#this was supposed to be a warmup but i liked it so much that i made it into a full thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordsandholly · 8 months ago

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Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

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frodo-a-gogo · 6 months ago

Note

sapphic disco zine you say 👁👁 tell me more

Its gonna have a pretty slow turnaround cus of how busy i am with work stuff etc but its gonna be a mix of lesbian crackships and tbh erotica. Theres sort of a lack of sapphic content generally in fandom so id like to provide tho mostly this is an excuse to test out this artistic mode and see if im any good at it. Plus its supposed to help improve anatomy. Coming to an internet near you.....eventually. i have like. So much work to get thru this summer ur for sure not getting anything substantial til at least the fall

Take the quickie i did about the evil whirling in rags sapphic lovetriangle since it was todays doodly warmup

#disco elysium #elizabeth beaufort #klaasje amandou #ruby the instigator #lawrence garte #srry i know its an idea that strays pretty far from canon but i have an absurd amount of ideas so #edit:#very futuristic: a girl-liker zine

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wszczebrzyszynie · 1 year ago

Photo

mumbo warmups turned design concepts. umbrella is harder to carry than a giant hat, i suppose. he mostly uses fake flowers and feathers as decorations (one fun detail i like is that one of the feathers is actually grians; he put it there himself, as it would be a bit awkward of mumbo to do so, because i like the idea that grian gives his feathers as jewlery pieces or other accesories to his closest friends. mumbo doesnt mind; hes very victorian in my head, and very much not scared of jewlery made out of loved ones hair, for example)

#maybe i miss drawing edwardian clothing a little bit #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft #fanart #artwork

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euphietea · 6 months ago

Text

Obsession

Endo Yamato x Hostess!Reader cw. manipulation. drinking. yandere. dc. syn & genre. [concept piece/warmup. no smut.] Endo has set his eyes on a second masterpiece - a seemingly innocent hostess.

“C’mon baby, you’re really milkin’ me dry,” Endo whined teasingly as another bottle is ordered to their booth, “Already bought your time, now I gotta buy the bottle?”

You laughed, crossing your legs and batting your lashes, “Why of course~ How else am I supposed to pay my phone bill?” Your most devoted customer here had a bad habit of texting you at all hours of the day and night. It was cute! He’d even brag to you about scamming older women out of their money just to pay you.

Endo sucks in a breath, teeth bared in a grin, “Cold. Fine then, baby, I’ll order whatever is expensive.” Somehow those words felt like a challenge. He’d give everything to toy with you. You both knew it. That’s what he found so alluring about you. For as much as he tried to manipulate you, get you to come home with him, get you to bend to his will, you put up a fight of your own. “You’re an honored guest, but we need to start of slow!” You’d say and “Oh, but surely I’m more expensive than you can afford~?” It was cat-and-mouse. If you’d just let him tap it from the start, maybe he would’ve left you alone. But no.

“And here I am, abandoning my masterpiece for little ol’ you.” Chiika was already far long in the process. Endo didn’t need to worry too much about his masterpiece going astray. He could just gently bap him back into place with a few nudges. You were his newest fixation. He knew you had a certain cruelty he couldn’t ignore. He saw the glimmer in your eyes whenever you drew in some poor sucker like a sailor to a siren’s song. The dark ocean of sneering delight when you had a man hook, line, and sinker only proved that the two of you were cut from the same cloth. You were the object of his desires – a challenge, even. If only you’d listen to him and you’d be perfect. If only you’d let him in.

In his mind, he was playing 4D chess. He pretended to be utterly infatuated to you, to trust him. Then he’d gently guide you into hell with his own two hands. With each stroke of the brush, he’d color you anew. He’d guide you just as much as he’d worship the very ground you stepped on. How beautiful you could be if only you leaned into your carnal desires. To see your delicate hands reach for him in the same, crazed way he reached for you.

The bottle came around with two glasses. You reached for the bottle only for him to grab your hands, “Allow me~.” If you only listened to his cash, he’d make the money talk.

#a little concept wip #I'd like to write a full piece for this concept when i have the time to #he just gives me such stark unhealthy/toxic yandere vibes so it most likely would be a gently dc fic concept i think #yamato endo x reader #endo x reader #wind breaker x reader #windbreaker x reader #cw manipulation #cw drinking #.✄.windbreaker #.✄.endo #cw yandere #cw dc #just putting it in case even though it hasn't actually gotten there

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kaihuntrr · 1 year ago

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A bunch of Scott designs I did for warmups <3 using my personal head canons for each one! Explanations for their looks and ‘names’ down below!

Life Series: Scott!

I love all of them so much,, I wanted to keep their outfits and general vibes simple, they’re all pretty but also some practicality in their wardrobes as they are in some type of survival game ehe.

3rd Life: Poppy

Self explanatory name, this version of Scott is the sweetest and the most disconnected from the survival games. He only wanted to live with his husband in their little paradise in forms of flower valleys and endless wheat fields, completely isolated from the war. His outfit is of a gardener, overalls and a sunhat with his and Jimmy’s favorite flower; poppies. He grew out his hair and ties it, not wanting it to be in the way of his work. He is overly protective of his husband, wanting to keep him safe and away from danger for as much as he possibly can. A widow’s rage is something else.

I imagine 3rd Life designs to be more humanoid, so Scott here is an elf! This soul of his moved on to Empires, where he spends the rest of his days with his husband in sweet bliss.

Last Life: Star

Earned the name after being victorious in the game of betrayal. A guiding star to others, he keeps the titular mark on his forehead for the remainder of his time in the Life Series due to being a winner, a reminder of him losing his final life to a lightning bolt. He is the most cunning, using his wits and trust to be a strong ally. He lived in the center of all the chaos with his partner, his best friend Pearl, using little moths to communicate to each other. With sheltered forests and a cottage as their ‘home’, he has deer-like features and antlers to boot. Perhaps this was an attempt to recreate a copy of Poppy, as he has some memories of ‘his’ previous life. He dresses in a neat dress shirt and vest, matching with his best friend and fitting the aesthetic of their pretty house in the woods. Just don’t touch the wall, please.

I wanted to use yellows for this design, as he starts off with two lives! Plus, the contrast looks so good <3 this soul is the host of future life seasons, having full clarity of this life when he goes into future events. Once a series is over, all precious memories will wash over him and the star will hover over his head. This is his ‘real’ form, his ‘winning’ soul.

Double Life: Venus

Named after the brightest ‘star’ next to the moon, he feels isolated. He felt something familiar as he was brought into this life, but he never expected to be connected to Pearl. He shouldn’t blame her, but he doesn’t deal well with being alone. Somehow, he still has a brief memory of Poppy’s as he feels.. something when Jimmy’s soulbound isn’t with him. He loves being with Cleo, his chosen soulmate, and being Pearl’s soulbound meant he could feel her frustration and loneliness. Should he have been there for her? Likely. He couldn’t bare seeing her face again. He couldn’t bare losing her again. Not again. Maybe it was better this way, they’re both hurting. He hopes this is better.

I used green as he was green in his iconic and heartbreaking moment of splitting off with Pearl and Martyn to join up with Cleo, and also I can remember him being mostly green until Pearl ups and ruins that- he’s a ram, his horns shifting to ram horns to solidify his stubborn nature to reconnect, and a general ranch aesthetic given he and Cleo made a whole soulmate ranch thing. The hair over his eyes are to hide his teary eyes, still missing and hurting over his soulmate.

Limited Life: Coral

A fitting name for the person who established the Coral Isles. The cottage was in the middle of it all, so he wanted his life to be away from all the drama, just by the side of the map near the ocean to relax. Unfortunately, things just won’t stop coming for him. Be it being the boogeyman first, allying with someone who you swore was supposed to kill you, and more memories of your past life you don’t understand coming back to haunt you, it’s a little too much. He can’t help but be flirty with Martyn though, the man definitely bites back. He finds his partner’s overprotective-ness rather adorable, and he’d do anything for him back, even give him time.

Fish!! Drastically different than my AU design, which is good- used his red skin as he did wonderfully as a red name and whenever I think of Limited Life I’d always think of Red Scott, which I adore <3 he does have long hair, can’t not have his long hair for him!

Until series five comes out, these are my thoughts and ideas for Life Series Scott! I’d love to write out possible interaction ideas but I’m afraid this post might be too long LMAO- a good break from Sea Prince content, but I absolutely adore the life series and the pseudo-story I have for this guy in particular. Who knows, you might see fullbodies of them in the future? :D no promises!

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stripedstarsblueflags · 4 months ago

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i didn't win the wheel: episode 1

(if anyone knows how to make gifs 🥺 please help me out until then it's shitty screenshot summer)

Alex: "I'm gonna say... 400,000."

Logan: "I'm gonna say 430,000”

ok cool let's introduce the WHOLE DYNAMIC of this episode in one still, shall we? alex is looking directly into the camera pondering the shit out of this question, and *this is logan's face*. look at that. look at that fucking smirk. alex is like "you know what? i'm going to get this question right" and logan is like "you know what? i'm gonna use the oldest trick in the pick-a-number-1-through-10 book and i'm gonna WATCH you get annoyed with me and i'm gonna love every second of it." he knows what he's doing

Alex: "Oh, you're playing that game, are you? Just gonna go a bit above?"

Logan: *smoothest fucking wink i've ever seen* *the fucking TONGUE CLICK*

ok WHAT. how am i supposed to handle this i– let's start with the fact that even before logan gave his answer he's leaning back, head cocked, gazing at alex ✨like that✨ practically about to do the arm-around-the-shoulder-thing **before** because he knows exactly how alex is going to react. that fucking wink he had that planned from the beginning. even before alex phrased it like "oh, you're playing that game, are you?" which WOAH BRAT TAMER ALEX DID NOT SEE THAT COMING and jesus christ i feel like i'm intruding on something. this doesn't even feel like ao3 this feels like the beginning of a shit 2k word wattpad draft but no this actually happened

Alex (after guessing exactly 1 less than Logan's and getting it right): "Yes!"

Logan (sunshine smile): "You're a donut..."

okay so apparently alex’s reaction to being called a donut 🍩 is that smile and leaning into logan for the first time in the video and giggling and idk fucking blushing like what kind of degradation kink is this... like i'm sorry i love you landoscar but "you freaking muppet! you got all the hangers!" will need to step aside for whatever is going on here

need i remind you this is ALEX'S reaction to kph. logan brought the k in there first guys leave your what the fuck is a kilometer bit behind ok!!! (i'll find this eventually but logan answering that question on "wrong answers only" with "i'm gonna answer this correctly. it's 1.6 to a mile" is the hottest thing i've ever seen)

aaaaaand here we go end of the video. DO I NEED TO DO A SIDE BY SIDE COMPARISON OR WHAT actually–

alright that's the best you're gonna get with preview. but LET'S BREAK IT DOWN. so we go from logan doing literally all of the talking, all of the video introduction and explaining the activity, and alex even with his whole "oooh ray of sunshine" image clearly thinks this is stupid, he even makes little sarcastic hand gestures when logan describes it. and even right in the beginning he's not looking at the camera he looks like an adhd kid sat next to the window (come on alex look alive). but THREE MINUTES of an admittedly stupid game he's done a total 180, smiling and laughing and literally that wasn't that funny but now i'm gonna laugh because you're the one who said it and leaning in to read the cards for the first time and- well logan is mostly unchanged. from the first question he decided his main task for this video was literally just to check out his teammate at point blank range with his emotions very very clear on his face (alex is OBLIVIOUS af but then again he did pull out the "oh you're playing that game are you?" and i was NOT ready for that so who knows)

ok so episode 1 is very much a warmup for the rest of the series i know that. obviously this isn't the "reaching stratospheric levels of homoeroticism that actually leave a wake of collateral damage to all compulsory heterosexuality in a 50 m radius" as charlos but holy shit it's a lot more obvious than i thought!!!

episode 2

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sweetiesicheng · 2 months ago

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seungkwan - injury

word count : 702

the door slides open, "y/n!" seungkwan shouts and hurries towards you. "you okay?" he asks.

"huh? why are you here?" you ask him, knowing that his schedule is packed today.

"i'm supposed to be at a recording session, but i left when one of the managers texted the group chat," he explains and sets his bag down on a chair. "what happened?" he asks.

you sigh, "fell off the ladder when i was helping my sister," you shortly explain. "it's not that bad.”

"you're in a cast."

"okay, so it's a little bad."

seungkwan sits on the edge of the bed and holds your hand. he brushed some of your hair out of the way.

"how long are you out for?" he asks.

"long enough to miss rehearsals for the tour," you reply, staring at your injured leg.

seungkwan glances over at the cast and then back at you. he knows you're upset, but you're keeping yourself composed with him there.

"i can tell you're upset you know. you're not good at acting," seungkwan says and reaches over to pat your head.

"cause i can’t dance with you,” you reply, leaning towards him.

“hey, look at me,” he says to you. you look up at him. “even if you can’t dance, we’ll still find a way to make the best memories. besides, i’m dragging you on tour whether you like it or not,” he says and wraps an arm around you to hug you.

—

it's been a few days since you were discharged from the hospital. you have been spending a lot of time at home since you can't do much.

today, you decide to hang out at the company building to watch one of the rehearsals for the tour. you're friends with a lot of people who will be on tour too, so you won't be alone the entire time the guys are rehearsing.

"y/n, you're here?" dino asks as you enter the room with seungkwan.

"hi," you greet everyone present.

"sit over here," one of the dancers says, pushing a bag off of a chair. you go over to the chair and sit down.

"i got these," seungkwan says and takes your crutches. "don't dance," he says to you in almost a strict tones while pointing at you.

you pout but seungkwan kisses your forehead before putting his stuff down and starting to warmup with the others.

"has he been helping you?" one of your friends asks while stretching.

you nod, "yea, he's been helping a lot actually. i feel really bad. everyone is busy, and i probably ruined everything," you say before receiving a whack of the head, "ow!"

"you didn't ruin anything," one of your friends says. "everything will be fixed. maybe we can drag you on stage somehow," he says to you.

—

rehearsal continues going on and everyone runs through one of the bigger stages. all of the dancers are involved, so you sit by yourself.

you do the arm movements as the music plays, trying to keep yourself occupied so you aren't bored the whole time.

you watch everyone dance and start to get a bit sad about how you can't dance with everyone.

"y/n!"

you look around and see one of your friends pushing a chair with wheels on it towards you.

"come on, come on," he quickly speaks and gestures you to sit in the chair.

you get up and sit down on the chair. your friend starts pushing you across the room, and you have to hold onto the arms of the chair to brace yourself.

"too fast! too fast!" you shout as you make it across the room. the chair turns and someone else starts pushing you across the room again.

as the music continues, the dancers go back to dancing while you're in a random spot on the floor.

"y/n, what are you doing?" seungkwan asks, not even dancing to look at you.

"gotta be a part of the show somehow, right?" you reply. seungkwan smiles and laughs.

he leans in to give you a quick kiss before returning to dancing while you continue to be moved around and enjoying rehearsal despite not being able to dance.

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greynatomy · 1 year ago

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outside perspective

katie mccabe x reader

third part to my mccabe fic. there wasn’t supposed to be a second or third but i’ve just liked to write this.

part 1 part 2

———

Casey is attending an Arsenal game with three of her friends. Decked out in jerseys of their favorite players, posters in hand, they make their way to their seats, right by the field.

Arsenal walks onto the field to warm up. Fans start to cheer. It was very cold out so most fans had on big puffy jackets and scarves. As Casey converses with her friends, a figure sits in the open seat next to her.

Looking to her left, she tries not to freak out seeing Y/N Y/LN sitting next to her. She’s surprised to not see you in a private box. She was hoping to see you, especially after the instagram live incident, and see you watch Katie be captain today.

“Good evening.” You greeted Casey. Breaking out of her shocked state, she greeted you back. “It’s freezing out right now. Wish I brought a thicker jacket.”

“I surprisingly came prepared for the weather.” Casey replied, not really believing who she’s talking to.

“Who’s the one player you’re hoping to meet?”

“Oh, Alessia Russo. She amazing.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

The players have just finished warmups and walking back into the tunnel. Katie, spots where you told her you’d be sitting.

“‘ey there, lovey.”

“Hey, baby.”

Katie reaches over and pulls you in for a hug. She frowns, feeling you shivering.

“You’re shivering, baby.”

“Just a bit cold. Didn’t realize how cold it was gonna be.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Casey watches as Katie runs away towards the tunnel. Not even a minute later, she comes back with the big red windbreakers all the nonstarters are wearing.

“Put this on.” Katie didn’t let you say anything and just started putting your arms through the sleeves, flipping the hood over your head.

“I look like a marshmallow.”

“You look cute. But I’ve got to go now. See you after?”

“Always.”

Casey’s heart nearly melted hearing the conversation. Her heart actually melted when Katie leaned down to give you a kiss.

“You guys are so cute.” The statement came out before Casey could stop herself. She slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. You just laugh, thanking her for the compliment.

You were fairly quiet, scrolling through your phone until the teams walked out of the tunnel. Everyone was screaming and cheering, but you could be heard over every single person.

“My girl’s lookin’ sexy with that armband!”

She saw Katie throw her head back, laughing loudly, giving you a flying kiss, which you ‘caught’ and put it in your (Katie’s) jacket pocket.

After the game, Katie came straight to where you were and you give her all your love.

“Would it be possible to get a picture with you?” Casey asked, shyly.

“Of course. Kate, get in here.”

After the picture, you pull Katie close to whisper something in her ear. Couple second later, she comes back with Alessia by her side.

“Hey, Lessi.”

“So good to see you.”

“This is Casey. A big fan of yours.”

“Well, hello Casey. How are you?”

Casey tries not to freak out. Here she was, talking to her favorite footballer, all thanks to you.

“Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you for being great company.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Of course. Come here.”

Casey watched you, Katie, and Alessia leave. She freaks out with her friends, squealing, laughing, and jumping.

The best day of her life.

———

“Guys. I just got back home from the Arsenal game and it was the best experience of my life. I sat next to Y/N Y/LN and let me just say, she is the nicest person ever. I don’t care what you all have to say, she’s become one of my favorite people.

I freaked out when she sat next to me. Katie came over to give her her jacket cause it was freezing. The whole game, she was fangirling over Katie and it was the cutest thing ever.

After the game, still so cute, but earlier I told her that Alessia was my favorite, and she asked Katie to bring her over, so I got a picture with them all and Alessia signed my jersey!”

comments

user that’s so sweet

user ugh so lucky

yourinstagram thank you for being such great company! hope to see you again soon!

↳ katie_mccabe11 sorry you had to deal with her the whole game

↳ yourinstagram sleeping on the couch

↳ user ohh katie’s in the doghouse tonight

alessiarusso99 so good to meet you!

↳ caseyinstagram im freaking out! lovely meeting you!

user she’s not even all that. katie could do so much better

↳ yourinstagram that “follow back” really says something - katie

↳ yourinstagram katie!

↳ alessiarusso99 the mums are fighting @/leahwilliamsonn

↳ leahwilliamsonn i’m on y/n’s side

↳ katie_mccabe11 oi! i’m your teammate!

↳ caseyinstagram not you guys fighting in my comments

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccard

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august-anon · 5 months ago

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okay but could I prompt 72. "Hold up, I'm supposed to be the mischievous one in this relationship!" with Bloodweave???

find the list of warmup prompts and which fandoms i am taking here!

UPDATE: there's a sequel!!

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

Sure thing sure thing!! Keep in mind that i am a slow gamer without much time to game so I still haven't finished my first runthrough, and also I am not romancing either of this characters so idk how in-character this actually is dskjfhsdf Hopefully this is good!! Thank you for the warm-up prompt!!

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Mischief

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Gale

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Astarion/Ler!Gale

Word Count: 431 words

Summary: Gale gets a little mischievous when it comes time to retire.

[ao3 link]

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

Astarion didn’t do this sort of thing. He didn’t stay the night, didn’t cuddle up in dark tents and warm bedrolls. Before a certain wizard wriggled his way past Astarion’s defenses, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone touched him without his skin crawling.

And yet here he was, wiggling his way underneath a pile of soft, richly colored blankets (and how did Gale lug all those around when they moved camp?) with Gale doing the same at his back (his back) and he’d grown so used to the routine that he didn’t even falter once. Every cell in his body should have been screaming with unease, but all Astarion could manage was a huff of faux-annoyance as Gale slung an arm around his waist.

That was, until Gale started tracing nonsense patterns against his skin, mind clearly still lost in the spell scrolls he’d been pouring over before they retired for the evening. Astarion’s traitorous muscles twitched under Gale’s fingers, his stomach sinking in on itself to escape the delicate touch. He knew better than to attempt a prayer, but Astarion hoped beyond belief that Gale was too occupied with his own thoughts to notice his body’s involuntary reactions.

Unfortunately, he had no such luck. Gale paused for a mere moment, making an inquisitive little hum in the back of his throat, before his touch returned, light and quick and fluttering. Astarion snatched Gale’s wrist before he could do something embarrassing like gasp or flinch or – gods forbid – giggle, and rolled to face him.

“Now hold on a moment,” Astarion said, refusing to clear his throat and give himself away. “I believe I am supposed to be the mischievous one in this relationship.”

The corners of Gale’s eyes crinkled, the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that the case? I wasn’t aware there could only be one mischief-maker in a relationship.”

Astarion tightened his grip on Gale’s wrist as it tried to break free. Unfortunately, it was the perfect moment of distraction for Gale’s other hand the slither underneath Astarion’s side and pluck briefly at his ribs. This time, Astarion was unable to keep his gasp contained, even as he jerked away.

Gale murmured something under his breath as his grin stretched to full strength, and Astarion felt the familiar shift-pulse in the air of a spell being cast as the smell of ozone filled the tent.

“Now, Gale–”

“Perhaps we ought to test that theory.” Gale twisted his hands out of Astarion’s weakened grip, poising them to attack. What do you think?”

#tickle fic #my writing #bg3 tickling #lee!astarion #ler!gale #ticklish!astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #bloodweave

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enmie · 5 months ago

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⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Living ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

➶ JJK's Megumi, Yuuji, and Nobara and how they treat you in this life. Warming up to writing here so this is like a quick intro!

➶ they take you shopping sorta 【comfort/fluff】

➶ Implied female reader. Cussing (mild)

𓅪 it's jjk copium bcs they're all dead

𓅪 I hope you genuinely like it! It's a lil boring bcs it's warmup 💪 can't tell if it counts as drabble ://

𓅪 the writing hand is a link :))

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You didn't want this life.

Yet here you are.

Oh, how the sun has been brighter ever since that blindfolded freak brought you to this school. If you ask your past self where you would see yourself in the future, you definitely wouldn't have answered "in Jujutsu High." But really—those three are keeping you good company.

"Got it, bestie, getting you candy right NOW!" Nobara Kugisaki always supports you when you're down. Always rushing to the mall or a shop, sometimes a thrift store. And most times, you're getting dragged along to the mess she's making. Instant mood-lifter.

"Yeah, I'm about half sure I can't afford that." You say as she points to a whole set of clothing, co-ords as they call it, and the price tag was... hard to look at. Maybe if you actually had a job and aren't a full-time student. "We'll borrow Fushiguro's money and never pay him back,"

"Fushiguro?" Your eyes widen at her recommendation. "Fushiguro!"

Nearby the two of you is Megumi Fushiguro, simply window-shopping because of course he was dragged into this as well. Holding your wrist like the best friend she was, she makes her way towards the black-haired boy, timid as always.

"Heeeey! Fushiguro-saaaan!" She approaches him. "Hm?"

"We're thinking of buying something but we forgot our wallets." At those words, Megumi almost immediately knows he was going to have to lend some money. He lets out a grumble while fishing his wallet out his pocket. "Fine."

"Hey, look, Itadori-san is right there! Let's tell him we got Fushiguro's wallet!" Yuuji Itadori is one of your closest guy friends you've ever been comfortable with. Again, (for the fifth time probably,) she drags you to the pink-haired boy who's looking at a small candy stand. Huffing this time, she speaks out. "Wallet acquired."

"Wallet acquired?!" He cheers out in joy, jumping up. With a small giggle, you pull him back down on the ground with both hands on his broad shoulders. "But we aren't spending it all, got it, Itadori?"

Both gasp dramatically.

"But—" "No buts." You said the same time as Yuuji.

Now less energized, (though still energized,) the three make their way back to co-ords and stuff it in a cart. Yuuji picks out a little red and black cap, and if you had to be honest, it did look cute on a cute guy.

Of course Megumi notices but doesn't make a snarky and blunt comment about it like he usually does. You figured that he was just a bit introverted, but, oh, how there was so much more than that.

Of course Nobara encourages you to buy more and more things. Cardigans, shoes, headwear; shit, she even suggests you get an early wedding dress. Was this girl crazy or...?

Of course Yuuji makes you wear everything he tries on. He genuinely thinks you look cute in his potential clothing. If something looks good on you and fits on him, it automatically looks good on him in his eyes. Hence, why he shoves all the caps and pairs of sunglasses he wants on your face.

And this was all to cheer you up.

Okay, so maybe you did want this life.

ⒺⓃⓂⒾⒺᛌⓈ debut fic

✍︎

"...But did you really have to spend ALL my money?"

"...yeah."

He groans in frustration but looks down at you tenderly. In a caring way. Unusually. He lifts his hands out his pockets and ruffles your hair, his lips curling up subtly.

"I suppose it's fine, you're cute anyway."

"...I'm WHAT."

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rambleonwaywardson · 4 months ago

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Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 1

Masterpost Now on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Part 11 I think?

Author's note: sorry for the delay on this guys, but I just couldn't get it to a place where I was happy with it for a while. And I don’t like putting things out when I’m not happy with them. Plus I wanted to wait until I watched event finals to make sure I felt relatively okay about the logistics. Plus I've been very busy with life 😬. But this part is a bit longer, so maybe that makes up for it?

Hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics! Here's Bucky's event finals, as promised.

---

The first day of individual event finals, Bucky is alone. Just him, his coaches, and seven of his new closest friends – the other athletes from around the world competing for a medal on men’s floor exercise. The only other men’s event today is pommel horse, and none of the U.S. athletes qualified. Croz damn near did, but he placed ninth after a form break, and only the top eight on each apparatus advance to finals.

So it’s just Bucky back here in the Bercy arena warm-up gym, and he feels oddly bereft. He doesn’t remember the last time he walked into a competition alone, without Curt at his side. It’s been the two of them at the top of men’s gymnastics for years. Even when they competed in college for different schools, they met up at competitions and became fast friends. Since then, they’ve trained together. They’ve competed together. They’ve faced the world and this crazy ass sport together. And now Bucky is alone.

It’s nearing 9am in Paris, and he’s getting ready to do his fourth floor routine of this Olympics. His fourth floor routine in about a week, after qualifications, team, and all-around.

We don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do floor yet, the doctors told him months ago. It’s too much of a risk. It’s too hard on your leg.

Bucky basically told them to fuck off because he planned to try for Paris. Once the idea was in his head – the idea that it could be possible – he couldn’t let it go. He needed to at least try. Honestly, not even he himself knows if he really expected to get this far. On one hand, yes he absolutely did. He’s John fucking Egan; as far as he’s concerned, this is what he was meant for, a destiny set forth by the gymnastics gods. On the other hand, did anyone really expect it after the year he’d had? Did anyone think it was possible? Did anyone think he could do it without hurting himself all over again?

And yet here he is. He wasn’t supposed to do floor exercise at all, and now he’s doing it four times in one week. And honestly, not even he’s sure that it’s a good idea. Not even he’s sure that he isn’t in over his head today.

But that kind of mentality does not have a place on the gymnastics floor.

A wet nose presses against Bucky’s thigh as he sits on the floor, securing his brace once again as he prepares to head out into the arena for warmups. It’s his ever-dutiful good luck charm, getting Bucky through these Games just like he got him through trials.

“Hey bud,” Bucky says, patting Beacon on the head. The golden smiles at him and wags his tail, as if he’s saying you’re not alone, you have me, and it makes Bucky smile, too. “Yeah, at least I have you,” he says. “Just you and me against the world, Bea.”

Beacon licks his hand in agreement.

The golden almost hadn’t made it to the Games, but Bucky and Curt had personally advocated to find a way to get him and his owner across the pond to Paris. USA Gymnastics wasn’t going to turn down their two stars, and they pulled some strings to make it happen. Since it’s an international event, the dog can’t be out on the competition floor, but USA Gym negotiated a way to have him back by the warm-up gym, and at this point just about everyone agrees it was the best decision anyone at the Olympics had ever made. He’s become not only the team USA therapy dog, but the therapy dog for every Olympic gymnast who needs a little extra comfort. Many of the athletes from other countries have made friends with him in the last week, taking photos with him and de-stressing by petting or playing with him. No one goes out onto the floor without petting Beacon for good luck.

Beacon, who started as a USA Gymnastics celebrity, is now an Olympic celebrity. Everyone knows who he is, especially at Bercy. After winning team silver, Curt laid his medal around Beacon’s neck for a picture, citing him as part of the team. He attends interviews with the boys, gets professionally photographed, and can be spotted from time to time around the Olympic Village. The dog even has his own custom “Beacon the Good Boy” pin for the Olympic pin exchange, and it’s quickly become a highly sought after souvenir for the athletes.

A Japanese gymnast, the favorite to win floor finals, walks by as he prepares to head out into the arena. He stops to lean down and scratch Beacon on the ears, and Beacon wags his tail and boops him on the arm. Bucky and the other gymnast exchange a smile and wish each other good luck, and then Bucky’s coach is grabbing his bag for him, letting him know it’s time to go.

As Bucky gives Beacon a kiss on the head and walks away, he’s aware of every single athlete heading out to floor exercise – all eight of them, no matter what country they’re from – stopping to pet the dog. For good luck.

As the announcer calls his name – “For the United States of America, John Egan!” – Bucky walks through the open doorway into Bercy Arena, the American flag projected on the wall behind him. He smiles and waves at the crowd packing the arena on all sides and heads over towards the tumbling floor with the other gymnasts. As he walks, he feels some nerves begin to return, and he runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip as he takes a deep breath.

One more time, he tells himself. He’s hit every other floor routine this week. He can hit this one, too.

He’s leaning over his bag, which his coach had set on one of the chairs to the side of the tumbling floor, when he hears a familiar voice. “Egan, why don’t you give me a smile?”

Bucky whips around, and he can’t stop the grin that breaks out across his face. “What the fuck are you doing here!”

He pulls Curt into a hug and claps him on the back. The other gymnast, not competing today, is wearing one of the red USA Gymnastics coaching polo shirts. He has his Paris Olympics ID card and a floor pass strapped across his body on one of those pink and blue Paris lanyards. Hand-written on the pass in a messy scrawl are the words “MAG Coach 2” – Men’s Artistic Gymnastics coach 2.

“Pulled some strings,” Curt says. “I’m your other coach for the day. Thought you could use some of my awesomeness down here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but hugs Curt again. “Thanks, man.”

Curt grins at him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s rack ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”

When it’s Bucky’s turn on floor, he spares a glance up to the stands. When he was younger, cockier, he’d interact with the crowd constantly during meets. Sometimes his coaches would reprimand him for it, telling him to focus. He didn’t really listen.

He didn’t necessarily lose that cockiness, but a greater wariness has welled up within him during his recovery, dimming it. In the last week, he’s been finding a better balance again, but he’s been different since he returned to competition. During trials, he tried to block out the crowd, not wanting to let it get into his head. He didn’t have quite so much fun, didn’t want to think about anything other than the next apparatus, the next pass, the next skill.

But that was before he cared about who was watching. Here, in Paris, he’s made a point of knowing exactly where Gale is sitting, as if that alone can fight off his nightmare from before all-around. As if that alone can keep his leg together, keep his mind and body on the same page, ensure he can stick the landings on these tumbling passes that his doctors don’t think he should be doing.

Gale Cleven. Bucky’s other good luck charm.

Gale is exactly where he said he’d be, five rows up, right in front of the tumbling floor. Benny is beside him, and Marge, fresh from winning team silver in show jumping, is in the next seat over. She waves excitedly when he looks up, and he waves back. Gale notices him at the last second and breaks into a smile that takes away any last remnants of nerves that had been swarming around Bucky’s head. Any anxiety he feels starts to simply melt away, because Gale smiling at him like that is like basking in the glow of the sun.

On Gale’s other side is Croz, Alex, and Brady. The rest of Bucky’s team, here to hype him up and cheer him on. Brady has a tiny American flag stuck behind each ear, and all three of them are wearing quite obnoxious custom John Egan t-shirts. Bucky wonders how they got them without him noticing.

He stops at the chalk box and kicks the slides off his feet before stepping into it, coating his feet in white chalk as he waits for the go-ahead. Then he leans over to the elevated chalk bowl and does the same to his hands. Over the quiet chatter as the audience waits, he can hear Brady yell “Yeah you get that chalk!” And it makes him laugh.

The commentators on TV will note that John Egan has the second highest start value in this competition. Second by a mere tenth of a point. If he chose to compete the floor routine he wanted to – before he fought with his doctors and coaches over the integrity of his leg and the importance of not fucking it up – he’d have the highest start value by a mile. But as a compromise, he chose to omit one of his harder passes due to the danger of over-rotation and re-injury. The commentators still talk about how it’s incredible that he’s doing what he’s doing at all, that he qualified second on floor after the injury he had.

Bucky knows that, injury or not, his gymnastics speaks for itself. His floor routine speaks for itself. His difficulty score speaks for itself. He knows that, injury or not, he is seen as one of the best gymnasts in the world right now, and that is why he’s here. But sometimes he wishes the commentators and the interviewers and the media would see it that way too, that they’d stop qualifying his accomplishments by saying he’s doing a great job “for being terribly injured just months ago.”

Injury or not, he’s John fucking Egan. And he’s going to make sure everyone in this stadium knows it. Sure he already has the all-around gold, but as long as he’s here, he needs to keep proving that he’s more than a comeback, more than a pity story.

He’s John fucking Egan.

When the green light comes on and the announcer says his name, he swears he can hear his friends cheering for him over anyone else in the stadium, and he lets it fuel him. He salutes the judges, steps into the corner of the floor to set up his first pass, and he throws himself at it with every last bit of energy he has.

Triple twisting double back layout. Perfect stick. Applause. Combination pass. Near perfect stick. Applause. Double salto forward. Stick. Applause. Cartwheel, somersault into the splits. Japanese handstand – his non-acrobatic element – arms straight out to the side, hands pressing into the floor holding himself up, head no more than a fist’s width distance from the floor, legs straight in the air. Hold. Roll out of it. Three more passes left.

On the penultimate pass, he can feel it when he’s only midway through, still ten feet in the air. It’s a feeling no gymnast, no matter how well trained, likes to have: he’s going to under-rotate this. When he lands, in an attempt to save himself from falling on his face, his left foot hits the floor at a very strange angle in front of him and causes him to stumble back a step on his right. He grimaces when he feels a painful tug on his left knee, straining the joint.

Not now, he thinks. Not fucking now.

The commentators on TV will comment on the disconcerting way he landed, the look of concern that flashes across his face before he schools his features once again and regains his balance. They’ll mention his knee, his injury, his comeback, the fact that his doctor’s didn’t think he should do floor but he wouldn’t be stopped.

Curt watches with concern, wondering if his fears were right, that today was just too much. He tries to analyze the way Bucky landed and the look on his face and what it might mean. He’s playing coach today, and he’s trying to make heads or tails of what’s going through Bucky’s head right now. But like any coach, it’s not up to him. Out there on the floor, it’s up to John and John alone. All he can do is watch what happens next.

In the stands, Croz, Alex, and Brady all cringe at the same time, making Gale go “What? What’s wrong?” with his eyes wide in alarm.

“He landed a bit weird on his left,” Croz explains. “Looks like he’s gonna keep going, but…”

Shit.

He’s gonna keep going, but he’d keep going even if he shouldn’t.

Bucky’s fine. Enough. He’s fine enough. He needs to be fine enough. He’s still standing, so there’s no other option. He can still move, so anything else he can work out later. Whether he’s actually fine or if the adrenaline coursing through his body is masking the pain, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter.

He cocks his head, shakes his arms out as he brings his feet together in the corner once again. Just gotta make it one more, he tells himself. It’s fine. We’re fine. He can hear Curt on the sidelines, yelling encouragement despite his own uncertainty. “You’ve got this! Get it done, Bucky! Get it done!”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looks across the floor at the opposite corner. He can see the judges, watching his every move, finding every possible little fault in his performance. He stares them down, like a dare. They all know he has to be perfect on this last pass.

He thinks of Gale. Find your line.

“Find your line,” Gale whispers in the stands. Benny puts a hand on his knee and squeezes in anticipation.

Ignoring the slight stinging pain in his leg, Bucky runs, flips his way into his dismount, and launches himself up into the air to complete the triple full. When he hits the floor, that spike of pain shoots through him again, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to stay in control. He landed with one of his heels just barely out of bounds, and he knows that one-tenth deduction will probably cost him the gold, but he stuck the landing perfectly otherwise. He gets too much power on that pass; he always has, and he’s quite frankly surprised this is the only time he’s landed out of bounds the entire routine. He laughs a little bit anyways, because even if it’s not gold, even if that Japanese gymnast beats him out, he fucking got it done.

He will be only the second American male gymnast to ever win an Olympic medal on floor exercise, and the first since 1976.

Deafening chants of “USA! USA! USA!” go up around the arena, and he salutes before pumping his fist in the air and jumping across the floor, leg be damned. He waves his arms to pump up the crowd, and they cheer for him. Because they know, no matter what country they’re from, what it means for him to be here right now.

“LET’S GOOOO!” He yells out, and he can hear Curt doing the same as he goes absolutely crazy on the sidelines. When Bucky haphazardly shoves his slides back on his feet and hops down, he jumps right into Curt’s arms as the other gymnast lifts him off his feet, jumping up and down in celebration.

“That’s how it’s done!” Curt exclaims.

If Bucky’s in any pain, as the commentators, his coaches, his friends feared he would be, when he steps up onto the podium for the medal ceremony, no one notices. He hides his slight limp. He waves to the crowd. He can’t stop smiling as he bows his head to receive a silver medal. His third medal of the Paris Olympics.

He shakes hands, he poses for photos with the other medalists. He blows a kiss to Gale in the stands. He waves to the crowd. He talks to a reporter about what this means to him.

He has one event left.

—

Bucky sits on the uncomfortable mattress, leaning back against Gale’s warm chest. He’s polishing off one of the infamous chocolate muffins from the dining hall, which he’s been looking forward to all day. Curt snagged it for him earlier that afternoon after Bucky complained about not being able to get to the dining hall to get one himself, and Bucky could have kissed the guy for it. Sure, maybe he still has one more event to go bright and early tomorrow morning, but he’s earned himself a damn muffin and then some. Gale bumps the side of Bucky’s head with his nose, and Bucky raises the muffin up so Gale can have a bite before it’s gone.

Curt and Bucky’s small bedroom is full the night of his floor exercise silver. Tomorrow, he and Curt have rings and vault finals, so it’s a chill night in for them. No drinking or painting the town red or even mingling with the other athletes in the USA House. Bucky and Gale sit together on Bucky’s bed. Curt sits on his own bed, Croz beside him and Brady half laying across them both. Alex sits on the floor in the small space in between, leaning back against Curt’s bed, with Benny also on the floor, leaning against Bucky’s. Marge sat out their little gathering in favor of meeting up with her jumping team, which benny gave her shit for.

Ice is wrapped around Bucky’s knee, which is still sore but doesn’t seem to be seriously damaged. He’s been able to walk fine unless he stays still too long, and Gale took it upon himself to massage his leg earlier in the afternoon (which Bucky totally did not try – and succeed – to turn into a makeout session). Either way, he thinks the soreness might be worth it, because he has three Olympic medals hanging around his neck. And they’re heavy.

“Maybe you should compete with those weighing you down,” Alex jokes. “Give the rest of us a fighting chance.”

Bucky laughs and holds up his second silver medal, bites down on it like he did for the photos on the podium. “Jealous, much?”

“Of Olympic all-around gold medalist, comeback kid of the year, John Clarence Egan?” Alex says dramatically. “No. He’s an ass.”

“Oh fuck off!” Bucky laughs and throws his pillow at Alex, who doesn’t have time to dodge and lets it smack him in the chest. Then he takes it for himself and shoves it behind his back.

“Wait! Bite down on the medal like that again,” Croz orders, motioning to Bucky as he pulls out his phone.

“Aren’t there enough pictures of me biting an Olympic medal?” Bucky asks. There’s at least several from each event so far this week, and if everyone in this room is being honest, they fully expect him to add another medal to his collection tomorrow morning.

Gale makes to unwind his arm from around Bucky to get out of the frame, but Croz says “No, Buck, you stay there.” Gale arches an eyebrow but slowly wraps his arm securely around Bucky once again, pulling him close.

“Oh! Hold on,” Bucky says. He tells Curt to grab his silver medal, and Curt understands. He pushes himself off the bed, nearly knocking Brady to the floor, and grabs his medal from his bedside table, because that’s obviously the perfect place to store an Olympic medal. Reaching across Bucky’s bed, he motions for Gale to bow his head, and he places the medal around the blonde’s neck. A stand-in for his own eventing silver medal.

“There,” Bucky says, pressing his fingers to the medal now resting on Gale’s chest. “Très beau.”

“Très beau,” Gale agrees with a soft smile.

“Okay, look over here,” Croz tells them. And he takes their picture.

Bucky decides not to even be shy about it. He posts the photo on Instagram immediately, with the caption “silver medalists ❤️” at the bottom. Bucky biting down on his silver medal with a smile as he leans back against Gale’s chest. His other two medals hanging around his neck. Gale’s arm wrapped around him as he holds up his own silver medal with his other hand, smiling shyly. Both of them in comfy team USA t-shirts. The ice on Bucky’s knee is barely visible at the bottom of the frame.

“Aren’t you two cute,” Benny teases, reaching up to pat Gale on the leg.

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky kisses him on the cheek. “We sure are,” Bucky agrees. Then he looks at his teammates on the other side of the room, as if he just remembered something very important. “Did you guys see the adorable pictures of Buck and Whiskey after the medal ceremony?”

The other gymnasts shake their heads, and Bucky insists that they look. Gale blushes, trying to hide his face in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky won’t let him. He pulls out his phone and forces Gale to look at his own post with him for about the hundredth time. Gale may be the one who posted it, but Bucky is the one in love with it, as is the rest of America. It’s been re-posted by the US Equestrian, US Eventing, and Team USA accounts, so millions of people have seen the pictures at this point. Between that, opening ceremonies, and the media tracking his and Bucky’s “love story,” he’s gained hundreds of thousands of followers during the past week alone.

After Gale won his individual silver medal, the first thing he did when he saw Bucky again was shove his phone in his face and say “look at my girl!” It wasn’t even himself he was proud of; it was his horse. As usual.

Aside from the professional photos that came out later that day – photographs of Gale on the podium, Gale on Whiskey with a pretty second place ribbon attached to her bridle, Gale and Whiskey together as he held up the medal around his neck – there’s also countless non-professional photos, mostly taken by his groom, Kenny, after he got back to the stables that day.

Bucky’s favorite, though, is a selfie that Gale took, still looking sweaty with his cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions, as he held up the medal. The picture was taken from below, so you can also see Whiskey’s face. Her forelock, which had just been released from a braid, is also sweaty and sticking up in all directions, but she looks like she knows exactly what she just accomplished. Her ears are perked forward and she’s sticking her tongue out at the camera. Bucky’s favorite part is the ecstatic smile on Gale’s face. Him and his mare and nothing but pure exhilaration.

Bucky wasn’t the only one who liked the picture either. It’s tucked in the middle of the photo set Gale posted that night, but it’s the most shared photo from the entire set, circulating across social media platforms and even on the news. The eventing team had been invited to the Today show to talk about their Olympic success, and they displayed that very picture for everyone tuning in to see.

Now Bucky looks around, satisfied, as the other guys find the post and instantly like it and comment on how awesome Gale and Whiskey look, because apparently he’s that kind of boyfriend now. The kind that wants anyone and everyone to know how awesome and adorable and successful and sweet his boyfriend is.

And… boyfriend. Wow. Okay. That’s the first time he’s thought of it that way…

It makes him feel funny. A little scared and uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also warm. It makes him… happy? Proud.

Before he can really panic too much about it, though, Croz is holding up his hand and saying “Wait wait wait, is it true that the horses fly on a plane called Air Horse One?”

Gale chokes on a laugh, blowing warm breath into Bucky’s hair where he’s still hiding his face. It makes Bucky feel fuzzy. He’s been sitting here, wrapped safe and warm in Gale’s arms as he ices his leg for quite a while already, but he’s suddenly very very aware of it.

“Yes and no,” Gale says.

“Air Horse One exists,” Benny explains. “But our horses didn’t fly to Paris on it this year.”

“Well what’s the fuckin’ point then?” Curt exclaims.

Gale shrugs. “Just kinda depends what company is available to fly ‘em. It’s pretty much the same treatment no matter what.”

“Didn’t you say the horses have passports?” Bucky asks. Almost experimentally, he leans forward, out of Gale’s hold, under the guise of taking the ice off his leg. He quickly realizes, though, that he really misses the warmth and security of Gale’s embrace, and that information assaults his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can’t just admit that he loves this guy and be okay with that and let himself be happy and not question it anymore. But every single time he feels himself coming to a new realization about it, it throws him off guard.

Just let yourself be fuckin’ happy, you idiot, he thinks.

He realizes Gale is answering his question. “Yeah, they all have to have a passport to travel internationally. Just like us. Whiskey’s technically been to more countries than I have.” Benny scoffs from the floor below them.

Curt gets up and takes the ice pack from Bucky. “You good?” he whispers, no doubt seeing the startled look on his face. He also accepts the medal that Gale hands back to him.

Bucky nods as he leans forward, basically folding in half as he stretches his leg out, then rubs at the joint.

Gale, who, of course, noticed the concerned exchange between Bucky and Curt, puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You need heat next?” he asks.

Bucky’s heart stutters because yes he does need heat, and of course Gale thought about that and wants to make sure Bucky has what he needs because he’s thoughtful and sweet and it’s not like anything Bucky has ever had before. And why does Bucky feel emotional about that?

And Gale and the others were having a totally different conversation but now everyone is looking at Bucky instead because he got freaked out and pulled away and Gale got concerned because of course he did and now Bucky’s face feels hot.

So he just nods and looks at Gale and sees those beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, wide and sweet and concerned. “Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Yeah, heat would be good.”

Curt gives him a knowing look, flicking his eyes from Bucky to Gale and back, that says almost exactly what Bucky just told himself: stop overthinking this and just be fuckin’ happy that this amazing guy likes you. Curt knows everything Bucky has been through in the last several years. He knows how stupid Bucky can be. And he knows that Gale is one of the best things that could ever happen to him. If Bucky would just accept that.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” Curt tells him, with another look that says now lean back into his arms and quit bein’ stupid.

So Bucky does. He sighs, and he lets himself lean back, and Gale’s arm immediately wraps back around him like it belongs there, and then gentle lips are being pressed to the top of Bucky’s head. And Bucky lets himself smile again.

“Wait what country has Whiskey been to that you haven’t?” Croz asks, now that the attention is off Bucky again.

“Austria,” Gale replies. “That’s where she was born.”

Benny pops his head up and looks, surprised, at Gale. “She was born in Austria?! I thought she was born in Germany.”

“What?” Gale laughs. “Just ‘cause she’s a Hanoverian?”

“Well, yeah,” Benny nods.

Gale shakes his head. “No. Austria. I’ve been to Germany.”

“You imported your horse from fuckin’ Austria?” Brady asks, incredulous. This makes Bucky snort, because clearly Brady knows nothing about these ridiculous equestrian folk. Not that Bucky does. But he’s learning a lot.

Gale nods, and Benny adds, “My gelding came from France. Just about an hour from here.”

Curt returns with the heating pad and helps Bucky wrap it around his leg. “15 minutes, okay? No more.” Bucky nods and Curt returns to his own bed, manhandling Brady so he can sit back down. Brady promptly flops back across his lap.

“Fuckin’ equestrians,” Alex mutters, shaking his head. “Buying horses from Europe and then full sending themselves over shit at break-neck speeds.”

“Yes, that is the motto of FEI eventing,” Gale deadpans, and that makes Bucky laugh, too.

“And he’s funny,” Brady exclaims, nearly smacking Curt in the face as he throws his hand up dramatically. “Damn, Bucky. You gotta tell me where you found this guy so I can find one just like him.”

“On a plane,” Bucky says through a yawn. He grabs onto Gale’s hand, which is resting against his side, and pulls it up close to his chest, interlacing their fingers. “A very special plane.”

This somehow leads into a weird conversation about dating horror stories that Bucky doesn’t much feel like contributing to. The whole world already knows his biggest dating horror story, after all. How much worse can it get after a crazy ex forces your coming out on a global scale?

He’s started letting himself drift off instead, his eyes blinking tiredly closed as his breathing slows, and he settles even more fully into Gale’s arms.

“How’s your leg?” Gale asks him eventually. Bucky blinks his eyes open again when he feels Gale shift, leaning forward to carefully unwrap the heating pad from his leg. The caring gesture makes Bucky feel as warm as the heat did. “It’s been 20 minutes,” Gale whispers. “Don’t tell Curt, but I understand wanting that heat just a little longer.”

Bucky smiles sleepily. “It’s alright,” he says. “A little sore. Somethin’ fuckin’ weird happened when I landed the second to last pass.”

“I know,” Gale says soothingly. “You gonna be alright for tomorrow?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

—

Bucky has always liked rings. Any other event, the slightest inkling of nerves can have a domino effect on your entire body, and one second you’re doing fine, but the next, a bit of tension in your neck can cause you to land all wrong or smack your foot on the apparatus. Next to no one, for example, ever wants to start all-around on pommel horse, because if you are anything other than completely relaxed and perfectly focused, the odds are high that you fuck it up.

Many of the other events are not much better, in that way. There’s no room for nerves or fear on the competition floor, because no matter how good you think you are at hiding them, your body will betray you. It’s Bucky’s biggest concern this season, in his first handful of competitions back after near-certain career death. He’s used to being the cockiest bastard on the floor, for better or for worse. He’s used to having next to no doubt about his capabilities. In the past few months, though, he’s found himself still battling the remnants of the anxiety and the fear that nearly kept him from returning. He fears the pain that he felt when he flew off that high bar. He fears another set back.

After nearly having his career ripped away, after crawling his way back, he fears losing it again. For good.

Still rings are the most forgiving for people like Bucky, who have the brute strength to pour their entire being into that routine. That’s what still rings are about – pure strength. It’s about holding your body as still as can be in positions that other people think look impossible. It creates an illusion of sorts, making people wonder how it can be real. It can be almost meditative, despite the burning in his muscles. All he has to do is hang on and channel the wayward energy in his mind and body into staying still. No matter what Bucky is feeling, he can pour it all into rings and it’ll hardly cost him a thing.

In Tokyo, it was anger. He became known for “angry gymnastics” after his sister died. Between that and the pandemic, he was mad at the whole world, and he shoved all of that emotion into his gymnastics. He limited his focus to one event, and then another, making sure every single move was perfect, crisp, strong out of pure spite and adrenaline. He pushed his way through all of it, straight-faced and with a sheer determination to keep going. Don’t look around, don’t look back, don’t look forward, just do.

The rings are served well by that kind of emotion, and that’s what got him his first silver medal on this apparatus three years ago.

He’s not angry anymore, though. That’s another thing the commentators have caught on to. He’s not angry. He looks like his normal, cocky, carefree self, just having fun out there. The angry, rough gymnastics he was doing three years ago has refined itself into something elegant, strong, unbreakable. He came out the other side somehow better than before, they say.

He’s not angry anymore. But he isn’t always carefree either.

He’s relieved all he has left is rings. Because he’s worried anything else would betray the anxiety slowly creeping over him, the exhaustion weighing him down, the pain crawling up his leg like a vine. He can try to push it away, convince even himself that he doesn’t feel it. But the apparatus always knows. The body always knows. Even if your mind doesn’t. If Bucky’s learned a single lesson through the process of returning to the gym, it’s that.

In the hall outside the warm-up gym, Beacon keeps gently booping John’s bad leg like he knows something is wrong with it before staring up into John’s eyes and wagging his tail. Don’t be dumb, he seems to be saying. Don’t hurt yourself.

“I know, bud,” Bucky says, reaching down to pat Beacon on the head with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be alright, though.”

“The dog’s tryin’ to tell you something,” Curt points out as he sits on the ground beside Bucky, stretching out his hamstrings. Rings and vault finals are on the same day, so Bucky and Curt arrived at Bercy arena together, bright and early this morning. “You sure you’re alright?”

Curt is still worried about the way Bucky landed on that pass yesterday. It was just the right kind of slightly off that it could easily have screwed up something in Bucky’s knee, and he’s concerned that it was something more than some ice and heat last night could fix.

Bucky just shrugs as he straps on his brace. He’d been debating over whether or not he should wear it for rings, since the entire routine relies on upper body strength alone aside from the dismount. But after yesterday, even he can admit that the brace is probably a good call right now.

“It’s a little sore,” he admits. “I mean, I’ve done three all-arounds and an extra floor routine in less than a week. I think that’s to be expected.”

Curt frowns and pauses his stretching to sit up and look Bucky in the eye. “Would you tell me if it was bad?” He knows what it is to push through pain to hit that one more routine. Just one more vault. One more pass. It’s the nature of the sport, always has been. That toxicity of gymnastics might be getting better now, but every athlete is the same. Every gymnast. Just one more. I can do one more.

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. And it’s my best.”

He smirks before kneeling down in front of Beacon and giving the dog a good scratch and a kiss on the head. “Got my good luck charm and everything. What can go wrong?”

He pats Curt on the shoulder, and he hopes to God he’s right.

Today is Bucky’s fifth day walking through that doorway to thunderous applause in Bercy arena, and no matter what, it always feels surreal. Today is his last day in this stadium, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he walks out, smiling brightly and taking it all in one last time. He knows better than anyone that the career of a gymnast is uncertain. He hopes this isn’t his last Olympics; he thinks, if he plays his cards right, he could make it to LA. But there are no guarantees in this sport, or in any sport, especially after the injury he’s had. So he looks around him at the Olympic rings on the walls and the packed stadium cheering “USA! USA! USA!” as he walks out. And he actually lets himself think, for a moment, about how goddamn lucky he is to be here.

The Tokyo Olympics were a mess for him, between COVID and the death of his sister looming over him. Paris has been the exact opposite, with team and individual success, good times with his friends, meeting Gale, getting to actually be with other people. He has loved every single moment.

Despite having to prepare for vault finals, taking place in just a couple of hours, Curt manages to leave the back gym and get to the competition floor for Bucky’s turn on rings. He stands to the side of the rings podium with the coaching staff, calling out things like “You got this!” and “Show them what’s what” and “Just remember, you’re a fuckin’ Greek God! Buck said so!”

Bucky chokes as he takes a drink from his water bottle, looking over at Curt and mouthing what the fuck?

“It’s true! He did!” Curt yells back.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. Somewhere inside, he knows Curt said that on purpose to get him to relax, but hey, if it works it works. His eyes scan the crowd as he adjusts the ring grips on his hands and rubs chalk over them. He quickly finds the rest of his team, and right beside them are Gale and Benny, who have taken the time to be here this morning before rushing to Versailles to watch equestrian in the afternoon.

Bucky waves, as has become custom this week. As if he can’t start his routine without waving. Gale smiles at him and waves back.

“Go John!!!!” Benny yells. He’s quickly joined by the other gymnasts, who get to their feet and jump up and down obnoxiously, yelling his name. Bucky shakes his head and re-focuses on preparing for his last event of the Paris Olympics. He checks his brace one last time.

When the green light finally comes on by the judges’ table and the announcer calls his name, he salutes, and then he jumps up to grab the rings. His coach grabs his legs from behind and lifts him higher while he adjusts his hold, then eases him down so he’s hanging from the rings, arms straight. Bucky’s on his own.

He rotates himself upwards, keeping his whole body perfectly straight, so his legs swing up over his head and then back down again in a full 360, leading into his first strength hold, a cross. “The iron cross,” they call it, because the gymnast is meant to look immobile, still as a statue, a pillar of strength. Bucky has spent years perfecting it. He spreads his fingers out, letting go of the rings so his hands rest flat on them, just to show off a little. It’ll make the commentators laugh, because even though it’s such a small gesture, it’s so characteristically John – a little bit of a show-off.

He lets himself drop down, feeling that familiar pull straining his shoulder muscles before he pulls his hips upward, folding himself in half with his upper body upside down, legs straight, toes pointed towards the ground. He holds himself like that for just a moment, gathering his strength, before launching himself upwards, flipping his legs up towards the ceiling so he’s upside down again, landing in an inverted cross. His muscles ache as he holds himself up, arms out to the sides as straight as possible.

Don’t wobble, he thinks, trying to keep his legs still and straight, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 2 seconds. Each strength hold must be held for 2 seconds, but sometimes those 2 seconds feel like forever.

Letting himself drop out of the hold with a quick exhale of relief, he throws himself into a couple of swing elements, flipping around first in a tucked position and then in a piked position until he stops stock still in a perfect maltese. His body is perfectly parallel to the floor, his arms extended below him, holding him steady. One. Two.

From there he sinks down until his body is level with his arms, his arms out to the sides. A maltese cross. One. Two.

Relax. Drop, hang upside down. Flip up into a handstand. Hold. Drop. Up into another handstand.

And then the kicker. The skill that, if he can hit, will indisputably secure him another medal in this event. It’s the reason his difficulty score is the highest of anyone here. The reason he qualified first in the world for rings.

He used to flip himself up into another maltese cross, impressive and highly valued in itself. But before his accident, he’d been working on another skill that he’s wanted to achieve for years. When he came back to gymnastics after months of being told he never would, with his leg giving him grief but his upper body strong as ever, he threw himself into perfecting this skill because, if absolutely nothing else, he still had rings.

First he does another swing element, flipping himself up until he stops, perfectly immobile, in another cross. One. Two.

Then ever so slowly, he tilts himself back, his legs extending out in front of him until he’s parallel to the ground again but facing upward. His arms are extended out to the side, level with the rest of his body. An inverted maltese cross.

His shoulders burn. His core. His back. His everything. But this skill has been attempted by so few, and done well by almost none, that of course John Egan took one look at it and went “I can do that.”

So he did it. He’s doing it.

He competed the skill in qualifying, but chose to omit it from all around in an attempt to save his upper body. He made the decision to bring it back today, because he can’t resist a little showing off. And, he won’t lie, he wants that damn gold medal. It’s only the third time he’s ever performed this skill in competition – once at Trials, and twice in Paris, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through it as the two requisite seconds seem to pass in slow motion. One… Two…

But finally, they do pass. Fighting the urge to gasp in relief, he lowers himself out of the strength hold and flips up to one final handstand. A couple flips on the rings to build momentum, and then he’s launching himself up into his dismount, flipping and twisting through the air until his feet hit the ground and he sticks the landing perfectly.

The moment his feet hit the mat, the entire arena is cheering and applauding for what he just accomplished. Even in a foreign country, an unmistakable chant of “USA! USA! USA!” goes up around the stadium for John Egan. He forces a smile, feeling a sense of pride wash over him for a fraction of a second. It’s just too bad that it can’t last, because the moment his feet hit the mat, no matter how perfect of a landing it was, he felt the pain.

Pain shooting up through his left leg, filling him with some instant, vague sense of dread and nausea that he knows he has to push through right now.

He keeps that damn smile on his face. And why not, he just gave the best rings performance of his life. He hit the skill he’s dreamed of hitting for years. He’s in Paris, and a French stadium is blaring with a chant for the United States, for him.

He salutes the judges, because he isn’t officially done with the routine until he does. He pumps a tired fist in the air. It’s uncharacteristic, not like his typical scream of “LET’S GO” as he hypes up the crowd, much like he did after floor. But he just… can’t. He can’t right now.

“Fuck,” he mutters instead.

He needs…

He lowers himself slowly to the ground with a grimace, pulling his left knee up close to his chest as he leans back on his left hand. Then even that is too much, and he lets himself fall onto his back so he’s staring up at the ceiling, staring up at the bright lights that blind him.

“Bucky!” Curt yells from the side. “John?”

The USA chant disintegrates into nothing as the stadium goes silent.

...

Please don't be mad.

Much of Bucky's rings routine comes from Asher Hong's in 2023 (right through the first maltese cross)

After the maltese cross, I have Bucky doing an inverted maltese cross (or inverted swallow), which is kinda insane

Side note: I would die for Stephen Nedoroscik ❤️❤️

#clegan olympics au #he’s John fucking Egan #beacon the good boy #John is an idiot #Gale can do no wrong #Curt is a good bro #clegan #mota #masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #clegan fic #bucky egan #buck cleven #curt biddick #mota fic

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starlostastronaut · 1 year ago

Text

━ PAS DE DEUX

PAIRING: lee minho x reader

GENRE: fluff (i guess), ballet au

WC: 1.15k

CW: some curse words, ballet lingo?

SUMMARY: when your dance partner gets injured, he recommends you his friend to take his place

this one had been in my drafts for some time haha. it's inspired by titania and oberon pas de deux from a midsummer night's dream. i tried to cut down the ballet terminology as much as possible, but there's still some, so don't hesitate to ask if it's unclear :) btw this story is supposed to be set in sydney, don't ask me why lol. anyway, hope you enjoy <3

masterlist here

You walked into the empty studio, throwing your bag near the wall. After fixing your hair and changing your sneakers for a pair of ballet slippers, you walked over to the barre. You figured you might as well warm up before your partner arrives. You placed your hands lightly on the barre for extra support and began with a simple set of pliés and relevés, thinking about your current situation.

When you heard that a part from A Midsummer Night's Dream was on the list for your dance program's showcase, you immediately signed up for an audition, hoping you would get to dance the pas de deux. The odds were in your favour, because you ended up getting the role of Titania and your Oberon turned out to be a boy from the year above, Chris. You never really talked to him properly outside of class, but the rehearsals have been going fine. He was an easygoing person and you worked together really well, becoming somewhat good friends during the first few rehearsals. Until he came to you earlier this week with his hand in a cast, apologizing that he wouldn't be able to dance with you. He told you he fell from his skateboard and broke his wrist.

So there you were, waiting for your new dance partner. Everything you knew about him was from Chris. This guy was apparently a new transfer student from Korea and Chris was helping him to get used to everything. According to Chris, the new guy was an excellent dancer and he convinced him to dance the pas de deux with you. You were hesitant at first, you never even met him, but it was either that or getting cut from the showcase completely, because everyone else had their own numbers to prepare.

Just as you looked at the clock for the third time, debating with yourself if it is worth waiting here any longer, the door opened. A guy in a grey hoodie walked in, his face covered by the shadow of the hood. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered, dropping his bag on the floor before he joined you at the barre.

"You're Minho, right?" you asked after introducing yourself, because the dancer didn't seem to start talking. To your disappointment, this didn't start a conversation either - Minho just nodded and muttered a simple "Yes". The rest of the warmup was spent in silence.

When the time came to actually practice, you went to your bag to get your bottle of water first, while Minho finally took off his hoodie. You saw only his reflection in the mirror, though it gave you the option to secretly properly check him out. And he was beautiful, you had to admit that. Sharp, cat-like eyes that looked both mysterious and welcoming were what you noticed first. Then it was longer, dark brown hair, kept out of his face by a white bandana. Even in his comfortably loose clothing he wore to practice, he looked like a faerie prince. Oddly perfect for the role of Oberon, your fae husband.

“Do you know the steps or do you need me to walk you through it?” you asked when you were both ready to practice.

“I watched the videos Chris gave me. I'm good with the solo parts and I know the rest too, but I only practiced on my own, so…” He shrugged. You couldn't help but look at him with admiration. It had only been a few days and he claims to have learned it? If that was true, then he must be really talented, you thought to yourself.

“Okay, so let's try the first part? Until my first arabesque.” Minho agreed and got into position while you prepared the music. He was the one starting the number, while you were supposed to join in a bit later.

As you searched through your playlist, for a moment you considered putting on your pointe shoes. Ultimately, you decided against it for now. You already knew most of Titania's steps on pointe and besides, Minho was learning it. It was very likely you would go over tiny details over and over again and you reached the conclusion that it wasn't worth it.

After you found the song, you confirmed with Minho that he was ready and you pressed play. As soon as he began dancing, you were mesmerized. His moves were light and fluid, but there was a certain sharpness in them as well, perfectly embodying the essence of a royal. He had a concentrated look on his face, but still found a way to portray emotion. You could only stare with your mouth hanging open. This boy was good. Amazed by Minho, you almost missed your cue and registered his outstretched hand towards you at the last possible second.

Placing your hand in his, your eyes met and you saw mischievous sparks in them as he pulled you along, guiding your movements just like the choreography instructed. His grip on you was firm but not too tight and you managed to get through the part without any troubles.

When the time for the next steps came, you began to feel a bit nervous. After all, this was the part with penché en pointe and the only thing stopping you from falling onto your face and breaking your nose would be Minho. He had not given you a single reason to think he would let you fall. In fact, you knew it would be okay, but the tiny voice of doubt in your head persisted. It was like that with Chris too, though.

“Come on, we have to practice,” Minho said. Waiting for you to come join him, he fixed his bandana using the wall mirror. In order to do that, he had to untie it, letting his hair fall over his eyes. In a moment he, with a prince-like gracefulness, brushed them away and readjusted the headband on his head. “What, worried I'll drop you?” he asked, smirking. You rolled your eyes at that, but he was right. That was your main concern, apart from his beauty, but you decided there would be time to unpack that later.

Anxiously, you assumed the correct positions as Minho stood behind you, gently helping you balance the arabesque. “I'll never let you fall,” he whispered into your ear as his strong arms circled around your waist, sending butterflies into your stomach. And when he safely guided you into the penché, you believed him. Somehow, you knew you could put all your trust in your new dance partner. He made you feel safe.

All that was left on your mind as he helped you through the move back into an arabesque was a single word. Fuck.

The next rehearsals were going to be hell, you thought, already making a mental note to both thank Chris and curse him for getting you Minho as a dance partner.

#( all works⎯ 🗃 )#lee minho x reader #lee minho #lee know #lee know x reader #stray kids fanfiction #fluff #(i guess idk what genre this is)#ballet au

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strwbivy · 3 months ago

Note

Im soooo obsessed with your writing, i just wanna let you know that you're my fave writer even if your fictions go short sometimes :'D.

If any chance you write for Kenma or Hinata OR Tsukishima, i would like to request something for one of them (or if you want all) with their date preference with reader who's in a romantic relationship with them? Like reader and character is new on their relationship and this is their 1st date? How would the character react? Or how they would initiate the date?

I hope it fits your criteria! I really love your fics so much!

LOVERS' FIRST DATE .ᐟ

synopsis. being in a newly established relationship with him calls for a first date with him nothing could go wrong, right?

wc. 1.6k words | genre. fluffy | cw/tags. running around, amusement park date, hyper hinata, carousel, rollercoasters, fireworks

m.list // hq. masterlist

you've got mail ✉ ! hi anonn, omg ilysm i apologies that my fics are so shortt but i swear i'm trying to improve on making my fics more long!! also i was supposed to make all chars but i got too lazy and i wouldn't be able to finish it immediately anyways.

♡ HINATA SHŌYŌ because of hinata's monster energy and scarily long stamina, which means that he would be the type of guy who loves going to active dates, something that requires doing physical activities in a fun way.

he's the type of guy who would take you on places/dates like amusement parks, indoor trampoline parks, bike rides, or just regular old volleyball. even if you make mistakes receiving the ball, he doesn't mind it at all, as long he gets to play his favorite sport he's contented.

but everyone knows that no one can keep up with his rampant energy.

ʚ 🍓 ɞ

shoyo grabs your wrist and pulls you to the large entrance of the amusement park as he ran at the speed of light, making you almost trample over your own foot.

now, finally reaching the entrance, you let out short puffs and pants while the hand that hinata didn't hold was on your knee. while you were breathing heavily, you heard a loud excited shriek coming from the orange-haired boy.

"ahhh!! yes, we're finally here!!" he exclaims loudly, while his eyes sparkled brightly with excitement.

"y-yea.. " you spoke, tired still in your voice. hinata then turns to you with an eager expression that turned into a more concerned one after seeing you panting state.

"[name] are you okay??" hinata questions as he helps you get up by pulling your wrist.

after helping you get back on your feet, you spoke. "yea, i just kinda got worn out cause you ran so dang fast.."

your comment made shoyo rub the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly while doing so. "oh haha.. sorry, i get carried away sometimes, especially when i'm excited!" You chortled at him and said to him that it was all fine as you fixed your clothes as you got up.

"well, i think i'm ready now!" you announced, having a cheery smile displayed across your face. and once your words reached his ears, he excitedly pulled you. he was about to start sprinting, but his feet halted after getting reminded about what happened earlier, he lets out an awkward giggle, and he then walked with you further at the entrance of the amusement park.

and so, once you and hinata went inside the main part of the park, you both were ecstatic when you heard the sounds of rollercoasters scraping and moving along its tracks, and the loud screams of joy that came from it.

you both then immediately start going on rides. first, you both got on a rollercoaster, nothin' special, just a warmup. afterward, hinata pointed at a ship that was swaying side to side, each sway getting higher and higher as it went.

it's intimidating, you know that, but hinata reassured he'll hold you tightly, and you and him will sit at the middle seats. with his affirmation, you not so bravely marched up to the ride with him.

god, were you not ever more scared than you thought you would be. you were screaming your lungs out every time you felt your stomach disappeared when the ship would descend from it's highest point, while hinata was screaming just as loud as you but, it wasn't because that he was scared, it was because he was actually having fun without fear!

you chanted out prayers as the ride continued on for a few minutes, and when the ride did end, you were left in a shriveled state. your legs wobbled when you took a step out of the ship, and your boyfriend was panting in a joyous manner.

you whip your head towards the ominous ride, and your eyes glared at it as if it was a real person that you had hatred on. "i will never ride you again, you piece of ship." (yes ik it's a damn pun) you angrily mumbled to yourself, swearing that you will never, and never! come back to that ride again.

hinata never didn't noticed your annoyed expression to the already ridden ship. instead, he was deciding which rides he'd want to go to next.

glaring at the ship, you were unexpectedly pulled by your wrist once again, and of course, it was hinata, and of course, you were running at an insane speed. you tried to keep your still-wobbling legs with his pace while you got a gist of what will be happening for the next hours.

and you were damn right. hinata had pulled you up to all kinds of rides that made you exhausted every time you got off of them, but the cycle repeats, and he pulls you up to another one.

the cycle repeats until the sun is just a few away from reaching the horizon.

you tiredly walked up to a bench and plopped on it as if it was your own bed while hinata went off to buy some drinks. heavy pants fell from your mouth, the rides you went on have your energy drained. you swore that it was still morning when you and him came here and now it's almost dusk??! you sighed at the thought that time would easily slip by by just riding a few attractions.

while you were resting on the bench, hinata came back with yours and his drinks in his hand. as he went up to you, he immediately noticed your tired demeanor. he stretched out his arm to you and gave you the drink. you took it and almost drank it empty to how thirsty you were.

hinata looked at you as he drank his, gulping with worry and guilt as he swallowed down the liquid.

"s-shoyo.. are we done yet?" you asked, hoping that he would say yes. surprisingly, but expectedly, he says the opposite of what you hoped for.

"nope!" he replies as he gulps the last drop of his drink before facing you. "we have one moree thing to go on, but i swear it won't be like the other ones! so pleaseee let's go onn it??" he pleads to you, making you a bit shocked cause you never mentioned that you were tired or whatsoever.

but of course, who wouldn't say no when the hinata puts up his pleading eyes that will always manage to convince you? you let out a heavy sigh as you threw your empty can to a nearby trash bin.

"fine i guess, but i'd better now be like the other ones." you stated, to which he happily nodded and pulled your wrist, but now in a more gentle manner in contrast than .

a few minutes of walking later, you and him stopped at a ferris wheel. hinata turns to you with an excited look on his face, and you face him with a delighted expression.

you both then line up for the ride, which surprisingly to for only a short while to get through. hinata helps you get in the cart, and he lets out a giggle as he enters it.

the ride then starts to move at a slow pace. your cart started at the bottom, and you both rambled about random topics as your cart starts to reach its peak.

"yea and it was so crazy! also, when it was break time, i saw kageyama buying usual milk, and as he was drinking it, he suddenly coughed, and milk was spitted out everywhere!" he says, his arms animatedly describing every verb mentioned in his sentence.

you cackled at hinata's random storytelling, and he laughs too. his laughter then slowly falters into a smile.

"i know that today was a doozy, so uh, sorry for dragging you around." he scratches the back of his neck as he nervously laughs. you shook your head in reply, indicating it was fine.

"no-no it's okay! you know damn well i'm used to it by now." you say, having a gentle smile on your lips.

and just as hinata was about to speak, a sudden loud pop was heard from outside your cart. sprinkles of colorful light displayed on the dark colored sky, and more sparkles and bursts of light followed. hinata gasps, and you do too. it's almost seems like everything was intentional, that your cart was just at the peak height of the ferris wheel and the fireworks were lit at the right moment.

anyways, you both were shocked at the unexpected events, and you both turned to each others faces after pushing it through the carts' window.

"woah, the fireworks look really pretty!" you exclaimed, gawking at the sight of explosive colorful lights that were being lit up one by one in the air.

hinata nodded at your comment before a smug expression crept up to his face, he slowly turns his head to you and coughs up to get your attention, and as soon as he gets your attention he smugly looks at you and opens his mouth.

"sure these fireworks may seem pretty but, they aren't as beautiful as you~" hinata says in an odd almost poetic tone, he then awaits for your reaction, expecting there would be one but, he only met is your silence and the muffled popping sounds of fireworks.

you looked at him dumbfounded for a few minutes, trying to process what he said. and when you eventually managed to process it, you laughed at him! it sounded very much cringe and cliché at the same time.

you surely felt bad when you just suddenly laughed at him, but you couldn't help it at all! hinata then immediately retorts about you laughing at him, but you just continue to laugh, making him feel embarrassed.

the fireworks fizzled and popped into the background, as you and him shared a wonderful time talking and laughing on and on inside the cart.

sure the date didn't go so well, in your part at least, but at the end of the day, you without doubt had a great time with your very-oh-so-hyper-of-a-boyfriend.

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