Sebastian Stan Imagines

«Bother- Lance Tucker»

Title: Bother
WC: 1640
(Friendly PSA: I've never seen the movie. I'm taking this off of what others base him off of. So this may not be exactly like the character. I just wanted to add more characters).

•~•~•

There I stand. I hear the cheers. A smile wider than ever.

I remember those days. Those days of training for championships. When I was younger. Now here I am unable to do a split after years of not doing gymnastics. I still remember how to do a cartwheel though. Sort of can do a handstand. And in pain of trying to just do a spilt.

But I still do dance or ballet. Hell I even did it with high school technically. I did guard which was easy besides the fact of throwing shit in the air.

Anyways I stare at the posture I have in the mirror. It's weird. I can't do a spilt but when I do ballet it looks like I am able to.

I warm up. Point my toe. Pull my leg up. Scorpion. Then bow and arrow. I put my leg down. I walk away from the mirror. I notice the door to the room is open. I don't care. The gym can just hear the music. I walk over to the speaker. I hit the play button. I turn it up.

Instead of classical music, I have more pop punk. Unexpected.

I then start to routine. I fly in the air as I drop to the floor. Not in pain. No as part of the dance. As the song ends, I start to slow down. Then I do it.

Run, jump, legs spread out, land on toe then heel. I stay in the position until another song plays. I walk over to the stereo. I hit pause and back a song. Then the clapping starts. I look up front the stereo. I turn around. There i see the man stand there.

He has blue eyes of the sea. Brown hair slicked back reminding me of a greaser. Build of a gymnast.

"How may I help you?" I walk off to the mirror. I grab the bar. I put my left leg on it. I stretch and look at him. He looked me up and down. Oh great.

"Have you ever had the thought of being a gymnast?" I rolled my eyes at the question.

"Of course I fucking have. But I say no. I'm sorry but I'm never going to be a gymnast again." He looked a little bit shocked when I said again.

"Again? Hon, I can make you the best gymnast the world has ever seen. Well besides me." I rolled my eyes. I took my leg off the bar. I walked up to him.

"Sorry hon," I used the word he called me, "But that's a fine no from me." He stood there in anger with me. But he kept that pretty boy smile on.

"Come on, baby. You'll be amazing. The cheering. The crowd. The Olympics!" I shake my head at him.

"I can't ever do it. I can't even do a spilt anymore." He stared at me. He wonders to how he is going to get me. I know he wonders. I push him out the room.

"Oh and Lance Tucker," a smile goes across his face, "You're not allowed in here." His smile drops. I shut the door on him and lock it. I groan and roll my eyes at him. I turn around and go back to what I usually do.

••••

There I sit. I ice my feet. I lay back in pain. I take the ice pack off my feet. There I see all the bruises. They look worse than usual. The pain is worse than usual. The door opens. I look up to see the man stand there in shock. I put the ice pack on my feet.

"Jesus your feet." I nodded my head. He walks over to me.

"Lance, what do you want?" He stood in front of me.