[sanguinarysanguinity]

You know, that scene from My Favorite Wife where Cary Grant is (checks notes) "seething with jealousy" over That One Guy's athleticism hits different when you know Cary Grant was into men.

(Cary Grant, attempting to make Important Work Phone Calls, hopelessly distracted by an endless mental replay of That Guy's double-ring gymnastics routine, which ends, over and over again, with a perfect swan dive into Cary Grant's lap...)

And it hits different AGAIN when you realize that That One Guy is Randolph Scott.

[rmytears]

HOW NOT TO KEEP A RELATIONSHIP SECRET. calex one-shot.

SUMMARY: Casey's day takes an unexpected turn when SVU’s newest detective develops a crush on Alex and, for some reason, asks her for help. Determined to keep their relationship a secret, Casey tries to deflect… only to somehow end up giving him accidental dating advice.

The 16th precinct hummed with its characteristic chaos—a symphony of ringing phones, heated debates over case files, and the persistent whir of an overworked coffee maker that hadn't been properly cleaned since the Obama administration. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt coffee, a scent that had become as much a part of the building as the worn linoleum floors and the flickering fluorescent lights that cast everything in an unflattering pallor.

Casey Novak sat at her desk, surrounded by towering stacks of discovery materials that threatened to topple at any moment. Her reading glasses were perched precariously on the edge of her nose, and her auburn hair was twisted into a messy bun that had gradually migrated sideways throughout the morning. She was only half-listening to the ongoing debate between Fin and Olivia about lunch options—Fin advocating for the new Thai place around the corner, while Olivia stubbornly defended her usual deli sandwich.

"I'm telling you," Fin insisted, gesturing with a case file, "they've got these dumplings that'll change your life."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "The last time you said that about food, I couldn't taste anything for three days."

Casey smiled to herself, letting their familiar bickering fade into background noise as she focused on the affidavit in front of her. The words were starting to blur together—something about chain of custody that she'd read four times without really absorbing—when a shadow fell across her desk.

Detective Ryan Callahan stood there, all six feet of earnest awkwardness, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous teenager at his first school dance. He was new to SVU, barely six months on the job, with the kind of fresh-faced enthusiasm that hadn't yet been tempered by the harsh realities of their work. In the field, he was surprisingly competent—good instincts, quick on his feet, and genuinely empathetic with victims. But socially... well, that was another matter entirely.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit Casey had noticed during particularly stressful cases. Today, his tie was slightly askew, and there was a coffee stain on his otherwise pristine white shirt. He had the look of someone who had spent considerable time rehearsing what he was about to say, only to forget every word the moment he opened his mouth.

Casey raised an eyebrow, setting down her pen. "Callahan, what's up?"

He cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. "Uh, so, I had a question."

She waited, watching as he fidgeted with his badge, clipping and unclipping it from his belt. The silence stretched between them like taffy, growing more awkward by the second.

Finally, he scratched the back of his neck—another nervous tell—and said, "About Alex."

Casey blinked, her heart doing a complicated gymnastics routine in her chest. "Alex?"

"Yeah." He shuffled closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I mean, I figured since you two spend a lot of time together, you'd know... if she's, you know, seeing anyone."

Casey felt her world tilt sideways. Oh, this was bad.

Very, very bad.

Callahan, completely oblivious to the internal crisis he had just triggered, pressed on with the determination of someone walking straight off a cliff. "I just—I don't know. She's incredible. Smart, sharp, kind of terrifying but, like, in a hot way? Not that you need me to tell you that, obviously, you know her better than I do. Which is why I was hoping you'd, uh, help me out here."

Casey's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, performing an impressive impression of a fish out of water. "Help you out?" she repeated, her voice hitting a pitch she hadn't reached since high school choir.

He nodded, eyes bright with hope. "You think she'd go for a guy like me?"

Casey, who had built her career on her ability to think quickly under pressure, who had stared down serial killers and sociopaths without breaking a sweat, who had once delivered an entire closing argument with a sprained ankle and didn't miss a beat, suddenly found herself completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Because here she was, sitting at her desk on a Tuesday morning, being asked for dating advice about her girlfriend by a man who had no idea he was essentially asking for tips on how to seduce someone who was very much taken.

By her.

The irony was almost poetic.

Swallowing hard, she forced what she hoped was a professional smile but probably looked more like a grimace. "Listen, Callahan, if you're interested in Alex, maybe you should ask her yourself." The words tasted like betrayal in her mouth, but what else could she say?

Callahan's face fell slightly. "Yeah, but I don't want to come on too strong. I figured you might have, like, some insight? Maybe you could, I don't know..." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice further, "put in a good word?"

Casey let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled cough, drawing curious glances from nearby desks. Her mind raced through possible responses, each more absurd than the last. She could tell him the truth—but no, they'd agreed to keep their relationship private, at least for now. She could make up some reason why he shouldn't pursue Alex—but that felt dishonest, and besides, what reason could she give that wouldn't raise more questions?

"I—uh—I'm not really—"

"Just a little nudge," he pressed, his enthusiasm growing in inverse proportion to her comfort level. "Like, what does she like? Coffee? Flowers? Should I be, you know, mysterious and aloof? Or direct? I've been reading this dating advice blog, and it says women like confidence, but also vulnerability, but also strength, but also sensitivity..." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Casey stared at him, her brain screaming in at least three different languages. This was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, except she wasn't just watching—she was somehow both the conductor and the person tied to the tracks.

And yet, instead of shutting it down, instead of making an excuse and escaping with what little dignity she had left, she found herself muttering, "She likes espresso. No sugar."

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she'd made a terrible mistake. Callahan's face lit up like Times Square at Christmas.

"See? That's helpful! Anything else?"

Casey internally cursed herself in all the languages she knew, and a few she didn't.

Two days later, Casey was seriously reconsidering her career choices. Maybe she should've become a tax attorney. Or a librarian. Or literally anything that wouldn't have led to her current predicament, watching her girlfriend's unwitting suitor execute what had to be the most painfully earnest courtship attempt in NYPD history.

The precinct had become a stage for Callahan's increasingly elaborate gestures. Every time Alex entered the building—her sharp heels clicking against the floor, her presence commanding attention without effort—there he was, materializing like a well-meaning ghost with perfectly timed offerings.

"Just happened to grab an extra espresso," he'd say, placing the steaming cup on her desk with the careful precision of someone handling evidence. The coffee was always from that expensive place three blocks over, the one with the pretentious baristas and lines out the door. Casey knew for a fact he'd started getting there twenty minutes early just to beat the morning rush.

Alex, for her part, had progressed through a fascinating spectrum of reactions. At first, it was just a slightly quirked eyebrow, the barest hint of confusion crossing her otherwise composed features. Then came the studying—those piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly whenever Callahan appeared, like she was processing evidence in a particularly puzzling case.

The coffee was just the beginning. Suddenly, Callahan was everywhere. Holding doors open with an eager "After you, Counselor." Casually mentioning cases he knew she'd won—"That Martinez cross-examination? Legendary stuff." He'd even started wearing better suits, though his ties remained perpetually crooked in a way that made Casey's fingers itch to fix them.

And then there was the day he'd watched Alex verbally demolish defense attorney Trevor Langan in court. Casey had been there too, ostensibly to observe the trial, but really because Alex in court was a sight to behold. The way she moved, the precise timing of her questions, the subtle shift in her voice when she went in for the kill—it was like watching a master artist at work.

Callahan had been sitting next to Casey, presumably there to learn trial techniques. But halfway through Alex's cross-examination, Casey heard him whisper, "Holy shit," with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences.

After court, he'd caught up with Alex in the hallway. "That was incredible," he'd gushed. "The way you cornered him on the timeline inconsistencies? And then that thing with the phone records? Pure genius."

Alex had paused, tilted her head slightly, and given Casey a look that clearly said, 'We need to talk.'

Because that's when it clicked. The coffee. The compliments. The way Callahan's eyes followed Alex around the precinct like a lovesick puppy. And most damningly, the fact that he seemed to know exactly how Alex liked her coffee.

There was only one person who could have told him that.

The look Alex gave Casey in that moment promised a conversation that would be neither brief nor comfortable.

"You are going to explain to me," Alex said later that day, her voice carrying that dangerous calm that made hardened criminals confess on the stand, "why my girlfriend is helping a man flirt with me."

They were in Alex's office, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the polished desk. The door had clicked shut with a finality that made Casey's stomach drop.

Casey, perched against the desk, tried for casual. "Okay, first of all, not my fault."

Alex arched an eyebrow, a gesture that could have been patented for its ability to convey volumes of skepticism without a single word.

"No?"

Casey groaned, running a hand through her hair. "He asked me if you were single! What was I supposed to say?"

Alex folded her arms, her blazer—charcoal grey today, impeccably tailored—shifting with the movement. "You could have said 'no.' That's generally how people answer that question when they are, in fact, not single."

The sarcasm in her voice could have stripped paint.

Casey flinched. "Okay, yeah, fair, but he caught me off guard, and I didn't want to, you know..." She gestured vaguely. "Out us."

Alex inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose—a rare display of exasperation from someone who usually maintained perfect composure. "And your next brilliant move was... what? Coaching him?"

"I didn't coach him," Casey protested, though her voice lacked conviction. "I just—he wouldn't drop it, and I panicked, and now he's bringing you coffee, and—" She threw up her hands in surrender. "Look, I didn't think it would work!"

Alex let out a laugh that held absolutely no humor. "Well, it did. And now I have a detective attempting to woo me with caffeine and admiration for my cross-examinations." She stepped closer, her heels silent on the carpeted floor. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain professional authority when someone looks at you like you've hung the moon every time you object to hearsay?"

Casey winced. "... He did say that thing about the Martinez case, huh?"

Alex leveled her with a look that could have melted steel. "Yes. He did. In fact, he's apparently been studying my old cases. This morning, he quoted my closing argument from the Wilson trial. Word for word."

A beat of silence filled the office.

Then, Alex took another step forward. Then another. Her movements were deliberate, predatory, like a cat cornering its prey. Casey found herself pressing back against the desk, suddenly very aware of how the temperature in the room seemed to have risen several degrees.

"So, tell me," Alex murmured, close enough now that Casey could smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that made coherent thought increasingly difficult. "How exactly were you planning to resolve this, Counselor?"

The way Alex said 'Counselor' should have been illegal in at least three states.

Casey cleared her throat, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "I figured eventually he'd... move on?"

Alex's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile but promised all sorts of interesting consequences. "Mm. I have a better idea."

Before Casey could process what was happening, Alex's hand had slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, pulling her in for a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for office hours. It was slow, deliberate, thorough—the kind of kiss that made Casey forget every legal precedent she'd ever memorized.

When Alex finally pulled back, Casey's brain had officially gone offline. Her lips tingled, and she was pretty sure she'd forgotten how to form sentences in English.

"I—" Casey started, then promptly lost whatever she was going to say when she caught the look in Alex's eyes.

Alex smirked, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Let's see if Callahan still has questions after that."

And with that, Alex turned and opened the office door.

Straight into what appeared to be half the SVU squad.

Olivia, Fin, and Elliot stood there, wearing expressions that ranged from surprised (Olivia) to amused (Fin) to mildly uncomfortable but supportive (Elliot).

Olivia blinked. "Oh."

Fin's grin could have powered half of Manhattan. "Damn. Thought you two were just bad at flirting. Turns out you were just sneaky."

Elliot shook his head, though there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Honestly? We should've seen it coming. Nobody spends that much time 'reviewing case files' after hours."

And because the universe wasn't done with them yet, Callahan chose that exact moment to walk by. He stopped, coffee cup in hand—probably another perfectly prepared espresso—and took in the scene. His eyes moved from Alex's slightly smudged lipstick to Casey's thoroughly kissed expression, and understanding dawned on his face with almost audible clarity.

"Well," he muttered, "that explains... a lot." He paused, then added with a weak laugh, "Like why you knew her coffee order."

Casey groaned, burying her face in her hands. Alex, somehow still maintaining her composure despite everything, simply adjusted her blazer with precise movements.

"Well," Olivia drawled, her grin growing wider by the second, "this is fun."

"I hate all of you," Casey mumbled through her fingers.

Alex, fighting what looked suspiciously like genuine amusement, reached over and laced their fingers together.

"Too late now, darling," she murmured, squeezing Casey's hand. "Might as well own it."

And as Casey looked at the team's smug, knowing faces—Olivia's warmth, Fin's mischief, Elliot's awkward acceptance, and even Callahan's embarrassed but genuine smile—she realized there was no winning this.

But maybe, she thought as Alex's thumb traced small circles on her hand, winning wasn't the point.

At least she had Alex.

And really good espresso.

Two weeks later, Callahan left a peace offering on both their desks: gift cards to that expensive coffee place he'd been frequenting. The note attached read: "Sorry for the awkward. But in my defense, your girlfriend is terrifying in court. - RC"

Alex kept the note pinned to her bulletin board, right next to the conviction record that had so impressed him.

And if anyone noticed that Casey started wearing her ties a little crooked, or that Alex's lipstick needed touching up more often after their "case review meetings," well...

Some things were better left unsaid.

Even in a building full of detectives.

[overflowingteacupoflove]

"Am I weird?"

"Yeah. but so what everybody's weird." Whimsy!reader x fratboy!chris NNN Day 2!

You're a pretty confident girl. You're sure of yourself and dont care what others think because you know what you like and who you are, doesnt matter what any other insecure people think.

But you're only human and in this world other humans are mean to people they find threats, even if that threat is just a self-assured, confident, whimsy lady.

You have hobbies that other people would consider weird, but you never care. Why would you?

you're swinging from your silk rope, more of a curtain, twisted and tangled in it as you practice your aerobatics- Chris on his phone sitting silently in a corner.

This is the routine between you and your boyfriend. After both of your classes are done Chris drives you to the gymnastics and aerobatics place you practice at and then he sits in the corner until your done. Then you and him drive around the town-maybe smoke a joint on the occasion- although you don't do it much. You tell Chris that it "messes with my aura! makes it all dingy."

And normally its silent.

But today you had been talking to one of your friends about a new crystal shop that opened up and how you need to get some more crystals. Two sorority girls walked by you two and laughed about it saying something along the lines of "She's so weird. I don't know why Chris dates her." And although you pretended you didn't care it really hurt your feelings. So now your aura is really dingy- and not from weed.

"Hey, Chris?" You spin down from your silk ropes and land softly on your feet. Untangling yourself from the ropes and then walking over to sit down on the floor by Chris's chair.

"Yeah, little lady?" He asks and looks up for a second from his phone. "You ready to go home?" He checks the time and its maybe 30 minutes before the time you usually like to leave at. He's not surprised when you shake your head.

"Just had a question." You pick at your nails and dont meet Chris's eyes even though they hold a shit load of concern. You seem sad, or dingy as you like to say, and it's scaring him.

"M'all ears." And he really was. Turned off his phone, set it to the side, and everything.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

You're question caught him off guard, because what would make you think that? But in Chris fashion he answers "Hell yeah I do. But, so what? Everybody's weird." He shrugs. "In their own ways. You're just more out there with your weirdness. It's why I like you."

He flashes you you're favorite lopsided grin when you finally look up. You cant help but smile back and lean your head on the side of his thigh for a second. He rests his hand on top of your head, and you sigh softly. "Okay." You finally answer in a soft voice. "Yeah?" Chris tilts his head, hat tilting to the side, almost falling off.

"Yeah." You mumble and bounce back up to go hook your legs over the ring you practice on, Chris gets up too, to pull the rope that suspends the ring so you can practice.

--------------

a pr3ttyf4wn scroll !

[quaranmine]

Women's gymnastics vs men's gymnastics

I think it's weird the women have to like dance and use music and the men's floor routine is just silent. I don't dislike the dancing mind you, it seems fun, but I think it's just weird only the women have to do it for points. Some of the men's only events are crazy though, the strength required to do those rings are insane. I saw a cute video of the men's gynmasts attempting women's skills and vice versa earlier in the week. It was interesting to see how training for different skills changed what they could do!

[cripple-ace]

I have a very specific pet peeve in batman fanfics. When a male character is practicing or competing in gymnastics and they use tge female apparatus.

Guys, do a tiny amount of research Dick would not be doing backflips on a beam like Simone Biles he would be doing flares on the pommel like Stephen Nedoroscik. He wouldn't be flipping between the uneven bars but he would be showing strength and somersaulting over the horizontal bar, parallel bars and still rings.

Men have 6 apparatus and Women have 4, the only over lap is vault and floor. Men's floor routines do not have music or dance elements it's about tumbling and strength.

[blueironywrites]

Title: Overconfidence

Rating: PG

Prompt: Gymnastics from @wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 241

Summary: Sirius's toxic trait is that he watches an Olympics sport and thinks he can perform it an elite level. Remus is not convinced.

I am writing a fic for each of the prompts this month. You can read all of them here.

This is dedicated to all of us who watched the Olympics and went “I could totally do that”.

+ + +

“You know, I think I could do that.”

Remus looked up from his book at his boyfriend who was sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“You think you can do that,” repeated Remus, pointing at the TV screen where a man was performing a complicated rings routine.

In a few weeks, Remus would be stepping up his training regime, ahead of an upcoming gymnastics competition that he and many upcoming Olympics hopefuls would be attending. Much to Sirius's initial dismay, this meant that Remus spent most of his free time studying old gymnastics competition videos. Despite Sirius's claim he was only interested in watching gymnastics when “my sexy boyfriend does it”, he had gone from being mildly interested to watching more hours of the sport than even Remus did.

For instance, Remus was reading a book while Sirius had been glued to the screen for the last few hours.

“Yes!” exclaimed Sirius. “I could do that... handstand-y thing.” He looked at Remus who was fighting a smile. “Just you watch, I'll be coming for your world title next year,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Remus. As he said this, he lunged for the remote that was just out of reach. With a small yelp, he fell off the couch and crashed to the floor on his side with a thump.

“I think my world title is intact,” said Remus, laughing as he passed a grumbling Sirius the remote.

[rebelspykatie]

Gymnastics/Olympics AU Part 1

Steve’s not used to sharing the spotlight. He can’t believe this fresh-faced nobody is out here acting like he has any idea what he’s doing. For years, Steve’s been the golden child of gymnastics. Everyone loves him, no one’s come close to beating him at any of the events he specializes in, he puts butts in seats, which is more than most of the field can say. Until now, when Eddie Munson just waltzes onto the scene like he was born to do gymnastics. 

He makes it look so easy, long limbs flying through the air as if the universe created him to be aerodynamic. Strong arms holding him in place on the rings, not moving an inch, and perfect balance on the pommel horse. It makes Steve furious. He’s trained his whole life, worked for years to get to this level. It shouldn’t be easy. 

Every qualifying event leading up to the Olympics just made it more obvious that Steve should be concerned. Eddie kept climbing the ranks, perfecting his routines, sticking every landing. It grated on Steve’s nerves. His success doesn’t feel earned, which is stupid because he did earn his place just like Steve, but it happened in the blink of an eye. 

And Steve just has to suck it up and accept it or he doesn’t look like a team player. The media loves pitting them against each other, too. Golden Boy vs. Wild Child. Steve’s known for his looks, perfectly coifed hair, bright charming smile, eyes that melt the panties off the ladies in the crowd. And here Eddie is, long hair wild and untamed, just like his personality. His smile is coy, teasing the crowd. He’s boisterous, where Steve is reserved. 

So of course when they get to the Olympic village, they’re paired up. Roommates. Steve can’t help groaning when he walks in and sees black and leather scattered all over one side of the room. He makes it his mission to stay out of their room as much as possible over the course of the competition. He’s being cockblocked by a tragic set of circumstances. At his first Olympics, he was a bit too young to honor the tradition of sleeping his way through the Olympic village, but the next year, he made a name for himself.

Now, he’s frustrated, not just with Eddie stealing the show, but he’s got a lot of pent up emotions he wishes he were taking out on the hottest athletes from around the world. He can’t even focus long enough to convince someone to take him back to their room, mind only on Eddie and the way he looked at podium training. 

Robin, who's on the US soccer team, thinks it’s hilarious, following him around and pointing out all the ways Eddie is better than him. She likes to humble him. When she catches him staring, she has this smug little smirk on her face like she knows that Steve can recognize how talented Eddie is, but won’t admit it. And that’s not the problem at all, he can admit it, he just doesn’t want to. He’s fascinated with the way Eddie stays on his feet, like a cat falling from its perch, he alway seems to land upright, perfectly positioned. His eyes are drawn to his lithe limbs and how strong his forearms look as he’s braced in the air over the parallel bars. 

And maybe Robin picks up on that too, teasing him about how dumb his face looks when Eddie flexes, or how Steve can’t help but stare at the way his shorts ride up when he dismounts an apparatus. It’s not enough that Eddie’s taking his spot, but he’s captured Steve’s attention, as well. He lies awake at night, listening to Eddie’s even breathing, wishing he had the courage to be nicer. But there’s a tone to their relationship now. A reputation built on rivalry. It would be foolish for him to think that Eddie would want to even be friends after the way they’ve circled around each other in these competitions. 

Little does Steve know that Eddie’s been watching him, too. 

Part 2 | AO3

[djprenup]

Flowers for my girl Mitsuri

For some reason this really got on my nerves when the barb the goat my shining star Mitsuri finally dropped in the anime and everybody was celebrating her which was that-

Everybody was RUNNING to be the first person to explain that her weapon was an urumi/chuttuval and bein all intellectual about it and I just felt like everybody was MISSING THE MOST IMPORTANT PART of her unique style which was that

ITS MORE LIKE A GYMNASTICS RIBBON OBVIOUSLY

Like the conversation just became about the urumi thing and then people who played elden ring were like "that's a weapon in elden ring 🤓" and NOBODY jumped towards gymnastics ribbon routines and stuff that actually INSPIRED HER CHARACTER.

I don’t have an explanation for this I just felt like that side of the internet FULLY missed the point. Instead of celebrating a girlypop icon, or like famous gymnasts or whatever, they went “erm ackshually that weapon is called blah blah blah” 

Like it just KILLED ME. YES it can be both but why WASN'T THE CONVERSATION ABOUT BOTH!?

💚🩷💚🩷 I LOVE YOU KANROJI 💚🩷💚🩷