#it's interesting to write the training process of these guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daydreamingleclerc · 1 year

Text

corrupt // mason mount

in which; he’s the university’s superstar sports player, and you’re just an innocent little bookworm. he walks you home one night after commotion in the street and you can’t help but offer him inside.

includes; corruption kink, uncomfortable cat calling, master manipulation, excessive usage of pet names (it gets annoying, sorry), dom!mason, sub!reader, foul language, fingering, oral (m, f rec), choking, protected sex, squirting, swearing, a sprinkle of CNC.

i was listening to sk8er boi by avril lavigne and it spiraled into this. i’m not sorry. thanks @landopeaches for helping me w all the ideas and being there to lust over mason with throughout the process <3

this is filthy. and just under 10K words. please read at your own risk. don’t say i didn’t want you.

22:04.

the library didn’t normally stay open this late on friday nights, especially during the week of varsity, but you had a way with words and a very appreciated knack for batting your eyelashes.

“i think it’s-”

“-ssh, i'm writing,” you held a hand up to your housemate and best friend, becca, as you finished your train of thought before your new column ultimately came crashing to a halt, “okay, continue.”

she sat beside you, flicking through a book she clearly had no interest in. she’d given up on her sociology assignment long ago, as had savannah, who was now half asleep on one of the sofa’s further down the room. aside from the odd one or two chess club players downstairs, you were the only three in there.

“i think it’s probably a good idea for us to get going,” becca hummed, and much to your distaste, savannah had never been happier. “it’s ten p.m on a friday night, y/n, why don’t we all go pick up some food and watch a movie?”

savannah had already gotten her jacket on and slipped her bag over her shoulder. she didn’t need anymore persuasion.

“you guys go ahead,” you responded, wiggling with the mouse of your laptop as the screen dimmed, “i’ll catch up soon, i just have to finish this section of next weeks column,” becca scowled at you and before she could open her mouth, you eased her racing thoughts, “becca, i'll be fine. just pick me something and i'll pay you back later. i promise i'll be home before eleven.”

the house that the three of you lived in with two of your other housemates was only a short walk away from campus and that gave you roughly forty minutes to finish up this segment. savannah yawned and becca still looked unimpressed.

“you’d better be,” she picked her bag up off the back of her chair and slid it on her shoulder. she left a kiss on the top of your head, “because if i find your dead body in a back alley tomorrow morning, i'll kill you.”

“charming,” savannah yawned. “love you, y/n.”

“love you.” becca gave you a reluctant wave as she walked down the stairs of the library.

you didn’t leave long after the girls and as you exited the warmth of the library and walked out into the crisp april chill, you regretted not bringing a thicker jacket to cocoon yourself as you walked home. blaring music came from all angles, as did the stares and wandering eyes.

it was clear to all eyes you weren’t making your way to or from a party, dressed in a white sundress with cherries printed on the fabric and a white knitted cardigan. the pockets of the cardigan gaped with just your mobile phone, id and house keys inside them – you'd rented out a locker for the night to keep your laptop safe rather than dragging it back home and threatening to drop it.

as you turned the corner onto the main loop of on-campus flats, your palms grew sweaty. you had to pass the flats and walk across the courtyard – which was full of spillover students itching to go out to either one of the clubs in town – to get to the back gate so you could slip out into the car park and cross into your estate to get home.

a drunken body bumped into you as you crossed the road, and in turn your phone fell out of your hand as you tripped up the curb. you managed to steady yourself but unfortunately for you, your little stumble had caught the eye of a small group of drunken boys.

“hey sugar, you look lost, fancy coming up here with us?”

you didn’t recognize any of them, which was unusual considering they looked like the kind of boys who did sports, and you were a columnist in the university newspaper. you only did two sports columns a month, and the rest were focused on arts media – which was your degree, after all – because of that, you knew everybody.

you knew you should’ve responded, told them to fuck off, or at least say no; but you didn’t. you froze. all you did was shake your head, and when they got closer your legs began to speed up.

“hey, i was talking to you,” the same voice echoed, “don’t walk away from me when i'm just trying to have a conversation.”

you fought off the urge to throw up. confrontation was something you despised, especially in front of a big crowd. “are you deaf?” the voice shouted, clearly agitated now, and you could hear it getting closer and closer until it was virtually behind you.

mason, one of the school’s star ex-students and most glorified alumni noticed the commotion going on in the courtyard. luckily enough, he was stood with a friend who was smoking outside in a small congregation of people waiting to head to another party. he recognized you from the times you’d sat out on the pitch during games with your notepad and fluffy pink pen, that would always get dampened when the inevitable rain kicked in. he had a lot of time for you, even if you had no idea.

“i’m offering you sex on a plate here, love-”

“-gareth, piss off.”

your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest in that moment, and when a familiar face stepped out of the shadows, you let out a puff of air. your eyes caught mason’s, and immediately he rushed over to you.

“y/n, are you okay?” his hand rested softly on your shoulder and massaged the hot flesh of your skin in an attempt to calm you. he waited for you to nod, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “you’re freezing, do you want to borrow my jacket?”

you shook your head and couldn’t help getting lost in the way he got the boys to mutter an apology and scramble away with their tails – dicks – between their legs.

“where are you off to?”

“uh, i, um,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and tried to compose your thoughts. in the three years you’d known mason, he’d never once touched you this way. a complimentary nod of the head after a quick post-match interview or a stolen glance in the hall followed by a soft smile were all the emotional bridges you’d built together. “i'm on my way home.”

mason gestured to his friends to go on without him as he continued to walk with an arm around your shoulder. “i’ll walk you home, babe, okay?” he hooked his thumb under your chin and got you to look over at him, “i’ve just got to stop off at a party and show my face for ten minutes, whereabouts do you live?”

“uh, forty-two goodwood drive.” your voice came out quieter than expected, and mason hummed, nodding his head when his lips formed a smile.

“perfect, the parties at twenty-eight goodwood drive, we can stop off there for ten minutes, have a drink and then i can walk you to the door.”

“we?” you frowned, “i'm not good with big crowds, mason.”

he tutted, “that’s a lie, remember last year when you stood up in front of all the freshers with that powerpoint on how they could join the school newspaper?”

you were shocked he remembered that, and it took you a minute to compute his words and formulate a response. “that was different, it was work related,” a knot formed between your eyebrows and that usual smirk had found its way back to mason’s face. it seemed to be a permanent feature. “honestly, mason. it's fine, i can walk myself home.”

“no, darling. i've said i'll walk you home, please,” he stopped to look at you for a minute, and the knot between your eyebrows released as if subconsciously, “let me at least walk you home.”

it flattered you that mason mount of all people was willing to walk you home. not even men you dated offered to do that. and he had almost begged you.

“if you insist.”

he patted your shoulder with the tips of his fingers and you began walking again, safe in the cage of his arm.

“atta girl.”

22:50

it seemed to be a night of firsts.

for the first time, the campus celebrities, as becca called them, had allowed you into their party as if you were one of their own. mason had poured you a drink and you held the red cup between both hands to hide the shakes. you wanted to say they’d come on because of the drunken cat calling, but you knew on the surface it was because mason was keeping you close.

you were thankful, nobody really knew you at this party other than maybe two people, one of them being mason. it was clear you were uncomfortable; the push and shove of drunken antics wasn’t something you were particularly used to. you knew your limits, and at the grand old age of twenty-three, you expected everybody else to know theirs, too.

it seemed, wherever mason was, a flock of people followed. he had his very own fan club. mason was already a student when you’d arrived, he'd graduated university from his sports science combined course a year early because he was scouted by a football agent and now he was off playing league football and crushing it, you had to admit. he still had a lot of friends here and came back semi-regularly to join in on the parties and sex.

the pair of you sat down on a plush suede sofa, and he noticed you checking your watch for the time. you’d been twiddling your thumbs at this party as mason’s impromptu plus one for twenty-five minutes, and you anxiously tapped your fingers on your knees. you were supposed to be home in seven minutes.

“whats up, princess?”

your cheeks heated up at the use of his constant pet names, but this one seemed to take the cake. “i told my housemates i'd be back at the house for eleven.”

when he flashed that signature mason smirk that you found yourself fawning over for months, the familiar knot formed between your eyebrows. “you can allow yourself to be a little bit late, darling,” mason’s expression then mimicked yours, “do they keep tabs on you like they own you or something?”

his question took you by surprise. it was the first proper rude thing he’d said to you all night, and that’s how you expected him to be around you, but so far, he was everything but. “i’m kidding,” he suppressed a chuckle and scooted closer, “just tell them you’re gonna be a little late, babe. don't worry, you’re safe with me.”

he shot you a wink, and it sent butterflies swarming around your body and wetness pooling in your underwear. this was probably the most turned on a man had ever made you, and he hadn’t even touched you, or said anything remotely sexual.

before mason could open his mouth, a boy you vaguely recognized as someone from the hockey team slid over and sat on the corner of the coffee table. immediately, they got into conversation, and you found yourself once again admiring the way he held himself. you snapped out of it almost instantly.

“who's the girl then, mase? got yourself a new toy?”

“his new what?”

“got myself a new what?”

yours and mason’s questions overlapped, and immediately his friend could sense that what he said was wrong. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or apologize, and then he saw mason’s expression and chose the latter. he scurried off, and you placed your cup down on the coffee table in front of you.

“i think i should just go,” as you went to get up, mason grabbed your wrist and you caught one another's eyes, “mason, please.”

he pleaded with his eyes to get you to stay, “don’t listen to anything dom says, sweetheart,” mason scowled in his direction and dom couldn’t help but keep flickering his eyes over at the pair of you in regret, “he doesn’t know his brains from his balls, and that’s why he’s on the hockey team.”

he pulled a laugh from your lips and it immediately put him at ease.

“promise you won’t listen?” his hand brushed your knee, and you fought every inebriated urge you had to not pounce on him.

“mhm, i promise, mason,” you smiled, placing your hand on top of his. he smiled and scooted closer ever so slightly, “thank you.”

“good girl,” his words ignited a flame inside of your stomach, and the wet patch inside your underwear grew significantly. you'd never been called those words before, and he knew what he was doing when the knowing smirk grew. “would you like another drink?”

“yes, please,” you squeezed your legs together when his fingers brushed closer as he stood up, and he knew how he made you feel within seconds. you grabbed his fingers as he lifted them from your leg. you looked so innocent he could’ve exploded. “don’t be too long, please.”

“you’re so cute when you’re clingy,” he watched as your cheeks lit up in heat, “i'll only be over there. two minutes, tops.”

eleven o'clock had been and gone. becca and savannah had tried to ring multiple times to stick their noses in and find out what was going on, but you’d be leaving soon, and once mason had walked you to the door, they’d be all yours to gossip with.

you shifted in your spot, and tried to peel yourself off the sofa without distracting mason from his conversation with somebody you didn’t recognize at all, but it was unsuccessful. “where are you going, babe?”

“i need to pee,” you shifted again, and got up successfully without mason stopping you. he finished his conversation abruptly and you almost rolled your eyes, “where are the toilets?”

“i’ll take you.”

“i don’t need you to be my bodyguard, mason. just tell me where the toilets are and i'll go on my own.”

his lip quirked up into a hint of a smile. you got sassy when you’d had a drink. that boded well for him and his everlasting thoughts of you in compromising positions.

“darling, with all due respect you don’t know anybody here and i don’t want you wandering,” he finished the dregs of his drink, “i'll take you and then we can leave, c’mon, give me your drink.”

“why?”

“because i don’t want people seeing you holding it and it getting spiked, c’mon.”

you gave in rather easily and handed mason your half-full cup with a thoughtful smile. you hadn’t gone for a wee since before you left the library, and now you’d been holding it for a while it was something of a relief to be going. he took you to another bathroom, one in a less quiet part of the house. he had clearly been here multiple times before.

“you’re not gonna come in with me too, are you?”

“depends,” mason shrugged, “are you offering?”

you swatted his arm with a friendly punch, even though a part of you wanted to say yes and have him take you then and there in the bathroom. the door unlocked and a couple walked out, hair in disarray and clothes mismatched. brilliant.

“you just wait at the door, big guy.”

it stank of weed and sex in the room as you homed in on your surroundings as you peed. what started out as a stressful night had soon become enjoyable, and all thoughts of anxiety you had before you arrived at the party had washed away. you couldn’t hear mason at the door, even though you wouldn’t have been able to anyway because of the thumping bass; but you half expected him to be gone by the time you opened the door.

you wiped your hands on your dress and smoothed over your hair in the mirror. your mascara smudged in both corners of your eyes, and you cleaned it up, merging the outer smudges into your eyeliner. mason was stood with a soft smile on his face when you walked out, and you mimicked it, “i expected you to have found someone better to spend your evening with, thank you for waiting.”

“better than you?” he handed you your cardigan, the one you didn’t even realize you were missing, and you slipped your arms into it, “impossible, darling.”

you blushed again and covered your face with your hands, suppressing a delicate giggle from masons ears. he made sure the cardigan was on your shoulders, and a shiver trickled down your spine when he pulled your hair out, so it wasn’t trapped between fabrics.

“okay princess, finish your drink,” he handed you the cup and you downed it in one, trusting him enough in that moment to know that he wouldn’t spike it, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed, “all in one, good girl.”

your mind raced at the dirty scenario echoing through it, and heat pooled all over your body. you were honestly surprised you couldn’t feel your own slick on your thighs. nobody had ever made you feel like this before, and mason loved the hold he had on your achingly innocent persona. you subconsciously bit your lip and mason fought off a guttural moan.

“what’s with that expression, darling, hm? was it something i said?”

you opened your mouth to react, but he pinched your hip, laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders once again, the pair of you wandering down the hall like nobody's business.

he checked the time on your watch as you walked, lifting up your wrist as if it were a feather, and pulled a faux shocked face at the time. “oh dear, sweetheart,” he tutted, “eleven eighteen, your owners will be waiting up for you.”

you rolled your eyes at his jab, the second rude one of the night. one more and you’d be summoning up the courage to punch him in the face.

“they aren’t my owners, mason. they're my friends and they care.”

the two of you stepped out into the cold night air, your nipples hardening against the lace of your bra and scratching against the cotton of your dress. your thighs immediately came up in goosebumps and the cold was a nice juxtaposition to the heat pulsing your clit.

“so you’ve never submitted to anyone, darling?” he asked, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket, ignoring the crowds of people wandering the streets and girls throwing up in bushes, “let them take complete ownership of you? let yourself go?”

his words shot straight to your core. you fumbled for a reply.

“uh, no, i.. um, i don’t think so.”

stupid reply.

“you don’t think so? oh, sweetheart. you'd know if you did,” as you got closer to your house, a swarm of longing pulled at your chest and you yearned for him now, in a way you’d never yearned for anybody in your life. “but then again, you’ve never tried it with me.”

the last part was muttered, and you could barely hear it.

“what?” you whined, the short, abrupt question coming out in a far more sexual tone than necessary.

“nothing for you to worry about darling,” he patted your cheek softly, “look, you’re home now.”

you half expected him to fall back on his promise, to walk away now and leave you high and dry. to leave you to sort out the mess he’d created, but you’d yearn for more than just the touch of your own fingertips or the ripple of a vibrator. you just didn’t know how to ask him.

he walked you right up to the door, as he said he would.

“thank you, mason,” you smiled. everything inside of you screamed to ask if he wanted to come inside, but when you opened your mouth, you just found the question too overwhelming. “i... uh...”

“what’s up darling?” he questioned, “don’t be shy. use your words.”

he smirked at the way you shivered. there was that feeling between your legs. again.

“do you... um. will you come in?”

he couldn’t help but lean across to kiss you. your lips soft against his slightly rough ones, and your hands flew up to his chest and your palms rested on the warmth of his white shirt. he kissed by the book, exactly how you imagined he would, and when he took your bottom lip between his teeth and swiped his tongue along it, you yelped.

you were too innocent, like bubble wrap left unpopped. he wanted to corrupt you from the inside out.

his dick hardened in his jeans.

“want me to make sure that you get into bed safe?” you nodded and his thumb brushed your bottom lip, and in a bold move you took it into your mouth and circled your tongue around it. you'd never done that to anybody in your life. it even shocked you.

“god,” mason groaned, finding the doorhandle with his free hand, “such an obedient little girl, hm?”

23:27

when becca and savannah saw mason standing in their hallway with a playboy smirk dressed over his face and a charm they just couldn’t resist, they couldn’t quite believe it. it boded worse for you in the long run, because they now saw with their own eyes that he was standing in your hallway, and they would be pacing around the livingroom until he left in the early hours so they could finally get their answers. becca was on the netball team, so mason recognized her.

“hey, becca,” he hummed, as effortlessly as ever. as if he didn’t just make out with you on your own damn porch. “still playing netball?”

she towered over him, her five-foot twelve slim frame was the perfect one for netball and she used it to her advantage, even if she wasn’t that good at the sport.

“mhm,” she nodded, snapping out of her trance for a minute. savannah was still simply stood next to becca in awe, “thanks for bringing y/n home.”

“it was my pleasure,” he looked at you and smiled, and your entire body rocked with heat. “she’s asked me to stick around for an hour or two, if that’s okay with you two, of course?”

you couldn’t help the little smirk that quipped at the corners of your mouth and you hid your face in his bicep. mason was playing into the joke he’d made earlier at becca and savannah being your owners. the pair of them nodded, and mason looked over at you.

“where’s your bedroom, darling?”

savannah almost choked when she heard the pet name.

“uh, top floor on the left,” his hand ran down your arm and his fingers entwined with yours as he walked to the stairs, and once again you tugged on his fingers, “would you like some tea?”

mason's mind raced. your innocence really wasn’t an act. he wanted to pity you, or patronize you, or build up an orgasm until it bubbled up inside of you and you squeaked and squealed and thrashed around in his arms until you begged him to let you cum. his dick grew again, but he just smiled.

“sure, darling,” he squeezed your fingers, “milk and two sugars, please.”

you nodded and watched as he walked straight up to the top floor of the house. you averted both becca and savannah’s eyes as you walked past them through into the kitchen. pizza boxes sat on the counter, with one unopened for you.

“what the fuck was all that about?” savannah questioned.

you unintentionally ignored her, to focused on drowning out the slick between your legs. nobody had ever made you feel this way, nobody had ever left you as needy or as desperate for sex as he had. in all fairness, you’d only had sex with one person, and it wasn’t even that good.

becca snapped her fingers in front of your eyes and you zoned back into the conversation. you smiled.

“oh, uh, he walked me home and we got to talking,” you shrugged as you pulled the milk from the fridge, “turns out we get on well, so i invited him in.”

“go y/n,” savannah clapped her hands together, “finally got a sexu-”

“-bye girls, thanks for the pizza!”

as you juggled with two cups of tea and the box of unopened pizza, mason walked into your kitchen. he'd already made himself at home, it seemed, seeing as his jacket and shoes were back up in your bedroom. “need some help, princess?” he asked, and when the pet name arose again you blushed heavily, and mason took the pizza box from your hand, “see you girls later.”

23:52

“i’m so boring, aren’t i?”

you asked him. you couldn’t help it.

you were sat between his legs and watching a movie on your teeny tiny tv screen at the foot of your bed. mason's eyebrows furrowed and he stroked at the skin on your arm. he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your head.

“not at all, darling. why do you say that?”

you shrugged, too embarrassed to answer. sex never came easy to you, you were the stereotypical bookworm student. you stayed out of trouble, you did your assignments and handed them in way before they were due. you were co-editor of the student newspaper, for fucks sake. you weren't the kind of girl that brought home hot, sexy, god-like alumni into her bedroom on friday nights just for a hook up.

mason knew that, and it was all part of the reason you enamored him.

“i’m not... i just... i'm... frigid.”

mason tutted and tucked some hair behind your ear, “you aren’t frigid, darling. you just need someone to loosen you up a little bit, someone to answer to, don’t you?”

you felt his dick grow harder underneath you, and it sent a shiver up your spine. you nodded, and mason spun your head around, so you were looking at him. his breath was hot on your face and you heaved for a breath when his fingers found your thighs.

“there’s so much i wish i could do to you, little one,” you gulped audibly, a shaky, hot breath, “but i won’t do it if you aren’t ready.”

“w-what.. um, w-what do you want to do?”

mason's fingers grazed higher and higher up your leg, and he was painstakingly close to the sticky slick on your inner high thighs.

“i want to do so much to you, darling, but i fear if i tell you, you’ll break my heart,” his fingers grazed at the soaked cotton of your pants and he laughed lowly, “but then again, if i tell you, it might make you wetter than you have been all night.”

you mewled when he dragged his finger between your folds over your underwear. you opened your mouth to ask him a question, but he shushed it with his free hand, bringing the tip of his index finger to the middle of your plump lips. “is this the first time you’ve been touched here, darling?” you shook your head. “yes? no? use your words.”

“n-no, mason.”

“you’re not a virgin?”

“shockingly, no,” your sarcastic comment left mason pinching your clit over your underwear and you yelped, “i’ve had sex once before.”

“just once?” he questioned, and watched the way your body writhed when he finally pushed the damp cotton aside to stroke your clit. he could’ve growled at the feeling of your pussy in his hand. “oh, darling, you’ve got so much to learn.”

mason's fingers worked expertly on your clit, and you couldn’t help but widen your legs. he certainly found it with ease, which is more than you can say for the guy you lost your virginity to. you lifted your hips and mason helped you wriggle free from the cotton restraint, and his mouth was watering at the thought of your bare, naked pussy. he wanted to scoot around and lick it.

“was he good, baby?” mason asked, lips nibbling along the outer shell of your ear. “did he touch your clit like this, hm? or did he -” with his free hand, mason rubbed at your nipples through your dress and bra, “- roll your nipples like this? hm?”

you wriggled around and let his fingers explore your body, itching to let him touch you more. “n-no, mason. he didn’t touch me like this.”

mason tutted, “come on, baby, what did he do?”

“he used me to make himself feel good,” you hummed, getting more and more used to the fact that he was swirling your clit around with his fingers, “i didn’t enjoy anything.”

“such a shame, darling. you're gonna be used to make me feel good, but i promise you’ll enjoy it because i know how to handle innocent little girls like you,” he kissed your neck, “i was hoping to be the first person to bury myself inside your pretty little cunt, but i'll just have to be the first to do everything else.” he chuckled lowly at the way your breath hitched, and when he slapped your clit it made you jolt.

“did he ever make you cum?”

you shook your head.

“n-no, mason.”

another clit slap.

“why are you slapping me?” you pouted, “have i done something wrong?”

the confusion was evident on your face. you couldn’t figure out why he was slapping you, and the crease between your eyebrows formed. mason’s hand moved from your chest to your chin and turned your face to his. “are you going to address me by my name like a good girl?”

the crease deepened and mason couldn’t help but laugh at you, and you frowned.

“w-what?”

“are you going to be a good girl for daddy?” your heart almost jumped out of your chest. your eyes grew a shade darker with lust and mason didn’t go unnoticed. he slapped your pussy again. “answer, princess.”

“d-daddy?” you questioned, and mason almost blew a load in his pants.

“mhm, yes princess. understood?”

you nodded your head. “yes, daddy. thank you, daddy.”

he rolled his eyes and released a groan, unable to suppress it any longer, and now he could feel a wet patch of pre-cum forming in his pants. “fucking hell, babygirl, you’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” he shifted, and moved so you were now sitting against the headboard and he was staring down at you. he got down to his knees, the way his breath hitched when he was face to face with your pussy made your back tingle. “do you want me to eat this pretty little cunt?”

“uh.. uhm.. okay,” you hesitated. mason noticed and began to massage your thighs with his fingers, digging into the soft flesh. “i’ve never... um. nobody has ever...”

“relax, princess, i'll make you feel good. it's all part of daddy’s job to look after his little girl.”

a rush of blood swarmed to your clit and you moaned softly at his words. he was corrupting you already. he traced the cherries on the hem of your dress, “these are pretty fruits, baby, can you tell me what they are?”

he began to kiss your inner thighs in that moment.

“uhm, they’re cherries, d-daddy.”

“mhm, well done darling,” you wriggled when his teeth sunk into the flesh of your thigh, but he soon soothed the sting when his tongue ran over it, and it formed a pretty mark of his teeth, “tell you what, princess. if anything gets too much – today, or ever – in one of these situations, you just say cherries, just like the ones on your pretty dress.”

you nodded, but you were still confused. “why do i have to say cherries though?”

“because, baby, sometimes your brain won’t be working properly and you’ll need a distinct word that means stop, do you understand?” you nodded again, and mason’s fingers traced your pussy again. he wasn’t looking at you now, his attention had been drawn to your clit, red and aching, but he was still talking. “it’s easier for daddy to pick up on that word rather than stop, baby, because sometimes i won’t be listening. i need to make sure you’re safe.”

“w-why?” you could feel his fingers swirling around your inner lips and you fought every urge for a moan.

“because, you’re my submissive, and as your dominant, i have a duty of care over you.”

you shivered at that. your head was spinning so fast it felt like it was going to fall off. mason's tongue had darted out of his mouth and licked at your clit, you jolted, but he didn’t put it away. instead, wherever your hips dragged you, he followed, his lips never leaving your clit. his tongue flicked repetitively, and his lips suctioned around it, sucking at your clit as if he were drinking through a straw.

as you wriggled, mason's arms caged your hips down onto the bed, so now you were unable to wriggle away and you cried out his name in a weak, pathetic little moan. he pulled off of your clit with a pop, “oh, babygirl,” he tutted, “you can do better than that for me, can’t you? i know you can.”

he licked a teasing stripe up your pussy and delved around your hole, where his tongue slipped inside and you yelped, bucking your hips up into his face and crying out his name again. “oh, mason... oh.. fu- your tongue.. feels so good,” the sensation tingling away inside of you was one you’d never felt during sex before, and the pad of a tongue licking and lapping at your clit felt particularly strange. “oh.. god.”

mason used his hands to part your lips further, allowing his face to be buried deeper into you and your hands sprung to his hair. he hummed against your clit as he licked, nibbled and swirled his tongue, and the pleasure was almost unbearable. he bumped your clit with his nose when his tongue slipped back inside you again, and raised his eyes so he was looking directly into yours. the contact was almost too much, and the butterflies were beginning to get overwhelming. your orgasm was fast approaching.

he held your legs open further and pushed the hem of your dress up, so it rested at your bellybutton. you could see his nose and cheeks glistening with your wetness, and the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach had begun to travel south.

“d-d-daddy... i... i can... i'm all tingly... i think i'm gonna...”

mason pulled away from you right as you felt like the dam was going to open, and you whined, thrashing around in protest. he raised an eyebrow, “you need to ask daddy for permission to cum, little one,” he slapped the inside of your thigh and you winced, biting down on your bottom lip, “because your pretty little cunt is his, and you need to ask for permission to use something you don’t own.”

oh.

he lay there, waiting patiently.

“can i please cum, daddy?”

mason was satisfied with your plea, at least for now. he wasn’t going to have you begging until you cried this time. “of course, princess,” he hummed, delving back into your pussy. you mewled and he mumbled against your clit, “daddy’s pretty little cunt.”

with that, your orgasm hit you. you thrashed around at the feeling, lifting your hips off the bed. immediately, mason’s hands splayed under your bum, holding you up as he continued to eat like his last meal. you cried out, almost screaming at the sensation. becca always talked about her boyfriend doing this, and you never understood why she liked it so much – until now.

you tapped at mason’s head when you couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled off of your clit with a pop. his entire chin glistened, and it ignited a fire in your eyes. arousal seeped through your veins, and mason couldn’t help but laugh against your lips when you sat up and pulled him closer by the collar of his knitted jumper.

in a bold move, your hand dropped to his crotch and you felt his dick, rock hard and straining his jeans. you blushed upon having the realisation that you’d never sucked anyone off before, and you were almost definitely about to suck off mason. that, and his dick felt fucking huge.

“what’s up, little one?”

mason pulled away from your lips and tucked the loose hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but bury your head into his neck. he hooked his hand under your cheek and lifted you up softly, looking deep into your eyes. there was a moment of peace, where he scanned your eyes for any discomfort, but you were determined to see it through.

“it feels... big.”

your cheeks felt hotter than the sahara desert by this point, and mason chuckled at your innocence.

“do you think so, babygirl?” he questioned, and his fingers curled around yours and made you squeeze at it. he groaned at the contact. “should we see if you’re right, hm?”

you nodded eagerly, and mason almost fainted when your eyes grew black with lust. he placed your hand firmly back into your lap, and he stood up to pull his shirt off. you almost drooled at the sight of his naked torso, and the tattoo’s scattered around it. he unlooped his belt effortlessly, and within seconds his jeans were tossed to the floor. his dick was so hard that the tip poked out from the waistband of his jeans, red and desperate for some attention.

he kept his eyes on yours to gage your reaction as he pulled down his boxers. you were right. it was huge. and thick. it inflated mason’s ego to triple the size it already was, and he loved how easy you were becoming, but this was only the tip of the iceberg. he wanted to make you his, and by the end of the night, he would make sure you were the only girl that he was corrupting.

“t-that’s supposed to fit... i-inside me?”

“mhm,” mason’s hand jacked himself off as he stood up at the edge of the bed, your head at the perfect height to suck. “it will, baby, and it will hurt, but i'll make it fit, you haven’t got to worry about a thing,” he pinched your cheek and you subconsciously smiled. commotion went on outside your bedroom door, one of your housemates was sneaking along the landing, and it caught your attention, but mason pulled your head back to face him with his finger hooked under your chin, “it’s not gonna suck itself, darling.”

you gulped. “i’ve... i haven’t... you're going to have to teach me, daddy.”

mason had to stop jacking himself off and pause for a moment in fear of ejaculating all over your face at the sentence that just left your mouth.

“okay, princess, but first you’ll need to take this off,” he ruffled the hem of your dress and you frowned, “don’t give me that look, babygirl. it's only fair.”

you hooked your arms out of your bra and dress all in one, and mason helped you step out of it steadily. his breath hitched when he saw you naked, drinking in the sight of your naked body. you'd never looked more beautiful, and he’d never been so desperate to be buried inside of someone.

he leaned down to kiss your lips, and then slid down onto the bed, so his head was at the pillows. you followed suite, kneeling down at his side. he guided your hand to his dick silently, and you giggled softly when he helped you move your hand up and down, “that’s good, baby,” he said, running his fingers up to your wrist to loosen the movement slightly, “now lean over so your mouth is hovering over it, and spit on the head.”

“t-the head?”

“the tip, baby, the tip,” mason chuckled at your innocence, and you did as he asked. spit hung from the tip of your outsplayed tongue and trickled down to the head of his penis. as you smeared it around with your hand, your thumb ran over the slit of his dick and he jolted, a groan tumbling from his lips. your eyes shot up to face him, looking like a dear in the headlights as you feared you did something wrong, but mason shook his head. “that’s good darling, so good. why don’t you – fuck – why don’t you try and take it in your mouth.”

you leaned down, so your lips were millimeters from his dick, and took a deep breath. you’d always envisioned doing this, and who it would be with, and none of your fantasies could ever compare to this.

your lips pursed around the head, taking just that into your mouth and looking up at mason through your eyelashes. he seemed to like that a lot judging by the way he looked down at you and nodded. “okay, little one, you’re doing such a good job,” he patted your head subconsciously, “now, alternate between bobbing your head, twisting your hand and running your tongue around the head. just get a feel for it, darling, okay? i don’t want to cum just yet.”

you nodded, and much to your surprise you enjoyed the compromising position you had been put in. mason made it feel so easy, so comfortable, and it made your heart flutter and your pussy throb. you began to bob your head gradually, taking more and more in with every move. mason admired your innocence and every time he remembered that his dick was the first one you’d had inside your mouth – your sweet, innocent, virgin mouth – he wanted to bust a load.

“oh god, yes, little one,” mason’s hand bunched your hair up in his hand out of habit, and you gagged around him as he thrusted up into your mouth ever so slightly, “you’re doing so well for me, got such a pretty little mouth.”

you moaned, and the vibrations sent shockwaves up his dick and all over his body. he thrusted up into your mouth and you gagged again, your eyes watering at the sensation but you liked it. “play with my – fuck – play with my balls, baby, just squeeze them gently,” mason cooed, smoothing your cheeks with his free hand, and you did as you were told, halting the movements of your hand stroking his dick so you could use it to stabilize you as you fondled his balls. he groaned loudly, “fuuuck, baby. that's it, such a good little girl.”

he thrusted up into your mouth again and this time spit came spluttering out of your mouth and landed along the prickly skin around his pubic bone. your eyes watered again, so much so that the tears soaked your eyelashes and mason lowered his hips. “you okay, baby? do you wanna stop?”

you nodded sheepishly. mason's dick fell from your mouth and the tip rested at his bellybutton. he noticed your knotted eyebrows, “what’s up, darling?”

“my mouth.. it tastes weird.”

he chuckled and couldn’t believe how innocent you were.

“that’s because it’s no longer a virgin mouth, little one. it's now forever tainted with the taste of my pre-cum,” he leaned over and kissed your lips, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “you’re going to be tainted with my taste forever now, baby. never getting rid of me.”

he used his strength to roll you over, so you were now laying with your head at the pillows. he admired how pretty you looked. anxiety pounded in your chest, and you suddenly got overwhelmed, but you knew it would pass, it was just nerves. mason noticed, and tucked some hair behind your ear.

“do you remember your word, darling?”

“cherries, daddy.”

“good girl,” he leaned down to kiss your lips, “if you want daddy to stop, you need to use that word, understood?”

“mhm,” you nodded, and leaned up to kiss him. he chuckled at your neediness. “there’s.. um... i have... in the bathroom cabinet.. there’s some... condoms.”

“daddy’s shy little girl wants him to fuck her, hm?”

you mewled underneath him and fought off a blush by buring your head in the pillows when his finger grazed between your folds, and you jolted at the sensitivity, “please, daddy, i... i... i need it. i need you.”

mason fought back the urge to fuck you raw.

“babygirl, listen to yourself beg for me,” he tutted, standing up and slipping on your dressing gown momentarily to go to the bathroom, “such a naughty little thing, hm? weren’t like this an hour ago. i've turned you into a little slut, haven’t i?”

the last part of the sentence was partially shouted as he wandered into the bathroom you shared with another housemate, and you could’ve died there and then. you only hoped everyone else was minding their own damn business.

he came back with a handful of condoms, and the dressing gown was tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes. “go on, baby, say you’re daddy’s little slut,” he teased, “otherwise i'll leave you high and dry, begging for my cock all night.”

your cheeks heated up as you opened your mouth. mason stood there, cock on full display, waiting patiently. you took a breath, “you’ve turned me into a little slut, daddy.”

he made a satisfied hum noise and ripped the condom open with ease. you watched as he rolled it on and he climbed back on the bed, the sheer touch of his skin on yours leaving you with goosebumps. his fingers ran through your folds again and your wetness was enough.

his hand outstretched your leg, so it was out at an angle to the side while the other was bent at the knee draped over his shoulder. you moaned at the feeling of being poked and prodded so he could get you exactly how he wanted you.

you squirmed with anticipation as mason guided himself to your pussy, and when he slipped inside you let out a strangled, desperate moan. every time you thought his dick was fully inside of you, you were proved wrong, and with the angle of your legs, he only penetrated you deeper. he groaned at your tightness and the way his dick seemed to slot perfectly inside you.

“fuck, little one,” his pubic bone hit your skin and he successfully buried himself to the hilt inside of you. “your cunt is so wet and tight, fits me so well, like it was made for me.”

you mewled at his words and attempted to buy your head in the pillows beside you but mason grabbed your chin with his hand and forced you to look at him above you. he pulled out and pushed back in the whole way once again. “don’t you ever look away,” his fingers squeezed at your cheeks and moved down your face until they gripped at your neck, “daddy always wants to see the way your eyes roll back when he hits -” mason raised his hips up so the angle of his hips changed ever so slightly and he smirked when your eyes rolled back with a moan of his name, “that spot. such a naughty little girl.”

“mhm,” you mumbled, already feeling a pressure building between your hips, “your naughty little girl, daddy.”

“fuckin’ right,” mason's fingers squeezed your neck in approval, “daddy’s dirty little girl, you’re filthy, aren’t you?”

you could feel him hitting so deep inside of you and the way his hips slowed with each pull out had you on the verge of screaming. your headboard began to thud dully against the wall and you couldn’t help but let out a long, drawn out moan.

“gonna wake up the house if you keep moaning like a whore, baby,” mason cooed, pushing himself forward so the stretch in your legs began to sting and the angle of his dick grew deeper, “i can feel you clenching my dick, darling. such a tight little pussy.”

your hands gripped at his shoulders and mason’s head dropped between your bodies so he could watch himself slipping in and out of your pussy. the angle of your body underneath him was driving him insane and he couldn’t help it when a moan slipped past his lips.

the closer you got to an orgasm, the louder you became, and it only spurred mason on further. he was itching to get you cumming, and so when his fingers brushed your clit and you almost screamed in pleasure, he smirked. you were almost positive that savannah and becca could hear the entire thing from their rooms on the bottom floor.

“d-daddy...”

mason smiled, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “yes, little one?”

“i’m gonna cum,” you cried, arching your back up off the bed, “please, daddy.”

mason tutted. you were going to have to beg a lot better than that.

“come on, darling, you can beg better than that,” he left a kiss to your jawline, “i know you turn into a mindless whore when you’re being fucked, but that was pathetic.”

you squeaked and clenched around his dick again. your body was in overdrive and with every thrust it felt like you were going to explode.

“d-daddy... please,” you choked, throat running dry, “p-please, i need to cum, i'll do anything, p-please, daddy.”

“you’ll do anything? oh, darling. i wouldn’t say something like that if you don’t mean it.”

“please, i’m so close,” you were panting now, fighting off your orgasm with every passing second. mason leaned down to kiss your lips hotly, pulling your lip between his teeth and biting down so hard he almost drew blood, “please.”

your begging attempt was satisfactory. for now.

“go on then, darling,” he drawled, “cum for daddy like a good girl.”

you couldn’t help the scream that left your mouth, and your orgasm shook your body so hard that it left your limbs twitching. this orgasm seemed to be more fulfilling, and lasted longer than the others you’d had this evening. your clenching pussy triggered mason’s orgasm, and despite the fact he came into the condom, you could still feel the heat of his cum inside of you.

it was only when you noticed the wet sheets underneath your bum and mason’s wet torso that your eyebrows furrowed.

“fucking hell, little one,” mason groaned, pulling out of you and looking down at the seeping sheets, “look at the mess you’ve made.”

“what happened...? what did i do?”

it had only just dawned on mason that you were completely clueless. this was the first time you’d ever squirted.

“you just wet the bed, babygirl,” he rolled to the side of you and your eyebrows furrowed, “daddy fucked you so well and so deep that you squirted.”

he admired the way your eyes widened, and he smirked. if he wasn’t sure about keeping you in his life before, he was definitely going to keep you around now. you yawned, completely and utterly exhausted from the night’s events, and mason pushed the sweaty hair out of your face, “we need to get you clean, sweetheart.”

“mm, tired,” was all you could say, fighting off a yawn, “just wanna sleep.”

mason stood up and slipped your dressing gown back over his shoulders. your eyelids continued to flutter, and you would’ve fallen asleep had he not have handed you his shirt and boxers, “come on, darling, you need to clean yourself up,” you sighed but obeyed his words, pulling the shirt over your head, “i’ll help you put fresh sheets on too, okay?”

his hand looped through yours as he guided you to your bathroom, and your eyebrows furrowed again. mason began to run the water and you sat on the toilet seat. “you’re helping?” you asked, scrunching your nose, “i thought you were just going to leave.”

mason laughed. you really were clueless, and it was adorable to him.

“you really think i'd fuck you like that and then just walk away?” mason raised an eyebrow, and once again, the thought dawned on him that that’s exactly what happened to you after your first time. that was all you’d ever known. “oh, sweetheart, no, i wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

he tested the temperature of the water with the tips of his fingers, and helped you wriggle out of his shirt as you stepped into it. he kissed your forehead as you rested your arms on the side of the bath.

“pack a bag and come to my house next weekend,” he said nonchalantly, and suddenly, all your exhaustion had dissipated, “please.”

“y-you want me to...”

“i’m not asking you, y/n,” his stern bedroom voice had returned and it sent shivers down your spine, “i’m telling you.”

your heart settled in your chest and he smiled against your lips when you leaned over the bath and kissed him. “i’ll stay at yours if you stay here.”

“i wasn’t planning on going anywhere, darling,” he kissed your nose, “you’re going to get sick of me.”

you smiled.

“impossible.”

#mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount x yn #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x you #mason mount smut #mason mount fluff #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount drabble #mason mount fic #mason mount imagine #footballer x you #footballer x yn #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #football smut

2K notes · View notes

monzabee · 1 year

Text

you'll change your name or change your mind - cl16

masterlist

Summary: The one where you find your way back home, even if the journey takes longer than you think.

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bianchi!reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: mentions of jules and his accident, ANGST, talks about college acceptances in the US but it’s not accurate because i’ve never applied for US schools, mentions of alcohol and underage drinking/clubbing (only in the US though), mentions of a fake id, mentions of cheating, fighting, charles being stupid and not realising it, talks about processing grief, GRIEF, survivor’s guilt, talks of therapy, friends to lovers y’all.

Request: “The Charles fanfic was so good!! Can you write more angsty but happy needing Charles? I think it’s be cute for a man who loves Monaco so much to got to wherever his girlfriend lives Ike London or nyc often and deal with that. Maybe she hates monaco lol” + “if your requests are still open, max or charles + “you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” thanks!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i decided to give into the whole angst thing and i can honestly say that i’m having a great time. i wanted to include Jules somehow in this one because i’ve been seeing some edits on tiktok and let me tell you proofreading was a bitch because i kept crying. also, my spotify kept bringing up lorde and hannah montana songs, so there you go. this was definitely a hard one to write and i know it’s messy, but all feedback is appreciated. thank you, anon, for the request, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Monaco is full of memories. It’s filled with memories of your childhood, your parents picking up you and your siblings from school in Nice, and getting the train to Monaco for your brother to compete in karting races. It’s filled with laughter, and ice cream, and friends. It’s also filled with fears, loss and uncertainty, and you suppose that’s why you didn’t ever want to go back. But you find your back there every time, even if it is only for a couple of days at a time. Although it reminds you of the bad times, it’s hard to erase the good ones completely.

Charles is just one of the people Jules brought into your life. He was right there since your birth – apparently, the Leclercs were visiting your family in Nice when your mother suddenly went into labour. You will always be thankful to Pascale and Hervé for stopping Jules from choosing your middle name to be Michael Schumacher. Neither Charles, nor you will forget the type of shenanigans you got up to as little kids, there is only a year difference between the two of you after all. There’s that one time you stole Charles’ kart and tried to go down the road, in which he caught you but instead of ratting you out to Lorenzo and Jules, who were supposed to be looking after you by the way, he helped you get it down the stairs and passed you his helmet as he explained how to go about it. Neither of your brothers were impressed by your ability to go fast or Charles’ sudden interest in maybe becoming a race engineer if the whole driver thing doesn’t work out. There was also the time when the two of you, along with Arthur, snuck out from a family friend’s wedding to only get lost in a city in the South of France; Charles got so stressed that he forgot how to speak French and proceeded to ask how to get back to the venue in Italian for the rest of the night. Needless to say, the two of you are there for each other no matter what; you stayed together through heartbreaks, wins, losses, losing Jules and Hervé, funerals, weddings and much more. The majority of your time together is spent in your family’s house in Nice. Charles doesn’t mind the half-hour journey, an hour if he decides to go back but he hardly ever does. Sometimes, he manages to convince you come to Monte Carlo for the day by bribing you with promises of sunsets and ice cream, but he will always drive you back if you insist you want to go home without any complain.

The first time you bring up the topic of moving, you’re in your last year of high school; by that time, Charles is already racing in Formula One, so your time together is limited to breaks between the races. However he tries his hardest to be there for you, from talking you through breakdowns that occur after long study sessions, to looking up pre-med programmes for you to apply all over the world. You never wanted to live your entire life between Nice and Monte Carlo in the first place, so is he is more than happy to help you explore your options. Your application results arrive when he’s on break between the races, so the two of you sit on the small table in his Monaco apartment’s kitchen, the light from your laptop lighting up both of your faces as you open up the emails one by one. You’re most anxious about your application to Columbia, which is 3.462 miles away from Nice, and 3.993 from Monte Carlo. By the time you finish opening up all the emails, both of you are sitting there with a silence between you. The acceptance letter still open on your laptop is congratulating you for your offer to join Columbia’s pre-med program the following September.

“Yes,” He looks at you expectantly, “Accept it, Y/N, you shouldn’t be even thinking about it!”

“Yes?” You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not that simple, Charles–”

“But it is!” He argues, a big smile on his face. You can tell he is proud of you by the look in his eyes and the way his emotions carry through his voice. “It’s your top choice of school!”

“It’s also in New York, it means that there will be an entire ocean between us!”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Your eyes widen in surprise, you start staking your head a little without being aware that you are doing it. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Chérie,” Charles coos, pulling your chair by its leg to bring you closer to him and wrap a supportive arm around your body. His chest rumbles from his low laughter as he presses kisses to your hair. “We’ll be fine, look at everything we’ve been through, and we’re not even that old.”

You scoff, hitting his chest in an attempt to get away; you start furiously typing on your computer. “You are old,” you point to him with a tilt of your head, “I’m not, though.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his concentration to the tab still open on your computer, “You’re going to accept the offer, though, right?”

You end up accepting the offer. Charles and his family is there alongside yours to send you off on a plane to New York City. Both your mother and Charles’ have tears in their eyes as they say their goodbyes, with your father giving you a similar look. Being the youngest of four siblings, it must’ve been hard to send their youngest all the way across an ocean, but they let you know that you have their support in every step of the way. With Charles’ schedule for the remaining races scattered all over the world, he tells you not to force yourself and to enjoy your first months as a college student.

You surprise him in Austin, though. Arranging this surprise is definitely not the easiest, but you ask Lorenzo for his help and he is more than happy to make arrangements for you. It’s the end of Friday’s last practice session when you surprise him in the Alfa Romeo garage. He almost walks past you, to get rid of his helmet when you say his name, but once he realises it is you he quickly pulls in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” He asks you while laughing with glee.

“Heard there’s an immunology seminar in town about the effects of talking a shower and then going out without drying your hair.” You answer with all the seriousness you can muster.

“Really?” He asks in confusion, taking his helmet and balaclava off and trying to fix his sweat-soaked hair.

You hit the back of his head lightly, shaking your head in disbelief. “No! I came here to see you race, you idiot!”

He shakes head in understanding. “Oh, oh!” His eyes widen once again with recognition this time.

“Yes, oh, now come on, we’re going out.” You’re quick to add, “To dinner because airplane food sucks. We’re going out clubbing after the race, though.”

True to your word, you go clubbing after his race on Sunday, which Charles is not entertained by. He’s paranoid by the fact that you are in the club with them in the first place, which should not be happening because you’re underage. He keeps silent as you show the bouncer your id, which he knows is a fake, by the way; as he sends Lorenzo an incredulous look, his older brother’s reaction consisting off a shrug of the shoulders makes him more paranoid.

“Y/N, you should not be drinking.” He voices his concern, as you’re on your second drink of the night. “This is wrong.”

“How is this different than me drinking back at home?” You argue with your eyebrows raised. “You don’t tell me I can’t drink when we’re back home.”

“Because it is legal for you to do so there!” Charles exclaims, somehow gathering the attention of some of the clubbers nearby, but he offers them an apological smile and then turns back to you with his voice lowered. “You’re not twenty one, ergo – you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Pfft,” You shrug him off, “You’re stupid, and I’m bored. You want to dance?”

You help Charles to move into his flat in Italy when he starts racing for Ferrari. Though he still lives in Monaco full-time, he rented a small place in Maranello to stay when he’s travelling. It’s an emotional event, which has both of you sitting on the floor of his new apartment going through boxes of old photographs. He finds one of his brothers and Jules with you, standing in front of a karting ring with big smiles in all of your faces. You fingers involuntarily trace over your brother, your eyes misting when you think about the day.

“He was so young,” You whisper, having to swallow a sob which threatens to escape.

Your eyes linger on the photograph for a while, and Charles quickly understands that you were not talking about the photograph as the tears you were trying to hold back find their way onto your cheeks. “He was.” He agrees; there aren’t enough words in the world to describe what losing a family member does to a person, and he understands you in a way most people cannot.

You offer him a sad smile through your tears. “He would be so proud of you.”

“He would be also so proud of you,” He whispers right back, leaning closer to you so that he could wipe away the few stray tears. “In fact, I am pretty sure he is.”

“Stop it.” You laugh softly through your tears as you push yourself to get off the floor, and dry under your eyes with your fingers as you look across the room. “Oh my god, Charles, we have so many boxes to go through.”

He gets up after you and looks around the dusty living room as he attempts to get rid of the dust on his clothes. “We do, don’t we?” He watches as you kneel in front of an unopened box and slice through the tape with a knife, and starting to go through the items in the box. He watches you go through the items silently for a while, noticing how seriously you take the task. His eyes linger on the frown on your face for a while, the way your eyebrows scrunch in question, or how you tuck a stubborn piece of hair, which escapes from the braid in your hair, to the back of your ear. He stalks closer, gently gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to your feet. “Dance with me.” He asks – which comes off less as an ask and more of a demand, which causes you to playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Charles, the boxes–” You try to argue.

His laugh is laced with mischief. “The boxes will still be there, chérie, just one dance won’t change anything.”

You try to come with arguments in your head but all your attempts are quickly thrown out the window when you realise just how green Charles’ eyes actually are. “We don’t have any music.” You try to offer as a measly argument.

Charles raises his eyebrows as he wraps his arms around your waist after making you wrap yours around his neck. “We don’t need any music, Y/N.”

So you give up in any attempts in stopping him, as he starts to slowly sway both of your bodies from side to side. You let out a chuckle when he stars, terribly, humming to an old song you used to hear on the radio. “This is stupid.” You mumble as you keep up your pace with his movements.

“You seem to keep calling me that.” Charles recalls, making both of you laugh in recognition. “I need to tell you something important.”

“So tell me,” you encourage him, motioning him to continue.

“I met someone.” He announces, a small smile playing on his lips.

You breath get stuck for a moment, in which you remind yourself that Charles is waiting for your reaction – most likely a supportive one at that. “Wow, Charles.” You breath out and give him a smile, which you successfully manage to pass off as a supportive one, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice breaks off in the end. “I’m so happy for you.”

You’re not stupid – thinking that either of you could stay single forever is an unrealistic one. But it hurts to imagine him with another person while he looks at you like that makes a part of you crumble up into a ball on your bed and cry. And that’s just what you do when you go back to the hotel that night (because the house is still unliveable when the two of you decide you’re done for the day). You try to keep your sobs as quiet as possible because you know Charles is in the hotel room next to yours. As you’re looking out the window, watching the night sky light up with stars in Maranello that night, you tell yourself you, somehow, need to move on from your best friend.

The next time you see Charles is during Christmas time. You have a tradition – Lorenzo, Charles, Jules and you, a tradition, which Arthur joined once he was old enough. It’s a peculiar one. While it’s not uncommon for most families to watch Christmas movies during this time of the year, your choice of movie has not Christmas elements in it at all. Every Christmas, the four of you watch The Sound of Music. It’s a silly tradition which was born out of boredom and lack of movies one Christmas, but it’s a tradition you managed carried out every year.

You can still remember Lorenzo complaining because “It’s three hours of songs about whiskers and bass clef.”

While Jules gives his best friend an unamused glare, both you and Charles try to mimic the Frenchman who you idolise. “It has nuns, songs, Nazis and familial love, Lorenzo, what more could you ask for?” He shrugs as he turns his attention back on screen, “Plus, Julie Andrews is hot.”

“Why would she be hot?” You remember asking, the woman on the screen not seeming uncomfortable by the weather.

“No reason,” Jules assures you, wrapping one of his arms around you.“Watch the movie, shortcake.”

And yes, while it might be stupid to watch the same movie, which has no Christmas value at all, every year on Christmas day, it’s a reminder that you have each other even if you’re not always together. So when you sit down to watch the movie that Christmas, there is a bad feeling in your stomach when you realise Charles is not there to watch it with you. If his brothers also find it weird that he’s not there they don’t make a comment, neither do you, for that matter. You try to push it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment, telling yourself that even if this is a tradition between the four of you, it’s not the end of the world if you fail to do it. So you smile, and have fun throughout the day – when you’re watching the movie, or when you decide to hold a gingerbread house competition (Arthur wins, by the way), or when you sit down to have dinner with your families, and it makes you feel a thousand times better.

It’s late when he comes home that night, Lorenzo and Arthur have already passed out on the couch with you trying to read the anatomy textbook on your lap in the low light.

“Hi.” He greets you as he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi.” You whisper back, trying not to wake up the boy sleeping next to you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was a good day.” He answers truthfully, and then motions the book resting on your knees. “Aren’t you going to go to sleep?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”

He doesn’t argue as he presses a kiss on your temple. “Okay, good night, chérie.”

One thing about Charles, is that he is very secretive about his relationships – to the point where he won’t introduce someone to you or his family if he doesn’t think the relationship is going somewhere. So, when he brings over Charlotte for lunch the next day, there is a buzz around the house. The lunch goes well, you think. Charlotte is sweet, and the two of you talk about many things including your universities; she’s very impressed that you want to go into the medical field and you tell her that architecture must be a pain in the ass to study and she agrees with a loud laugh.

When Pascale asks them what they did for Christmas yesterday, Charlotte leans against Charles’ arm as she answers, “Oh, nothing. We just stayed home and watched that old movie – what was it again?”

“The Sound of Music.” Charles answers, his eyes are focused on his hands, and you know this, because your eyes don’t heave his frame until Arthur forces you to carry the dishes into the kitchen.

“We’ll do them, maman,” he announces when Pascale attempts to tidy up the dishes, “Y/N will help me, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, the voice coming off from you not matching the sunny disposition you present to the rest of the room.

You carry the dishes Arthur passes to you to the kitchen, holding your breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you succeed, too. At least until Arthur comes after you, carrying more dishes and places them next to the other ones near the kitchen sink. You start scrubbing them with intensity, your sniffles and the sound from water whooshing around in the sink filling the room. Arthur pulls you against him as you lean your forehead to his shoulder, or where you can on his arm due to your height-difference, as you start quietly sobbing. Arthur turns the tap on as he lets you cry into his shoulder.

The two of you return to the dining room after the dishes are done, and continue the conversation as if nothing happened. After Charlotte announces that she should be on her way, you walk her to the door with everyone, the two of you exchanging numbers as she makes you promise to go shopping with her the next time you’re in Monaco. You agree with a chuckle and tell her only if she teaches you how to draw because your “Anatomy notes are seriously suffering.” After she gives Charles a kiss and leaves, Charles turns to you.

“It’s just a movie.” He says in a low voice.

“You’re allowed to have fun with your girlfriend, Charles.” You assure him and pat his shoulder for good measure. Then, you turn to Arthur, who is watching the exchange with a confused look on his face. “Want to play a round before I leave?”

“Sure,” he agrees and the two of you move into the living room to play a round of F1 on the PlayStation. He sets it up for you as you try to get comfortable on the couch, trying to get rid of the feeling of unease as Charles watches you from the other side of the couch. “Who do you want to pick?” Arthur asks you, the cursor hovering over his choice – who is of course his brother.

You stay quiet for a moment and answer him in a calm voice, “Give me Max.”

Charles scoffs from the other side and pushes himself off, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rich, Y/N, just rich.”

“What?” you ask him with faux innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

His voice is accusatory when he snaps, “Stop being childish for a moment.”

“Oh, I’m being childish?” You ask him, getting off the couch as well.

“Yes, you’re being extremely childish right now.” He agrees, nodding his head. “Glad we at least agree on that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask again while narrowing your eyes.

He scoffs, “It’s just a stupid movie.”

“I didn’t say a fucking word about the movie, Charles.” You point out, mimicking his pose as you cross your arms over your chest. In reality, it’s a short attempt at trying to hide your shaking hands. “But it’s not a stupid movie, it’s tradition.”

“Traditions can be broken from time to time.” He argues.

“I didn’t say they couldn’t.” You shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the man in front of you.

“Maybe if you tried to stick around for more than three days at a time, you wouldn’t be so upset about these type of things.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Charles, maybe you should–” Arthur tries to stop his brother, but Charles waves him off.

“Sometimes I think ‘Did I do something?’, but then I realise that maybe the problem is not me–”

Though you’re shocked by his words, you find yourself assuring him, “It’s not, it has nothing to do with you.”

Both you and Arthur can see something snaps in him, causing him to raise his voice. “Then what is it? Tell me so I can fix it and you can stop running away!”

You shake your head, your arms which are wrapped around you becoming tighter as an attempt to provide yourself some sort of protection. “You can’t fix it, Charles.”

His arms become undone as his fists ball on either side of his body. “You don’t know that–”

“No you can’t!” You scream, somehow more tears flowing from your eyes. “You can’t bring Jules back because he’s dead, and you can’t fix me because I’m not a toy! You think I want to live this way? You think I want to go back every damn time I set foot in this city because I just hate it here? I can’t bear the thought of staying here because of the fact that my brother died while I was here and I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.” You point a finger towards him, your voice gradually becoming louder to match his. “He was dead by the time I got back to the hospital and they told me he couldn’t hold on any longer, how do you think that makes me feel every time I feel like I’ve overstayed in this city, huh?”

“You need to stop living in the past, Y/N.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you see you’re letting the past hold you back?”

“‘Letting the past hold me back’ do you even hear yourself right now? I am trying my best to move on!”

“By moving across the ocean?” He asks you, “By leaving the people you love you behind?”

“You– you can do this!” You scream as you walk towards him and jab your finger against his chest. “You told me to take the offer, you told me to move away because you were so sure we’d be fine.”

“Well maybe I was wrong.” He whispers, grabbing both of your wrists to stop you from poking him and curling his arms closer to his chest.

Your eyes widen with a furious look in them, which makes him realise he sees more of Jules in them than before. “Screw you, Charles.” You struggle against his hold, hitting his chest with your fists with every word as you scream, “Screw you for trying to dictate how I process my grief, and screw you for acting so indifferent.” You win your struggle in the end, taking advantage of the fact that he is both distracted and speechless to get out of his hold and quickly grab your things.

“Where are you going?” He asks you as you’re putting your coat on.

“Anywhere but here.” You snap at him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Arthur quickly comes near you with a concerned look, “You shouldn’t be driving right now, at least let me drive you.”

You give him the warmest smile you can muster up, “I’ll be fine, ThurThur,” your eyes find Charles’ as you continue, “Don’t ever change, okay?”

After the disastrous Christmas last year, you two didn’t talk for a whole year, even though the people around you tried their hardest to bring you to talk to each other. Even Charlotte tried to trick you into spending time, claiming that she had a work emergency just as you arrived at the lunch you two scheduled to find Charles sitting there – you quickly left without being seen and spent the day walking through the marina because “Fuck Charles if he thinks you can’t spend more than three days in Monte Carlo.” He spends Christmas with Charlotte again, but unlike this year, you don’t feel sad about his absence, choosing to call it growth when reality it’s actually packing it away to deal with it another time.

The two of you eventually do make up, though, when you go to one of Arthur’s races to support him and run into Charles on the track. You talk between breaks, both of you succumbing and apologising to each other for the things you’ve said – him more than you, but you still apologise for the way you’ve acted afterwards. Arthur has a strange smile on his face when he finds you, releasing a relieved breath when you told him that you’re fine and you’re going to take baby steps.

“Good,” he smiles, “maman was about to lock you onto Charles’ yacht.”

Your therapist calls is ‘survivor’s guilt’. Yes, you have one of those now because although you want it to be false, you think a part of what Charles said might be right. She explains to you that it’s a natural response where someone has suffered a loss and you didn’t. This confuses you, though, because even if the loss in question is the death of your brother, you weren’t there to experience it with the rest of your family. Dr. Gambini is there to explain that “Although it implies experience, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t not feel the loss of something you didn’t get to suffer.” So, you go through the therapy experience to try to understand your own feelings, which makes you think maybe it is what you should be focusing on in the first place. It’s an overwhelming feeling, understanding things about yourself which you didn’t before – the things you used to feel slowly gain meaning as you go about it. You’re proud of yourself when you talk about it to your parents, and they tell you that they are proud of you for giving it a go. Charles joins you in one of your sessions – it’s Charlotte’s idea, actually. He tries to understand why, and how he can help you – he leaves the session feeling proud of you for taking care of yourself.

A few months later, you get a phone call from him when you’re in the middle of the week when you are studying, while all of your friends are away for spring break. His voice is thick with tears as he tells you that it’s over between him and Charlotte, but refuses to give you a reason when you ask why. It leaves you confused in New York, but when he asks you if you can come home for the weekend, you don’t hesitate to book a ticket for the next flight out. He’s shocked to find you standing in front of his door, but pulls you in for a hug anyway. Neither of you care about the duffel bag that hits the floor at your feet, even when you’re stumbling over it to get to him. You don’t talk, but hold each other throughout the night. He offers to cook for you, but you decide that ordering pizza is a better solution than trying to each what Charles attempts to cook. So, you end up deciding on pizza and a movie.

You look at him confused when you realise which movie he’s selected, “It’s not Christmas, Charles.”

He sits down on the couch, and pulls you under his arm as he reaches for the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. There’s a nostalgic smile on his face which you cannot understand. “I owe you two screenings of this movie, Y/N. Now eat your pizza and watch it.”

So, the two of you watch the movie in silence – with silently laughing in relevant scenes and Charles even attempting to sing the Lonely Goatherd, which leaves you in tears because of how much you’re laughing. At the end of the night he walks you to the guest room in his apartment and pulls you for one last hug, whispering, “Thank you for coming,” into your hair.

“Of course, Charles.” You whisper, turning your head and softly pressing a kiss to his shirt-covered chest. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.

He’s in the kitchen when you wake up in the morning, focusing so intently on something on his phone to notice you. You ruffle his hair as you make your way through the kitchen to make some breakfast for the two of you. “Good morning to you too, you grump.” You tell him, when you finish getting out the ingredients for the breakfast you have in mind.

“Morning, chérie.” He answers, in a non-committal voice.

“And to think I was going to make you pancakes.” You sigh as you halt the movement of your hands and lean against the counter.

A playful smile is on your lips when Charles excitedly raises his head. “Pancakes?” He asks in a soft voice.

“I was going to add chocolate chips, too, but you didn’t say good morning to me and now I don’t think I’m in mood to be honest with you.” You shrug, starting to put away the bowls you took out.

He quickly comes behind the counter to tickle some sense in you, and you use the bowl in your hands as a shield as you start laughing. He gives up after a while, pressing a kiss to your temple and fixing some of your hair which fell out of place during the ‘fighting’. “Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Wow, you actually want to help me cook for a change?” You coo, ruffling his hair again and hitting his hip with yours to get him out of your way. “Go wait on the other side, you grumpy baby.” He complies to your directions to sit on the other side of the island, but doesn’t bother with his phone this time. You make a motion towards his phone on the island with your head as you crack the eggs into the bowl. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just some problem with the car.” He answers. “I might need to go to Maranello for a day or two. When is your flight back to New York?”

“Oh– I can change it if you know the date–” You start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“What? No, I don’t want you to go back.” He quickly says, shaking his head. “I just thought you might want to come with me rather than stay here.”

“Oh,” You say, looking around. “It’s not a problem, I can stay and study.”

There is a confused look on his face. “Stay? Here?” He asks over and over again. “Here? Stay? Alone?”

“Yes, Charles, I can manage to stay by myself.” You sigh. “I did it last summer for a month, you can trust me, alright?”

“You were in Monte Carlo for a month, last summer? How did I not catch you at all?”

You let out another sigh, “In case you don’t realise, I’m very good at avoiding you.” You continue when he gives you yet another confused look as you start mixing the batter. “Charlotte told me to meet her at a restaurant but it was a set up for me to meet with you, so I got in the car and drove away. It was probably the closest we got to each other.”

“Wow.” He looks at you with wide eyes. “Just, wow.”

You roll your eyes and glare at him. “Stop looking at me like that. My classes are all online this semester and Dr. Gambini thinks it’s good for me to spend more time here; it’s supposed to help me get closure, or something.”

He gives you a big smile. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, his smile quickly mirroring on your own lips.

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “And you can stay here all you want! And cook me breakfast, you know.”

You let out a laugh this time. “I can get my own place, Charles.”

“But then who will cook me breakfast?” He asks with a small pout.

“You are a child, Perceval.” You laugh at the way he looks at you, with his elbows bent over the counter and his upper body leaning over the stove. “I’m only cooking you breakfast; you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me after this.” You joke.

You turn around to look in the cupboard for the chocolate chips as you hear him mumble, “Too late.”

You almost hit your head at the open cupboard door when you turn right back to look at him. “What?” You walk towards the island as you mumble out, “No, no, no, no, don’t say that. You just broke up with your girlfriend, Charles.”

“We broke up almost five months ago.” He announces, no hint of joking in his voice. “Right before the Abu Dhabi race.”

“That’s not true.” You say, shaking your head. “I spoke to Charlotte; she told me everything was fine.”

He shrugs, then offers you an explanation. “We announced it a couple of months later, but we’ve been broken up for a while.”

“But then why did you call me a couple of days ago to tell me it was over?” You ask him, visibly confused.

He looks guilty as he admits. “I– I don’t have a good answer for that.” He stalks over to the other side of the island again to trap you between himself and the marble in an attempt to prevent you from evading. “All I can say is that I love you.”

“Oh, wow.” You say, suddenly you can find the right choice for words. “Say that again for me?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Now in French?”

“Je t'aime.”

“In Italian?”

“Ti amo.” He laughs this time, leaning down towards you to bring his face towards yours. “You done?” You nod your head with a giggle escaping past your lips. “This would be a perfect time to say something, you know.”

“Oh, right.” You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“What?” He asks in horror.

“Yeah, thank you. You know, for the–”

“Chérie!” He exclaims with his eyes wide.

You continue your giggles as you place your hands on his cheeks and pull his face towards you, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you too, chez moi,” my home/place. The pancakes are long-forgotten when you pres your lips on his to give him a kiss, somewhere in the universe your twelve year-old is high-fiving with herself, but you are happy to be finally home.

#monzabee #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst

2K notes · View notes

sunderwight · 3 months

Text

y'know what, I think it's kind of interesting to bring up Data from Star Trek in the context of the current debates about AI. like especially if you actually are familiar with the subplot about Data investigating art and creativity.

see, Data can definitely do what the AI programs going around these days can. better than, but that's beside the point, obviously. he's a sci-fi/fantasy android. but anyway, in the story, Data can perfectly replicate any painting or stitch a beautiful quilt or write a poem. he can write programs for himself that introduce variables that make things more "flawed", that imitate the particular style of an artist, he can choose to either perfectly replicate a particular sort of music or to try and create a more "human" sounding imitation that has irregular errors and mimics effort or strain. the latter is harder for him that just copying, the same way it's more complicated to have an algorithm that creates believable "original" art vs something that just duplicates whatever you give it.

but this is not the issue with Data. when Data imitates art, he himself knows that he's not really creating, he's just using his computer brain to copy things that humans have done. it's actually a source of deep personal introspection for the character, that he believes being able to create art would bring him closer to humanity, but he's not sure if he actually can.

of course, Data is a person. he's a person who is not biological, but he's still a person, and this is really obvious from go. there's no one thing that can be pointed to as the smoking gun for Data's personhood, but that's normal and also true of everyone else. Data's the culmination of a multitude of elements required to make a guy. Asking if this or that one thing is what makes Data a person is like asking if it's the flour or the eggs that make a cake.

the question of whether or not Data can create art is intrinsically tied to the question of whether or not Data can qualify as an artist. can he, like a human, take on inspiration and cultivate desirable influences in order to produce something that reflects his view on the world?

yes, he can. because he has a view on the world.

but that's the thing about the generative AI we are dealing with in the real world. that's not like Data. despite being referred to as "AI", these are algorithms that have been trained to recognize and imitate patterns. they have no perspective. the people who DO have a perspective, the humans inputting prompts, are trying to circumvent the whole part of the artistic process where they actually develop skills and create things themselves. they're not doing what Data did, in fact they're doing the opposite -- instead of exploring their own ability to create art despite their personal limitations, they are abandoning it. the data sets aren't like someone looking at a painting and taking inspiration from it, because the machine can't be inspired and the prompter isn't filtering inspiration through the necessary medium of their perspective.

Data would be very confused as to the motives and desires involved, especially since most people are not inhibited from developing at least SOME sort of artistic skill for the sake self-expression. he'd probably start researching the history of plagiarism and different cultural, historical, and legal standards for differentiating it from acceptable levels of artistic imitation, and how the use of various tools factored into it. he would cite examples of cultures where computer programming itself was considered a form of art, and court cases where rulings were made for or against examples of generative plagiarism, and cases of forgeries and imitations which required skill as good if not better than the artists who created the originals. then Geordi would suggest that maybe Data was a little bit annoyed that people who could make art in a way he can't would discount that ability. Data would be like "as a machine I do not experience annoyance" but he would allow that he was perplexed or struggling to gain internal consensus on the matter. so Geordi would sum it up with "sometimes people want to make things easy, and they aren't always good at recognizing when doing that defeats the whole idea" and Data would quirk his head thoughtfully and agree.

then they'd get back to modifying the warp core so they could escape some sentient space anomaly that had sucked the ship into intermediate space and was slowly destabilizing the hull, or whatever.

anyways, point is -- I don't think Data from Star Trek would be a big fan of AI art.

#star trek #star trek tng #st tng #data soong #geordi la forge

301 notes · View notes

hazelsmirrorball · 8 months

Text

Spiderman's biggest Fan | Jaime Reyes

summary: Jaime Reyes is the biggest spiderman fan. His girlfriend on the other hand is Spiderman's biggest hater.

pairings: Jaime Reyes x Fem! Reader

a/n: I’ve been wanting to do this for a while but as I was walking towards my literature class I saw a big ass spider so that inspired me to write this. This will probably have a second part if you guys want.

warning: English isn’t my main language

[MASTERLIST]

part two. part three. part four part five

Superheroes wasn’t a new term for the citizens of Palmera City. They were aware of the crimes that the cities around them would face like Metropolis or Gotham City. But Palmera city wasn’t a goldmine for a lot of villains to show up but there were a few constant ones like Doctor Octopus, Electro, the Rhino and occasionally some more. Before Blue Beetle had come around there had been a few super heroes that would patrol from time to time. Superheroes from the Justice League would pass by which added to people's curiosity, and by people mainly Milagro and Jaime. They loved the entertainment that it brought to Palmera. It made Palmera City more interesting. People had mixed reactions to superheroes, even though they were supposed to keep “humans” safe, some people had love-hate relationships with them, but some people were like the Reyes family.

Before the whole Khaji-Da situation, Milagro and Jaime would obsess over heroes. Collecting comics, occasionally buying merchandise, collecting news articles with their favorite heroes and other things Milagro and Jaime would be ashamed of even mentioning. Superheroes was something Jaime and Milagro bonded over. Even when Jaime left for his pre-law degree in Gotham City, he made sure he would snap pictures of the titans or batman when he got a glimpse of them. He even snuck a few pics of Red Hood beating the shit out of the joker. The pictures would end up in the group chat he had with his sister and his girlfriend, Y/n. Milagro loved seeing all the heroes, gushing over the titans from time to time while Y/n would just leave the text message on read. Milagro would reciprocate the messages by sending him pictures of their all time favorite superhero, Spiderman.

Spiderman was the shit in Palmera city, everyone went crazy about that man. Spiderman had been spiderman for a long time now. Keeping crime to a minimum in Palmera, he kept Palmera safe. Spiderman was Palmeras Batman or Superman. He was deeply loved by the people. Excluding the media and Kord enterprises. Depending on which news was your go to, you would see John Jameson bashing Spiderman or other news outlets talking wonders about him. But the city of Palmera hated both Kord and John Jameson so Spiderman didn’t have to worry that much.

Even though Spiderman was a national treasure no one had a clue of who he was and it intrigued Jaime. The fact that there was a possibility that he had seen spiderman around in his normal attire. Jaime and Milagro would see him from afar fighting crime and that would be the start of the gushing train. They only had one interaction with the man. Nana, Milagro and Jaime had gone to get groceries and before they could even process what was going on someone was robbing the store. It didn’t take long for Spiderman to show up and save the day. Both of them stared in awe from afar not wanting to disturb him. That day was one of the top days in their life.

Y/n, Jaime’s girlfriend of seven years, on the other hand didn’t understand their infatuation with superheroes. She had known the siblings ever since diapers and they usually would have a lot of things in common. Knowing each other for years made them click with a lot of things but it was weird for her to click with them on that specific topic. She was on the other side of the spectrum. She could care less about the heroes, it’s not like it affected her directly. At least that’s what her boyfriend thought.

From Jaimes perspective Y/n hated Spiderman. She didn’t stand him, every time Milagro or him would mention Spiderman she would tense up and roll her eyes, clearly annoyed. She didn’t like the subject. Y/n would walk away groaning when Spiderman would show up on the news while Jaime and Milagro would gush about him. At some point Jaime thought it was mere jealousy but he quickly pushed that thought away when he brought it up. Y/n mentioned that she just didn't understand what was all the fuss about. That to her these superheroes was just some bullshit that she didn’t want to deal with. That maybe Jameson was right, the world could live without Spiderman,the world could live without heroes.

“Heroes just make us “normal people” a charity case and you are eating that bullshit up” Y/n defended herself as looked at her boyfriend's shirt. I love spiderman written in the same font as those New York tourist shirts, spiderman being in the heart . Jaime looked at her with puppy dog eyes pouting as he hugged himself.

“So that’s a no on being spidermen for halloween?” He asked softly as she groaned leaving him alone

So when the whole Khaji-Da situation came creeping into Jaime’s life he hid it from his longtime girlfriend. He didn’t know how such a beautiful person like Y/n would stay with him in a relationship for so long. He couldn’t risk fucking things up, he didn’t choose to have Khaji-Da. He made his family swear that they wouldn’t say a word to her. Which they hesitantly agreed, respecting Jaime’s decision. He hated hiding things from the love of his life, but from the back of his head he would imagine what you would think about him now that he had “powers” and you were using them for good. It didn’t mean he was a superhero, right?

Jaime saw a future with Y/n and being Blue Beetle wasn’t going to change that in the slightest. They were going to finish grad school, get married and have a family. So even if he did feel guilty about hiding such a big secret he would have to keep it a secret to save their relationship. In Y/n eyes Jaime found a job at Kord industries and he worked nights, which wasn’t a complete lie. So that made him feel a little less guilty. Y/n was one of the most important things in his life and he wasn’t going to lose her, never in a million years.

But after the Reyes household burned down, Y/n had offered the Reyes family to stay with her and her aunt Marisol until everything was settled, which they agreed. So there they were the Reyes and the L/N living together. Which made Jaimes secret a little more harder to hide, being under the same for months was going to make things slip. He couldn’t sneak up in his girlfriend's room wearing his suit. So before anything could happen he took a break, he didn’t want to risk her finding out. He needed to take advantage of living with his girlfriend, seeing what it’s like to actually live with her, getting a preview of what’s to come.

That’s when Jaime started to pick up on Y/n’s weird behavior. How she would leave on random moments of the day or how she would avoid him at night. She was hiding something and he knew it. After all these years he could pick up on the little things she did and to him it was pretty obvious that she was hiding something. Something that fucked him over was the fact that he didn’t want to pry because he also knew that he was keeping things from her. But in his defense it was also for their safety and their relationship. So maybe he should let her have this secret, it wasn’t like she was cheating or something. Y/n wasn’t like that.

That was until she slipped into the kitchen spotting Jaime and Milagro eating some cereal while reading the news assuming that was Spider Man's new little stunt. She rolled her eyes walking towards them. She took a sip of Jaimes drink, placing it back down quickly.

“Buenos dias, nena” Jaime replied, smiling at her in awe making Milagro start her puking noises.

“Buenos dias! How did you guys sleep?” She said as she gave Milagro a little squeeze on the shoulder and a peck on Jaimes cheek. Milagro spined the stool to face her while narrowing her eyes at the couple.

“I slept well, how about you Jaime? How did you sleep” Milagro replied, taking a sip of her drink while looking at Jaime to make him talk. MIlagro wasn’t dumb, she was noticing that the couple wasn’t in synch as usual and she wasn’t going to let her brother fuck it up.

“Oh, um. I kinda couldn’t sleep. I miss you all night” He replied looking at his girlfriend not knowing what words to use. He didn’t want to sound like an obsessive boyfriend.

No offense but since Jaime isn’t going to say it I will. You look like you haven’t slept in years and we all know you are not sleeping here” She exclaimed straddling Y/n.

“Sorry! I’ve just been taking school seriously and since I'm doing that I am studying more than usual. I don’t want to have you guys staying all night up because I am doing my work. I just go to the library, that’s all. Don’t worry after midterms I’ll be all yours. Now are you guys still focused on the last spiderman fight? Come on! Shouldn’t you guys be doing something productive with your lives?” Y/n asked sarcastically, changing the subject as she fixed the hair leaning against Jaimes touch picking up looking towards the newspaper that was on the counter she pushed the hair to the side.

That’s when Jaime’s heart stopped. His eyes scanned the bruises in Y/n neck and he could feel his heart drop, sickness overcoming his body. He tried to look away from the barely covered hickeys, not wanting to cause a scene in front of Milagro. He couldn’t believe it, studying in the library my ass. He knew he hadn’t left hickeys on her neck, they hadn’t been intimate in a while because of all of her disappearances. The only interaction they were having was the occasional kiss on the cheek but that was about it. Jaime missed her, her kisses and her touch but he also respected her space so he didn’t bother her. But now the thought of her being with someone else scared him. She was keeping things from him and this was the confirmation.

“Ay mija, para mi que Spiderman es novio tuyo. Because why are you always up his ass? You know what they say, if you can’t beat them join them. It is about time you stop that hate train. I bet he’s really hot. Don’t you think, Jaime?” Milagro replied, closing the newspaper and turning to the couple. Jaime nodded completely out of it, his head in a different world.

“No seas estúpida. I just can’t believe you waste your time on that. That’s all” Y/n shrugged, pulling away from Jaime as she felt her phone vibrating. She pulled it out of her pocket reading the text message and for the first time in forever Jaime tried to peak over her shoulder. He needed to know.

Jaime, please give Y/n her privacy. Respect is important in a relationship

Khaji-Da words made Jaime sit straight once again. Y/n turned to Jaime pecking his lips quickly, fixing her hair.

“I have to go but I will see you guys at night. We are still up for movie night, right? Twilight marathon” Y/n asked the siblings as she looked between them. Milagro nodded and Y/n smiled at her. Y/n took that as a sign, speed walking towards the door but Jaime followed her suspecting that something was going to happen if he let her go. He holds Y/n arm softly standing on her front porch stopping her dead in her tracks.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Jaime asked slowly, letting his words sink into her. Y/n looked at him confused.

“What are you on about? Jaime, I’m an open book with you. I’m not hiding anything” she replied calmly making Jaime tense even more. Was she really lying to him?

“Y/n I can see. I can see the hickeys on your neck” Jaime replied harshly leaving Y/n wide eyed. She swallows hard thinking on how to talk to her but before a word could slip out of her mouth her phone vibrates again.

“I really need to go. Can we please talk about this when I get back?” She replied waiting for Jaime to answer but he stayed quiet trying to fight the anger he was bottling up. When she noticed he wasn’t going to reply Y/n headed her way leaving Jaime on the porch with his emotions.

She hated herself for leaving her boyfriend after he accused her of cheating. Things weren’t looking good for her. All the sneaking around, all the little lies and the sleepless nights. She was hiding things but it wasn’t the fact that she was cheating. It all had one thing in common.

Spiderman.

Y/n knew spiderman a little more than Jaime and MIlagro thought. They had a deeper connection than they could ever imagine.

When she was fifteen she found herself walking home after a long day of school when she had stumbled upon a spider that not shortly after decided to bite her. But to her dismay she didn’t get deadly poisoned because of the bite instead she got inhuman powers. A radioactive spider gave her superhuman strength ,superhuman speed, superhuman reflexes, superhuman durability, spider-senses and other inexplicable superhuman things. That’s the day spiderman was born.

She didn’t hate superheroes. She in fact loved them. Shewould feel so accomplished when Jaime fangirled about spiderman but Y/n didn’t want to raise suspicions she acted like she hated everything to do with superheroes. No one in her family knew about her little powers and she intended to keep it that way. After losing her parents and her uncle she didn’t want her aunt to worry about her, she already had too much things on her plate. She wanted to protect the people she loved and if she wanted that they had to be unaware of her powers. When the bite happened she had started dating Jaime and around the same moment Jaimes obsession with Spiderman started. Y/n hadn’t agreed with the name spiderman but people assuming she was a man made the suspicion of it being her less. So she kept the name, after fighting crime alone in Palmera City some people have gained an eye on her, offering her place in the Justice League, which she gratefully declined not wanting to leave Jaime alone. So they would come around from time to time to work with her.

It wasn’t hard for her to hide the secret identity from Jaime. With him working late at night and helping around the house he didn’t have time to notice her sneaking out. But now living under the same roof and Jaime rarely going to work made it hard for her. The Justice League needed her help and she was doing the best she could while attempting to balance her relationship. Throughout all the mission Y/n thoughts wandered towards Jaime and how broken he looked when she left. She was going insane and counting the minutes for her to get back home. She couldn’t even feel the constant hits she was getting while fighting. She got back into reality when Batman decided that the mission was done. After that she swung through all the buildings trying to get there as soon as possible, not noticing the time. Y/n quickly climbed the walls of her house slipping into her bedroom window noticing that her door was opened. She watched as Nana walked past the door with her pjs assuring her that she was still on time for the movie night. She slowly crawled on her ceiling as she slipped her mask off. Y/n moved slowly trying not to make any sound as she threw a web to close the door so no one could see her change. When the door was almost closed , Y/n let go of the ceiling with ease letting out an exhausted sigh. She walked towards it tiredly pushing the last few inches closing it. After debating if it was a good idea to have that conversation with his boyfriend, she turned around to face her bed to rest her eyes for at least a few moments. But the shocked look on Milagros face made her freeze dead in her tracks. Milagro let the movies she had in her hands slip as she stared at Y/n with her mouth wide. Y/n followed her expressions trying to think of something to say.

“What was that?” Aunt Marisol yelled from the kitchen. Y/n swallowed hard, quickly biting her lip. She quickly turned around heading towards the door before anyone else could enter the room worried about the loud bang.

“ U-uh it-it’s nothing! Nothing.” Y/n exclaimed looking at the door but quickly looking at Milagro again. Her face was in utter shock as she tried to think of words to say.

“You’re the Spiderman from…..the news” She said slowly, still inspecting the suit, the shocked look on her face not leaving. Y/n breathing got unevenly quick as she tried to find some sort of excuse to shake Milagro off.

“I’m not. I’m not” Y/n replied nervously as she tapped her chest letting the suit expand, turning bigger which made it slip from her body leaving her in her underwear.

“You were on the ceiling,” Milagro replied pointing up at the ceiling, her hand shaking with nerves.

“No I wasn’t! Milagro what are you doing in my room!? You can’t just bust into my room!” With that she could hear someone's steps coming towards her room making her quickly move in front of Milagro as her aunt opened the door.

“The turkey meatloaf recipe es una mierda! We decided to order food. Are you guys, Milagro, do you want to eat something?” Aunt Marisol asked as she waved smoke out with a rag.

“Ye-”

“No! We already have food here for are movie night. Don’t worry Aunt Mary” Y/n exclaimed all jumpy trying to get her out as soon as possible.

“Okay then ... .Maybe but on some clothes” her aunt replied while pointing to her semi naked body. She quickly grabbed the nearest shirt covering her body while nodding. Aunt Marisol closed the door as both of them looked at the place she once stood at.

“She doesn’t know?!” Milagro whisperedyelled as she walked towards the door. Y/n slipped the shirt on blocking her path.

“No one knows! Well Batman knows because he made my suit but that’s it!” She said in the same tone, getting stressed out.

“Batman made you that? Are you in the Justice League?” Milagro asked excitedly. While she just shook her head nervously.

“Well basically… You can’t tell anybody about this, you have to keep it a secret” She said as she watched Milagro almost faint on her bed. As Milagro held her body against the nearest wall Y/n walked towards her.

“Secret what, why?”

“If she finds out, if Jaime finds out that there’s people out to kill me every night they are not going to let me do this anymore. Come on, Milagro. Please ” Y/n whispered-yelled with a panicked look on her face pointing towards the door.

“Okay, okay, okay. I will level with you. I don’t think you should keep this a secret. This is the best thing that has ever happened to you. I mean Y/n…” Milagro exclaimed wanting Y/n to tell everyone, specially Jaime and Marisol.

“They can not know! I can’t do that to them right now. You know…..with everything that is happening to her…to him…to them…to you, to us! Please Milagro” Y/n replied desperately trying to catch her breath. Milagro look at her knowingly, her gaze softening.

“Okay”

“Just swear it, okay?”

“I swear,” Milagro replied, smiling at her softly, trying to ease her nerves.

“Thank you…. I can’t believe this is happening right now. “ Y/n replied as she walked towards the other extreme of the room trying to calm herself.

“Can I try the suit on?…”

“No”

“How does it work? Is it magnets? How do you shoot the strings? Why are you spiderman if you are a spiderwoman?”

“I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. I just need to rest, please” Y/n replied taking Milagros by the hand walking her towards the door.

“Wait, so you aren’t cheating on Jaime!” She replied before she left the room.

“No! It isn’t a hickey, it's a bruise from the fight you guys were reading about '' Y/n exclaimed before closing the door leaning her head against it. She scanned her room, her eyes failing on her mirror noticing she was wearing Jaimes “I love Spiderman”.

That’s why they say you should never meet your idols. It will be disappointing when you see how they truly are.

part two. part three

[MASTERLIST]

562 notes · View notes

batmanschmatman · 3 months

Text

It’s interesting to me to see how many people have been saying they feel like [character’s] death was too sudden or too early, and while I agree from a writing standpoint we didn’t exactly have a lot of time with him and they COULD have framed the show differently to give us more, I also think it’s sort of The Point that his death is sudden and kind of out of nowhere.

The air war was incredibly fucking brutal. I’m not saying it was more or less so than what the BOB or TP guys went through because they’re all awful, but it’s a well accepted part of the WWII experience that anything to do with flying planes might have seemed glamorous and cool but was actually terrifying and had a sort of uniquely horrible flavor to it when it came to facing the death of your friends.

(And this isn’t even getting into the stuff happening on the ground when cities became viable targets, but that’s for a different post.)

When Hoobler dies, the guys are there, they see it happen, they can try to help him, and then they know after a point that he’s dying. They can sit with the body afterward and take his stuff to send back to his family. Even in the more fast paced deaths like Rob Oswalt, Sledge and the others can look at his body and have a moment - however brief! - to say goodbye. There’s often no mystery of what happened, you’ve seen the wounds and know they’re dead. And you also HAVE to push it down because you’re being shot at and need to keep yourself alive.

All of that is real important in the grief/mourning process. Guys in the 100th usually didn’t have that unless someone on your bomber died. You’d go up with your friends, you’d see their planes get hit, there’s nothing you can do besides watch for chutes and hope they survive to be taken prisoner. And then you come back, and your friends are gone, there’s no body to bury or sit with or touch. Their stuff is all still in the barracks like nothing happened. Sometimes you’re not even immediately sure if they are dead or not! You don’t know who those chutes belonged to, or if they made it safely to the ground instead of dying on impact or immediately being caught by the Germans and executed. But your friends are gone and you were powerless to do anything to help them.

And then you get to do it all over again knowing it’s going to happen to other friends or to you and there’s basically nothing you can do about it. How do you cope with that? What does it do to you to feel like your friends just literally vanished into thin air even though the last time you saw them, they were healthy and young and alive? And then new guys replace them, and you have to decide if you want to make friends with them or close yourself off, because these guys are going to die too.

(Oh, and if a member of your crew got badly wounded? You could have HOURS before you got back to base, and you have some first aid training but you’re not a surgeon, you don’t have plasma or whole blood to give a guy to help keep him alive until you make it back. So another horrible traumatic thing you get to deal with. Wounds that could’ve been treatable if you’d been at Carentan or Guadalcanal could be fatal.)

I’m not saying this show is a masterpiece in storytelling by any means, but… You’re supposed to feel shocked and angry and robbed of the chance to get to know these guys? Because that’s literally how their friends felt. It’s a point Miller makes a lot in the book, and a really vital part to understanding why being in the AAF (or other air forces) was such a meat grinder physically and psychologically for these guys.

#masters of the air #masters of the air spoilers #history stuff

156 notes · View notes

shekeepswriting · 10 months

Text

A Little More Heart

[Syverson x Reader]

Word Count: 3977

Summary: On a night out with an old friend, Sy meets a woman who catches his interest.

Warnings: Just cursing and a little bit of alcohol

A/N: This could become a series? I’ve got little bits and pieces and some fun ideas. Let me know if you’d be interested in that. I’m new to this part of tumblr and very nervous...

Sullivan’s was pretty barren that night, not that anyone could expect much for this late on a Thursday night. A few regulars warming their usual barstools, making conversation and laying out their woes to a characteristically haggard Billy Sullivan as he filled the pretzel and peanut bowls. A duo of middle aged women talking gratuitous shit at a table near the middle of the room with frequent smoke breaks. A group of four guys, barely on the right side of 21, trying to boost their cool kid points by getting good at pool. One woman sitting at the end of the bar with a notebook, leaning heavily on her forearms in a way that read more fatigue than alcohol consumption. Looked like she was drinking lemonade.

Everyone who had been there when Syverson and Danny walked in two hours earlier was still holding steady.

They’d made their way through the stages of conversation people usually had drinking with old friends. The short term catch up, funny argument over something stupid, brief foray into more emotional territory, shared memories, hypotheticals. Their night, at least, was starting to wind down.

When Sy came back from the bathroom, Danny was staring at the woman at the bar, finger tapping idly on his glass. Having known him since he was fifteen years old, Sy knew that face very well.

“Not gonna go your way,” Sy said mildly, with a hint of a smirk.

“No? How d’you figure?”

“She’s sitting at the very end of the bar with a notebook and pen. She didn’t come here to make friends or get hit on.”

“She could’ve stayed home to write,” Danny argued, but his face was thoughtful as he watched you.

“We could’ve stayed home to drink.”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Alright, take it easy. I’m not gonna harass the woman. Just gonna introduce myself. If she’s not interested, I’ll go. Not trying to be an ass.”

“Nah, you don’t gotta try. You’re a natural.”

Danny squinted, snatching at Sy’s glass and downing the rest of his drink in retaliation.

“You go then. Looks like you’re running empty anyway.”

“I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Oh, I know it. Old man Syverson ain’t known the touch of a woman in fifty years,” Danny said, exaggerating his accent and wiping away an imaginary tear.

“That’s enough of that now.”

“Come on, man. Look at her. Frowning and drinking alone. She’s your soulmate.”

Sy shot him a frown, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Not drinking alone though, am I?”

“You talk to her or I will.”

Sy gave an unconvinced grumble, but the look on Danny’s face made it clear it was no idle bluff. Now, there was nothing wrong with Danny. He wasn’t aggressive or pushy; he knew how to take no for an answer. But he’d give it a solid effort, and he was the most extroverted person Sy had ever met.

If you were uninterested in company, the way that he was almost certain you were, it would be easier to avoid the whole process entirely. And if Sy took up the bar stool two spaces to your right, Danny wouldn’t have a clear view to know whether or not the two of you actually spoke a word to each other.

He stood up from the table with a deep sigh, making sure his annoyance over the disruption of his night was fully documented.

“Happy hunting, Captain,” Danny said with a stupid grin and a sloppy salute that had Sy rolling his eyes as he turned towards the bar.

As you noticed his approach, your shoulders tensed up, lips slightly pursed but eyes still trained on your journal. Sy gave you space, careful to only observe you through his peripheral vision as he claimed a stool a fair distance from you, leaving a buffer seat between you.

Billy approached as he sat, brought him a beer with minimal conversation.

You fidgeted, clicking your pen three times in rapid succession.

There wasn’t much more Sy could do to set you at ease without blowing the whole operation, but he set his phone on the bartop, scrolling absently through contacts and pictures to give himself something to do, something to help you feel less observed.

Your leg started bouncing and you glanced at him, quick as humanly possible.

There was a silent standoff for a few minutes, one Sy was trying very hard to will out of existence. But you were still tense on your barstool, expectant.

You broke first.

“No pitch, huh?”

You were looking right at him this time, fully turned to face him, eyes intense but not unfriendly.

“Pitch?”

“You left that cozy corner table to come drink by yourself on an uncomfortable bar stool. Usually the kind of move that’s followed by an introduction, maybe some pickup lines. A pitch of some kind.”

Sy turned his head just enough to see the table he’d been sitting at out of the corner of his eye. Danny turned his head away too fast, feigning interest in the record cover art hanging on the bar walls. Idiot.

“Saw me over there, huh?”

“I’m a woman drinking alone in a dive bar, and you are literally the largest threat in the room. Of course I saw you.”

Sy frowned.

“Not a threat to nobody.”

You raised your eyebrow, reaching out with a speed that had Sy struggling not to tense up as you looped your pen under the chain barely peeking out of the neckline of his shirt.

“You don’t strike me as the necklace type. Military, right?”

“Retired.”

You hummed, letting the chain drop back against his skin as you retreated from his personal space. He reached up, patting the shape of his tags as they resettled against his chest beneath his shirt. It felt strange, wearing them again. He wasn’t used to it anymore. Normally they lived in the back of the top drawer in his desk, out of sight and as far out of mind as he could manage to keep them. But anniversaries were psychologically significant. He’d learned that in therapy. So he’d decided to honor this one, the anniversary of his initial enlistment, by putting them on again. Going out with a friend from before… everything. It was why he was here.

“Military,” you repeated quietly, your eyes back on your notebook again, still tilted out of Syverson’s view as you flipped the page, stared at the blank expanse for a moment before giving your pen two thoughtful clicks. “Always a threat.”

Sy’s stomach lurched uncomfortably.

“Not to you. Not to anyone in this bar,” he said firmly, tilting his head to add as an afterthought, “Long as they mind their fuckin manners.”

Your mouth curved up at the corner, just the hint of a smile, the first he’d seen from you all night. Not that he’d been watching. Much. It disappeared after only a few seconds, replaced by a focused frown that traced a crease between your brows as you put pen to paper.

His eyes flicked down towards the bartop, but the cover of the notebook still shielded the page from his view. He was tempted to drop it, leave you to your work, whatever that might be. But your body language gave him pause. You had shuffled around on your stool during your brief conversation and remained that way even now, shoulders and hips pivoted slightly in his direction rather than running parallel to the bar in a position more comfortable for writing. He fiddled with the label on the bottle of beer the bartender had brought him, the corner peeling back easy under his thumb before he smoothed it back into place.

“What’re you doing?”

You glanced up at him, flashing that little smile again, though this time it looked a little sharper, caught somewhere between self-conscious and amused.

“Chasing the muse, I guess.”

Sy raised an eyebrow, gave a neutral hum.

“Not sure I know what that means.”

“Sure you do,” you said quietly, eyes tracing thoughtfully over his face before you turned your attention back to your notebook. “It’s a pretty universal concept, I think.”

“Maybe.” He took a sip of his beer. “Just figured most people don’t come this far south looking for it. More of a New York and LA kind of thing.”

“Just because those are the places most people look for inspiration, doesn’t mean those are the only places you can find it.”

You were some kind of artist then. Interesting.

“Can I ask what you’re looking to inspire? Or is that too personal?”

That earned him another look, something quiet and appreciative. Two quick pen clicks.

“You can ask. I kinda want to hear you guess though.”

He looked again at your notebook. It wasn’t the tiny kind, but it wasn’t full sized either. Leatherbound or something like it, not spiral. He couldn’t see the paper to know whether it was lined or not. Could be for writing small amounts. Drawing maybe. You could even be writing song lyrics in there. He hadn’t been around enough artsy people in his life to know a damn thing about it.

But he was observant, good at cataloging behavior, pretty decent at reading people. When he had first approached, your hand had been gliding in straight lines across the page, but now it was moving more erratically. There was something different in your glances too. Slow, almost too intense to be polite, analyzing. Maybe you were drawing him on that page you kept so carefully hidden from his gaze. Or maybe you were still deciding whether or not he was a threat to you. Sy wasn’t totally comfortable with either option, but he’d prefer to think that the current turn of the conversation was proof of you softening just a little towards him.

He hedged his bets a little, just in case.

“Don’t see any paint on ya. That’s about the best I can do,” he said mildly.

“That was an awful lot of thinking for ‘don’t see any paint on ya,’’' you said, tilting your head. A bit too gentle to be an accusation, but you still wanted a better answer.

“Alright…” Sy shifted on his bar stool, angling towards you. “Looked like you were writing before I got here. But now you’re either scribbling or drawing. Maybe even drawing me by the way you keep looking at me. Unless you’ve got another reason to be staring like that.”

Right answer. You were smiling again, a little freer than last time.

“I’m not staring.”

He shrugged. “Studying, then.”

“I’ll take studying,” you said with a slow nod. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“I’ll live.”

“Of course you will, but that’s not an answer.”

“Sure isn’t,” he said, taking another drink.

His own lips curved up into a smile, almost against his will, when you laughed. Bright and open. You were fully facing him now with the kind of smile that was impossible to ignore, genuine and joyful and inescapably contagious.

“Let’s try this then…” you said, trailing off into soft humming sounds as you added a few last hurried lines to your notebook before setting your pen down.

You ripped the page out as cleanly as you could manage and set it on the scarred bar top, giving it a little push towards him.

And it was his face looking up at him from the paper, rendered in wild pen strokes of blue ink, but no less detailed for the messy style. The close cut of his hair, sharp furrow of his brows above focused eyes, the beard that had needed trimming for two days at least. Neither unflattering nor romanticized, just honest. The way you saw him. A little intense, a little rough around the edges, but not harsh. There was kindness there somewhere in the lines of his face, but he couldn’t pin down exactly where.

Sy hummed, gestured toward your pen.

“Borrow that for a minute?”

You slid it down the bar to him with a raised brow.

He nodded in thanks as he took it, snagging an unused napkin as well. With an excessive slowness, he sketched out his very best stick figure, looking up at you with an evaluative stare when he heard a muffled laugh. You dropped your hand from your mouth, meeting his gaze with a playful smile, tolerating the long look with amusement dancing in your eyes.

He dutifully added two dot eyes, pausing for a moment before drawing eyelashes and eyebrows, trying not to tear through the napkin. A very geometric nose followed, and a wide open smile. After another long look he added your hair, actually bothering to get the shape right since it seemed much more attainable even with his limited art skills.

You were still smiling as you watched him sign the corner.

“Those your initials or is that your name?” you asked, tilting your head to read the tiny letters.

“My name,” he answered, sliding the napkin and pen back to the bar space between your two stools.

“Sy,” you said slowly, as if testing the sound of it. He smiled too, just a little, not remembering when he’d last liked the sound of his own name so much.

“You didn’t sign yours,” he reminded you, and you squinted your eyes at him, knowing full well what he was after.

Still, you took up the pen and signed the loose sheet of notebook paper. Probably exactly as you signed everything else: mostly illegibly. He could decipher the initials, but not much else.

You let out a snort at the unimpressed look he leveled at you.

“Now you’re just causin’ problems on purpose.”

“It’s not my fault that you write like a caps lock keyboard and I don’t.”

He sighed.

“And here I drew you a real pretty picture,” Sy said slowly, tapping the napkin.

“You did,” you said with a smile. “But I’m still holding out for the pitch.”

“I still don’t have one.”

“Come on, now,” you said, a challenging spark in your eyes. “I’ve never met a man who didn’t have a pitch. A line. A move. You’ve got something.”

“Haven’t done none of that since I was a teenager,” he said. “I’ve got no use for that shit.”

“Sure you do. Because I’m asking. And don’t tell me you haven’t flirted since you were a teenager. I don’t believe that for a second.”

Sy shifted in his seat.

“Didn’t say I never flirted. Just said I don’t use lines.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at the distinction, resting your chin on your hand.

“Come on now. You want to know my name, that’s the price. And I expect your best work, Sy.”

He let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his forehead. This was about to be real fuckin embarrassing.

“Alright. Not promising anything good, here. I only ever had two.”

“Efficient,” you said with an approving nod.

“They’re not good,” he repeated.

“But they worked?”

“Mostly. God only knows why.”

“Stop stalling,” you said in a stage whisper.

“First one…”

“I’m ready.”

He cleared his throat, looked straight into your eyes.

“Wanna make out later?”

Your mouth dropped open in surprise before stretching into a wide smile.

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “I wasn’t ready.”

Sy shrugged, took a sip of his beer while you stared at him in awe.

“That worked for you?”

“Yep,” he said with a small smile. “What, you don’t appreciate honesty?”

“I… do,” you answered slowly. “Okay, I guess I see it. What’s the second one?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to bother you, but I can’t seem to find my phone number. Could I borrow yours?”

“You turned your accent up for that one,” you said with a delighted laugh. “Full force southern charm. My God, what a little heartbreaker you must have been!”

“Now you’re just bein’ mean,” he said, turning back away from you.

“No, I’m completely serious. I fully believe those worked for you, and now I kinda want to see pictures.”

“Now, you’ve gotten more than enough outta me for one night.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed.

You picked your pen back up, wrote your first name in small block letters under your artsy scribble, your best approximation of his own handwriting.

“Bullyin me,” he muttered even as he committed your name to memory.

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you said breezily, laughing at the look he shot you in response.

“So, what, you’re some kind of artist then?” he asked, changing the subject. “Draw and paint and all that?”

You shook your head.

“Not really, no. That’s just for fun. I like drawing people.”

He looked at the paper again.

“Well you’re damn good at it. If that’s not the muse you’re chasin, what is?”

“Umm,” you sighed, like you were preparing to give an explanation that you’d given dozens of times before. “I write online for a magazine. It’s… kind of like a travel blog, but it’s less about the places and more about the people? Here…”

You reached into your pocket for your phone, tapping around for a bit before handing it to him. There was a picture of you at the top, a profile view of you driving, but it was so strongly backlit by a late afternoon sun, that it left your features mostly indistinguishable. Smart. Probably safer that way. Below that, a US map covered in multicolor pins, a calendar view, with dots on days you’d posted, and finally a list of posts. Abbreviated views of each one showed a first name and city, a pen drawing like the one you’d done of him, and the first two sentences of your story.

He nodded slowly.

“You gonna write a story about me, then?”

You fussed with your hair, shifting uncomfortably on your stool.

“Probably not. Unless you want me to. I always ask permission first.”

“I’m sure you do. Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

You sighed again. Sy frowned.

“So what’s the problem then? Looks like there’s a lot here. Doesn’t seem like you need a lot of help.”

“I didn’t think so either,” you said with an unhappy smile. “But my editor has decided that I need to attract more dedicated readers. People who check the website every day, not just when they think to. Subscribers. And to do that, I apparently need to add a little more heart.”

“What’s that mean?” Sy asked.

“Good fuckin question,” you said, lifting your glass as if in a toast. “I guess some sort of emotional buy-in. Something personal and specific so the readers get invested in me specifically, not just the people I talk to.”

“And that brought you down here?”

You shrugged.

“My grandma lives here. Seemed like as good a plan as any.”

“I’m sure she’s glad to see you, whether it helps with your writing or not.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your eyes softening. “She really is.”

“How long you think you’ll be staying?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got two weeks of posts queued up, so I bought myself at least that long before I have to figure out how to… do the emotion thing.”

“That damn emotion thing,” Sy said, shaking his head, smiling a bit when it drew a soft laugh from you.

“Yeah…”

“Maybe I’ll see you around again then,” he ventured, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a tiny ass town,” you said with a smile. “So probably.”

“You’d be okay with that?” he checked.

You laughed again, nudged his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think so. Long as you mind your fuckin manners,” you said, taking on an overplayed surly tone as you repeated his earlier comment back to him.

“I always mind my manners,” he said matter-of-factly, glaring playfully at you when it elicited a snort from you.

“Oh, sure you do,” you laughed, checking the time on your phone.

You took a deep breath in the companionable silence that followed, reaching down to drag your bag up from where it had been tucked safely between your feet. The napkin with Sy’s drawing curled your lips into another smile as you closed it between the pages of your notebook and stowed it in the main zipper pocket along with your pen. Your phone went back into your pocket.

Looked like his time with you was almost up.

He leaned back on his barstool a little, glancing back at Danny who was now schooling the young guy at pool with a self-satisfied smile.

When he returned his attention to you, you were giving him that searching look again.

“About that time?” he asked.

“I think so, yeah,” you said. “It was nice meeting you, Sy. Sorry for giving you a hard time.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

You laughed, shrugged your shoulders.

“I’d like to think it did you some good. But seriously. I had fun talking to you. Thanks for the company.”

He nodded, gave you a smile.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Hope so.”

You took another breath and slid off your stool. Billy came to collect your glass, mostly melted ice now, and you gave him a polite smile.

There was a moment of hesitation, like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure what. You settled for a little wave as you started to turn towards the door. Then it was Sy’s turn to feel it, the suddenly urgent need to say something, to drag the moment out just a little longer.

He called out your name, a plan forming in his head when you turned quickly back to him.

“Yeah?”

“Well, ‘fore you go, I figure I should ask you...”

“Ask me what?”

If you had any idea what he was about to say, you were hiding it extremely well, just staring at him curiously, head slightly tilted and smiling softly. Almost made him change his mind. Almost.

“You wanna make out later?”

Your eyes lit up, a laugh barely kept in check, locked behind a widening smile.

“Oh, I see. I get it now,” you said, taking a step closer.

Sy raised his eyebrows.

“It’s the eyes that do it. You weren’t doing the eyes before.”

“I’m not doing nothing with my eyes,” he argued, but a smile slipped free when you took another step closer.

“Yes you are,” you laughed. “You’re smoldering.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t smolder.”

“It’s more lighthearted than most,” you admitted. “Dare I say even playful. But it’s still a smolder.”

He shrugged easily, eyes scanning over your face.

“Still ain’t answered my question.”

“Did you mean it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows in challenge.

“Said it, didn’t I?”

You looked him over, humming thoughtfully. He didn’t move, kept right on looking until your eyes returned to his.

“I’ll think about it and let you know,” you answered with an unreadable expression.

“And how are you gonna manage that?” he asked, spinning on the bar stool to keep his eyes on you as you moved towards the door.

You clicked your tongue, patting at your pockets with increasing concern until you finally met his eyes with a despairing frown.

“Oh God, you’re right! I totally lost my phone number. Any chance that I could borrow yours?”

Sy shook his head with a sigh, holding his hand out for your phone as you approached him again, an inescapably smug smile on your lips.

“Think you’re real cute, don’t you?” he muttered, biting at the corner of his lip to keep a smile in check.

“You certainly think so, or it wouldn’t have worked.”

He handed your phone back to you, watched you send him a wink emoji before you turned to leave again with a parting flutter of your fingers.

He shook his head again when the door closed behind you and saved your number as “Trouble.”

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

A/N: I’m very nervous. Please let me know what you think and if you wanna read more! Thanks for sticking with me this far

#syverson x reader #captain syverson x reader #syverson fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #sandcastle fanfiction

507 notes · View notes

qsycomplainsalot · 7 months

Text

AI isn't Art it's just Illegal Predatory Randomized CGI

Reposting this because OP blocked me, can't begin to guess why.

Photography, collage, readymade and various of the more abstract styles of painting and drawing are all art, and AI isn't. Why is that ? Simply, there are skills required to make technically interesting artpieces using these media, let alone meaningful ones. A skilled photographer might not be skilled with a pen, but their knowledge of composition and observation will always be transferrable to a new medium, in a way that they'll never start their art journey from scratch again. Because they're already an artist, because they've already done art and are skilled at it. Speaking for myself it took me a decade to get to a level where I was able to get paid for my work drawing traditionally, and once there it took me less than a year to reach a somewhat similar level switching over to digital. The skills are more comparable than with say collage or sculpture but the core principle still stands: I had gone and learned traditional art in art school, and while there I learned a slew of skills that were not at all limited to one tool, and when it came to switching I did not have to learn these skills again. Because by that point I was already a trained artist. I could just switch to sculpting with clay tomorrow and the biggest challenge would be to find a new market more than any skill issue.

Meanwhile fucking about with a computer to generate new pictures randomly has NO transferrable skills whatsoever. So much of the work has been taken out of your hands by a pattern seeking piece of software that it is impossible to learn anything from the experience. It's just plain to see when before you click the doodad to generate a new picture, you have NO IDEA what it will look like, none whatsoever unless you've been iterating on it before. You're not having an idea, formulating it in your mind and applying your skills to getting it out into the world, you just sort of have an idea and then a machine does the actual art work for you.

The only way you could possibly get better as an artist from doing this is if somehow you were deluded enough to think the process of scalping every artists' work in history was ethical, while also being observant and caring about art history enough that you'd learn critical skills from looking at the result of your quotation mark work end quote. Which is something you can do by going on a museum, or the internet. And if being an art historian isn't good enough for you, I invite you to actually join the elite exclusive vip club you're funding the death and automatisation of, by simply picking up a pen and piece of paper and starting to draw. It's that fucking simple.

PS: People trying to compare writing prompts with poetry: poetry does not include a stage in its process where all your artistic intent is surrendered to a machine to churn out a mash up of unethically sourced content. Nobody is going to buy a small book of computer generated picture prompts to keep on their night stand. You guys are delusional.

#rant

280 notes · View notes

david-talks-sw · 7 months

Text

When 'Star Wars' dilutes the impact of a "Kurosawa samurai standoff"...

It's no secret that one of the major inspirations for Star Wars was Akira Kurosawa movies. The Hidden Fortress influenced the basic structure of the first film, was a basis for Lucas' character archetypes and his use of narrative POVs.

But, really, all of Kurosawa's films were an influence on the making of Star Wars. Including the duels seen in his and other samurai films from the 60s.

Dunno if you've seen a kendo fight, but they're pretty similar.

The duelists size each other up, and there's a lot of mind games going on before the strike actually happens.

If you hold your sword this way, the other guy adjusts his stance.

You move your foot that way, the adversary responds accordingly.

Cinematically, this process allows you to play with a whole treasure trove of elements to build up the drama and suspense. We see this slow-yet-tense approach to dueling reflected all over the Original Trilogy. And we've seen it again in recent Disney-released content.

The perfect and first real example of this in Star Wars is the fight between Ben Kenobi and Maul, in Rebels.

The tension increases more...

... and more until the two fighters move, the music swells...

... and then it reaches its climax.

Beautifully executed.

Dave Filoni's done his homework, it shows, and while it's an awesome homage, narratively it also holds weight. There's a reason why this fight is so quick:

This time, Obi-Wan isn't fighting to avenge the death of his master, he's not fighting to save his own life... he's fighting to protect Luke's. And that means there's no time to fuck about. He'll end the conflict swiftly and decisively, he won't let it come to a prolonged acrobatic fight. So he lures Maul in by making him think he's taking Qui-Gon's form, and strikes true when Maul, increasingly consumed by his own rage to the point of blindness, falls for it.

Again: a wonderful fight and an excellent homage.

Then we get to Luke's stand-off with Kylo on Crait, in The Last Jedi.

An interesting take on the trope, also with meaningful narrative impact. As Rian Johnson writes in the TLJ screenplay:

"This is not like a saber fight. This like an old-fashioned samurai duel."

Here too, the tension gets built up...

... and every time we're close to getting that climax, Luke dodges.

It leaves a feeling of dissatisfaction, which is exactly what Kylo is feeling as he boils with rage.

Suddenly, we do get the climax...

... and a twist. Luke was never actually there. Boom. Those inserts during the build-up phase? If you look at them again they're clues (Luke doesn't leave a mark on the ground, salt doesn't land on his clothes, etc). Luke wasn't engaging because he wasn't actually there, he was buying time for the Resistance to escape.

Okay. Cool.

Next time we see a "Kurosawa" duel... it's here, in The Mandalorian.

Again, a lot of posing, slow movements and patience, as is expected from the trope.

But we know nothing about the opponent Ahsoka is fighting other than her name is Morgan... so no emotional impact, there.

At some point, Ahsoka loses a lightsaber. The apprentice to the Chosen One is struggling against some rando.

We find out later on that Morgan is a Nightsister from Dathomir, and that's cool... but we already know how Jedi-trained folks fare against the Dathomiri.

If you ask me, it feels like manufactured stakes. But that's beside the point. In fact, y'know what? It's fine.

Though the impact of this duel isn't as great as its predecessors, the whole episode is filled with visual homages to Kurosawa's work.

It makes sense that the duel would be too. Also it's the first time we're seeing Ahsoka in live action, in a lightsaber duel, the hype is real. Let's cut 'em some slack.

So we come to the series Ahsoka... where almost every duel in the the show has the Kurosawa posturing and tip-toeing and... I dunno. I was bored?

Like, the primary purpose of this approach to duels is that it's meant to be suspenseful and intense... and now it's not.

Because we know Ahsoka is gonna beat the crap outta these droids...

... so why even bother faking some semblance of "what's her next move gonna be?" suspense? There's a hole right behind her, gee, I truly wonder.

Oh, you think putting her against an Inquisitor's gonna make us fear for her life, wonder if she's gonna get outta this situation unscathed?

She was wiping the floor with two of them at the same time, a decade prior. At 17, she was killing Inquisitors while disarmed.

Do you really expect your audience to fear for her life in a fight against Marrok?

So we get to the fight with Baylan, and the posturing and studying opponent's next move would be welcome here (two Order 66 survivors, knew Anakin, both well-trained former Jedi)...

... if we hadn't literally seen that same dynamic with Marrok who, again, we knew was gonna die.

No tension was built in either moment, the only thing it achieved was me pressing >> on my keyboard.

It's not captivating anymore, it's just slow and un-dynamic.

Bottom line:

Tributes to Kurosawa are nice. They're part of what makes Star Wars what it is. But c'mon, we get it already.

Lightsaber duelists don't need to tiptoe around each other and change poses at every fight. Because when the actually meaningful duels come up (like the one with Baylan), the impact will be lessened.

The "Kurosawa samurai duel" is artistic and interesting, but it should be used sparingly in order to maintain its charm and not get old and trope-y. AKA too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing.

#ahsoka series #ahsoka tano #baylan skoll #marrok #ahsoka #star wars #meta #sw negativity #long post

313 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 4 months

Note

So in other words, you agree, Sam and Cait are not very good actors as exemplified by the scene being them and not Beauchamp and Fraser. On that, agreed. She might be a C actor, he's definitely a D

Dear Beauchamp and Fraser Anon,

I suspect you might be a returning one, by the way, hoping to catch me unprepared with a very cheap sophism. Check this concept on Wikipedia if you wish, but I will give you my definition: manipulated or derailed logic, i.e. formally sustainable, but in reality just a fallacy; or, if you prefer, a bunch of crap, just for the sake of it. Also, it would be wise not to try these cheap tricks on someone trained to work with words and doing so every single day: you might find no satisfaction, ultimately.

Fun fact: I don't agree with any single word you just wrote. Sam and Cait are very good and gifted actors. Both of them. They did wonders with a very inconsistent script and under barbaric public pressure. What dragged you in here, Anon? Mrs. Gabaldon's florid, even luxuriant prose? What kept you in here, Anon? Blood and sperm and rape galore? I should wish you were honest, at least for once in your life, and let your answer be 'not really'.

What I meant by that phrase was something very simple: the actors' life experience deeply informing and sublimating their performance. If you think real and creative lives are strictly separate affairs in any intellectual endeavor, then you are probably completely unfamiliar with anything remotely related to writing, singing, playing (an instrument), acting, composing or painting. All these are akin to magic and all of the above are a summoning of sorts: ask any 'content creator', you will probably get a very similar answer. In Cait and Sam's case, their real life story nurtures and elevates their acting, despite people like you.

I am not an actor myself, but a long time ago it was acting that liberated me and taught me to not be afraid of anything. I did not make a living out of it, but I will always have the tools making me able to access that very special energy, any time I should need it. So, I can only offer you an educated opinion of These Two:

C is a very, very good actress. She is classy, sophisticated and knows instinctively how to occupy a stage or a set. She worked and progressed a LOT since Season 1, when it took me a good while to warm up to her. Add to this what I think is arresting beauty. Not really a C-level, in my book.

S is a wonderfully gifted actor who, unlike C, does not have any idea of this potential and, to be honest, gives the impression to even not care about it. He singlehandedly dominated some of the most difficult moments of the series (that unwatchable Wentworth episode comes to mind). His mastery of the Stanislavski and Lecoq methods and techniques is excellent. He is likeable, personable and has an innate emotional intelligence, helping him navigate and compensate the weaknesses of (yes, I insist!) an often insufficient script. I have already written about it, with arguments, when I found some very interesting parallels between The Fiery Cross episode and Laurence Olivier's performance in Shakespeare's Henry V. I will say it again: this guy has been grossly miscast, spare for JAMMF.

Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the whole preparation and rehearsal process when producing a movie or a series or a theatre show. These people don't just learn their lines by heart and turn up for readings and rehearsals. They also read and watch a lot of things that could help them build better, more credible characters. But what makes the sometimes very subtle difference between a decent performance and a stellar one is the amount of themselves they allow inside their acting. And in this respect, I think Sam and Cait have been very lucky, in what is a very clear case of Art (instinctively) imitating Life.

I doubt this answered your question and to be honest, I don't care.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

135 notes · View notes

lizzaneia-elizalde · 6 months

Text

Yandere! Jock x fem! Reader

OKAY SO, I accidentally published the draft I was writing for 🌼 Anon's ask, and in panic, I deleted it. So the ask got deleted too. I am--

This was the reason the ask got delayed in being published 😭

Anyways, 🌼 Anon asked for a:

WHAT IF: Reader is not an honor student, but a black belter in Martial Arts?

I noticed there was also a specification for the reader's gender this time, so the reader is for the fem girlies!

This is gonna be interesting :3

For those who hasn't read Damon's main fic, I suggest to read it first to understand his character more.

Damon, as a jock whose apparent only one braincell ticks around for sports, he never needed a tutor or a mentor or something like that.

He naturally doesn't need any kind of training when doing any kinds of physical activities. He's naturally gifted that way.

But how did y/n and Damon met this time around when y/n is not going to tutor Damon in academics?

⚽⚾🏀🏐🏉

"Damon! Do you think you could join us in the martial arts club?" One person appeared beside Damon, who just got from his basketball practice. At first, he was irritated but calmed himself down and reminded himself that he's supposed to be s nice guy.

"There's a martial arts club? That's so cool!" Damon excitedly said, his smile wide. 'Tch. What do they mean martial arts club? That's too broad.'

As Damon gave a fake, excited smile, the person faltered from how excited Damon is and fumbled through their bag, picking up a flyer.

"H-here! We just recently got recognized so, please give us a try." The person said, their voice high pitched and nervous before bowing and running away.

Damon made sure the coast is clear before dropping his himbo persona and scowling at the paper he's holding.

"West Street, the Physical Education building." Damon read the location.

Should he?

He pocketed the flyer and started walking towards West Street, looking to kill time.

He never tried Martial Arts. Maybe this would be a good activity to add to the roster.

Once Damon found the PE building, he saw some people loitering outside with the same flyer in their active wear. Some also wore various martial arts uniforms. Confused as to what martial arts are included in the club.

Damon rolled his eyes. Surely it couldn't take a handful of taps on the keyboard to include the martial arts they were housing?

Damon shook his head and slapped his cheeks, before sporting a boyish smile he knows all too well.

"What's up?!" Damon greeted his 'friends' from the different sports club he was forced to join. The people jumped at his loud voice before smiling.

"Hey Damon! Nice, you're here also?"

"Heyya Dam! Interested in Martial Arts?"

"Another sports to your experience? Wait, is martial arts a sport?"

"is it?"

Damon laughed and slung his arms over them.

"Yep, I'm really excited. This one looks fun." Damon mused, genuine this time.

Before they were about to talk once more though, a whistle silenced the whole group of loitering people.

A man, probably the head of the club, cleared his throat.

"welcome to Martial Arts club! Here, we give opportunities for artists to Excel in their field! May it be escrima, Taekwondo, Karate, Muay Thai, even those Arts that aren't as well known! We will support you all the way!" The man said, a naive and enthusiastic tone on his voice.

Damon frowned. As if a club can support such a diverse and broad reach.

The man cleared his throat once more and explained the audition process. Damon couldn't give a damn though, and looked around the facility while humming. He licked his lips, dried and a bit cracked.

He was bored. He needed something to stimulate his senses.

Then, he flinched when he heard another whistle.

The people started segregating to different lines. the person in front the line had signs up of different popular martial arts and then one at the end with "Others". Damon pursed his lips at the blatant disregard of the other arts and the unpreparedness.

He decided to go in line in the taekwondo line.

He licked his lips more, now slightly wet and moisturized.

As the line slowly dwindled, his big frame met with yours.

Significantly smaller (also he was a very tall man), at first, he didn't pay attention to you. He only grabbed the pen you offered and signed his name on the clipboard.

Then, the people who signed up went to a separate room in the PE building, where there are mats laid out on the ground.

There are people wearing doboks with different colored belts that Damon doesn't know the meaning, but he knows the black belt was the highest.

"Okay, let's see how you guys fare in fighting our players! In this case, we will allow you to pick a player to fight with." The head announced, making the auditionees whisper to themselves.

Damon pouted and tilted his head to the side while looking bored.

Well, he is an amazing man with an amazing physique. Very gifted in different sports too.

So martial arts shouldn't be that difficult.

People started to trickle in inside the ring with their chosen player. Majority chose a purple belter. Some going green, the occasional blue, the rare brown. None chose the red belters, the ones with black stripes, or the singular black belter.

Damon smirked as he eyed up your form. His eyes sweeping down your dobok which was a bit skewed and clumsily put together. You look bored too, seemingly rushed to wear your uniform.

Damon smirked and licked his lips again. The cracks now gone.

"Yo, sensei!" Damon said once it was his turn to bout.

"That's Japanese."

"So I have to pick who to fight huh?"

"It's called a spar."

"Hmm, I don't know, who should I pick?"

"Aren't you confident."

Damon glared at you, who kept making side comments at his words. His himbo facade cracking a bit.

He walked up to you and looked down.

"Well." Damon gave a big smile. "I choose you!"

"I'm not a pokemon." You frowned and tied your hair up. "Alright. If that's what you want."

Damon smirked and got the spare dobok from the hands of a player, thanking them before slipping them on.

It's a bit tight, but it works out anyways.

After he finished wearing his dobok, he got on the mat and faced you.

You bowed to him, and Damon clumsily followed before following your lead and also bowing to the instructors.

Damon's body tensed up as you assumed position, your eyes suddenly sharpening as you swiftly approached and performed an Ap Chagi, or a snap kick, to his chest.

This took Damon aback who stumbled back a bit.

'I didn't saw her move!' Damon yelled at himself as he took a stance once more and tried kicking you also, but you blocked it and did a Yeop Chagi (side kick) to his waist.

Damon trembled at the shockwave of pain sent to his body as he doubled over, holding his waist. His eyes shook as he looked up.

Your left leg raised up high, ankle facing the top of his back.

An Axe kick straight to the center of both of his shoulder blades, and he fell down face first to the mat.

Everyone who knew Damon trembled.

That easy?

The Damon?

They all shook in fear as you cracked your neck and glared at Damon who also shook in place.

"You got too arrogant and fought a black belter." You whispered, crouching at his height. "How about starting at a white belter, huh? It seems that, that's the only belter you can defeat."

Damon flushed from embarrassment as rage flowed in his veins.

His eyes found yours, hatred seeping through but he bit his tongue when he finally saw your face up close.

'pretty...' he thought to himself, words choking him as he admired your sharp eyes.

And as you scoffed, a deep shiver ran down his spine down to his core.

Oh, he's gonna enjoy going to this club.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Damon panted, the sunset light filtering through the window and onto his body.

He rolled over, his tongue sweeping over his lips. Cracked open with blood tinting it.

He trembled as he tried sitting up, a flush on his face. Bruises decorated his body as he looked up at you, triumphant and belittling him.

He bit back a moan.

He's now a purple belter, after months of trying to catch up to you. It was really quick, considering the fact that he was a newbie.

But, he's also Damon, the man who people thought that his brain just revolves in Physical activities.

But it also involved you, his master.

"Sensei... That was amazing!" Damon laughed, his voice breathy as he tried to hide the twitching excitement down there in his pants. His eyes wide with arousal and obsession, he giggled to himself. "One more!"

Unaware of his thoughts, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Again, that's Japanese, you dingus."

You took off your belt and slung it over your shoulder. "Sorry, but I got to go somewhere. You go freshen and heal up."

He frowned. Are you going on a date? With whom?

Fickle jealous thoughts infiltrated his mind.

"Where to, sensei?" "Again, that's Japanese"

"Well, I'm gonna have my black belt 1st dan promotion." You told him while getting your bag. "So practice by yourself."

Without any more words, you left him aching on the mat.

"Aw... But I love that about you, leaving me like that." Damon facepalmed, his grin wide. "Ah fuck... I'm so far gone."

He heard his phone beep. An application told him that you're too far from him.

Your location was being tracked by him.

"But seriously..." He whispered, irritation welling up inside him. "Ah, i'm so envious. Is there sparring in the dan promotion? If so..."

He imagined your beautiful, strong and toned legs hitting, bruising somebody other than him and irrational jealousy filled him.

He took off his top and shivered, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.

He looked at the mirror and saw himself and his torso being decorated with bruises that you inflicted on him.

To him, you were marking your place on his body.

It may not be permanent, but he knew it was enough.

For now.

His member twitched again, imagining you putting him back in his place once more.

He looked around and locked the door before excitably letting his imagination run wild.

And, as he pleased himself in the sanctuary of the PE building, in a room which only you and him use, he knew he have to have you.

His precious sensei.

He hears your voice once more correcting him.

"Ah... Hah... Hmmf..."

He bit his lip, tasting the dried blood. His face flushed and sweaty.

"Mine..."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

209 notes · View notes

jaegeraether · 6 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 14)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (14)

Masterlist (other parts here)

(**Been waiting a while to introduce this new character... **)

Lucy was gripping the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, her eyes closed, jaw twitching. Katie reached across the table to touch her but stopped at YFN shaking her head. “No,” she said gently. “Just… give her some time to process.”

Katie began looking around for the stalker.

“What are you going to do?” Jordan asked, her eyes also wandering. They all knew they were safe together.

“Well it says they want to see me within 48 hours.. so I’ll prepare tonight and go in tomorrow. I’ll give them all my information and explain. I have proof of them stalking me and I’ve done nothing wrong.. it’s not like I’m from a threatening country. Australia is part of the Commonwealth so everything should be okay..”

Lucy stood and left, scanning around for the stalkers as she waded through the crowded area, though always keeping YFN in sight.

“What time are you leaving?” YFN asked Jordan.

“Tomorrow morning. I’m giving myself a day for the drive and to settle back in before training starts again. When are you coming?”

YFN looked around to see Lucy talking to someone who looked like a Manager. “I’m not sure.. Luce is here for another week but I think she wants to see her family in Manchester.. so maybe we’ll be staying there for a few days and then with you for a few before she leaves?”

“Sounds right, I think Luce wants to get you settled in with me before she goes.” Jordan cringed as realised what she’d said and gave a sheepish look to YFN who rolled her eyes. Of course Lucy spoken to Jordan about staying with her in Birmingham. She looked over at Lucy who was heading back to them, her heart melting even more.

“If you’re still hanging around with your Visa thing, you should come watch us train,” Caitlin said.

“Plus, aren’t you a writer?” Katie asked. “They’re always lookin’ fer writers for sports columns but they can never find good ones. They’re always so borin’ and invasive so none of the players want ta open up to them. But we all already know you..”

Lucy sat back down as YFN mulled it over. “Sports column?” Lucy asked gruffly.

“Just an idea.” Katie shrugged. “It’d be great to do interviews where we know the person and know they aren’t going ta just make up a story. We always have to be so careful with the media trainin’ and such.”

“It’s… it’s a really good idea. I love it, actually. It would be great if it were across all of the leagues..” Her pinky reached out for Lucy, testing the waters, and Lucy hooked her pinky around it. Their little way of communicating.

“I think they’d want you to cover as much as possible." Caitlin said. “Especially if lots of players know you. I’ll send you the details of the company. They just can’t find anyone to cover one league let alone all of them. It’ll be a lot of work but if you’re keen..”

YFN nodded. “I’ll be interested but… maybe don’t send me anything yet. My Visa… I’m not allowed to work. And tomorrow I guarantee they’ll go through my phone and messages with a fine-toothed-comb so if it all goes well then I’ll ask them about the possibility of changing to a working visa… and also having to travel across Europe and what those entry requirements are.”

“Okay… we may already have chatted to the company…”

“What?!”

“It’s okay! It’s nothing official, we didn’t give them your name, we just told them about you and that you used to write a column and that you’re here now and have made a lot of friends with the players..”

“Wow, is it really that bad for you guys with media?”

They all nodded.

“The amount of media training we’ve been through is ridiculous.” Jordan said. “And then we stress about what parts they’re going to use and what they’re going to cut! So if we have someone we can trust then it takes all of that stress away.”

“Okay…. Okay.. I’ll think about it and see how tomorrow goes. If they barely agree to accept my current Visa though, I won’t ask them..”

“That’s fair enough, it was just an idea,” Jordan shrugged and YFN chuckled at that. “Wait.. you’ve all spoken about this?” She thought it was just Katie and Caitlin.

“Of course mate!” She slapped a hand to her shoulder. “We don’t want you going anywhere.”

YFN’s heart filled just a little more as she smiled at her friend. “Birmingham is going to be so much fun.”

“Ohhh yes.” She leant around YFN to look at Lucy. “Any news?”

Lucy shook her head. “No one saw them and they’re not here now. I want us to get out of here though.” She looked at YFN, her protective green eyes locking with hers from behind her clear framed glasses. “I want us to get you out of that hotel, and I don’t want us to be in public longer than we have to.”

“Yeah we’re goin’ ta leave ya’s to it. I’m feeling weird just waitin’ for someone to put a bag over my head.” Katie pushed her sunglasses back up her nose, looking around like she wanted a fight.

“I can help you pack if you need?” Jordan suggested.

“Oh yeah, Dory! You can come over if you want? I’d love to spend some time with you before you leave tomorrow..” YFN looked over her shoulder at Lucy who nodded at her friend, looking a little on edge. “It’s settled. Come with us.” YFN smiled and took Jordan’s hand.

They said their goodbyes and hugged. YFN again thanked Katie and Caitlin for last night, checking that Katie’s hand was okay after trying to break the window of the car. They had a good giggle at that. She promised to get back to them about the strangely vague position of interviewing players, and they both again showed their enthusiasm.

Lucy practically bodyguarded YFN the entire way to the car where YFN encouraged Jordan to sit in the front. She sat behind Lucy who had one of her arms behind her, fingers tangled with YFN’s. She liked needy Lucy. She liked all of the Lucy’s to be honest.

They went to YFN’s hotel and Lucy spoke to the staff to check her out early while Jordan and YFN packed. Somehow, Lucy was able to get her a refund for the nights she didn’t stay, and then they were in Lucy’s car and headed to her London home.

YFN felt strange unpacking. She was technically moving in with her partner… whom she hadn’t known for long.. who also lived in Spain. She felt a little like she was pushing herself onto Lucy too fast, but at the same time, all of it was at Lucy's request. Her insistence. And, it had been one of her three demands.

Jordan and YFN spent time together unpacking, researching and bantering while Lucy was on the phone, pacing. She was talking to lawyers, discussing Visa’s and restraining orders. She was frustrated but would pause past YFN often to touch her, give her a kiss wherever she could reach, or just wave from the patio. She didn’t like the idea that she was putting so much extra stress on Lucy when she should have been resting and recovering her knee, but she also knew that this was Lucy’s choice. She was so sexy the way she took care of things. YFN watched her pace the patio, talking on the phone with her AirPods and expressing so much with her hands, the artery in her neck becoming more prominent when she got more frustrated demanding things. The efforts that woman was going through just to keep her safe and in the country was more than anyone had ever done for her in her life.

She spoke to Jordan about Leah who’d dropped the drunk trio home last night, and who’d apparently dropped Jordan home last.

Jordan sighed. “Leah tried talking to me.. she asked how I was doing and how things are at Villa but I just wasn’t in a state to talk. I couldn’t get out of my head the idea of people following you and Luce…”

“So you pretty much blew her off..?”

“Yeah.. pretty much. I didn’t have the capacity to talk. She left me. She didn’t even give me a reason, she just said that she changed and I hadn’t and… and she left. I tried to talk to her, you know I tried, but in the end I left my club for her. The club I spent most of my career at.” She was getting teary eyed and YFN moved next to her and wrapped her arms around her. Jordan leaned into her and sobbed a little.

“You still love her,” YFN said softly. Jordan nodded against her. “Oh Dory..”

She leant over to get some tissues and blew into them. “I can’t just let her back into my life after that. She… she can’t just do that. I don’t even know if she misses me as a friend or as a girlfriend but she lost both.”

“I… I think it’s both.”

Jordan lifted her head to look at her. She continued. “The way she looked at you and spoke about you when you weren’t watching.. especially with that girl at the bar. And she thought we were together…”

She could see the thoughts running behind Jordan’s eyes before she shook her head. “No, she doesn’t get that from me anymore. She did this. She made this mess.”

“She did, she absolutely did. Let’s just bench it for now and take it as it comes, okay? I’m right here for whatever you need.”

“I’m so happy you’re coming to Birmingham,” Jordan said with a tremble in her voice.

“Me too, mate. Me too. We’re going to have so much fun!”

Jordan’s mood picked up as they changed topics and kept researching. They found a lot of good news and information that had them positive about the outcome the next day.

“Oh this looks promising,” Jordan said. “It’s talking about a character reference who’s known you for at least ten years? Not related to you though..”

YFN laughed. “Ohh I have just the person.” She took her phone out and scrolled through her contacts. “Ridley. We grew up together.”

“I thought you didn’t have a best, best friend?”

“She’s basically family and… an acquired taste.” She laughed again. “God, I love her. We go through periods of not talking for 6 months and then talking every day, but that’s just us. She’s the closest person I have from Australia besides my nan. She actually works in Spain, it was one of the reasons I was going to visit, to see her!”

She called her up and a drunk Ridley answered, music blasting in the background. “Hey baby Blue, what’s doing?”

“Hey Riddles, you busy?”

“Nah, never too busy for you. When are you coming to Greece?”

“Are you still partying?”

“You know it baby! Way too many hot Europeans here.” She started talking to someone near her. ‘In a minute, love, just get us some more drinks.’

YFN laughed. “I can call back…”

“Bullshit, they can wait. What’s up?” She changed to Facetime, and it was exactly what it sounded like. Some sort of party at night in Greece, people crowded around. She had a bottle in one hand and some colour sunglasses on which she look like she stole, covered in several beaded and glow in the dark necklaces.

“Having a good night?”

“You know me mate - always.” She said with a grin as someone bumped into her. ‘Watch it!’ She yelled at them.

‘Doesn’t cost anything to be kind!’

‘Costs me my fucking sanity, move your big ass feet away from me.’

She turned back to the phone and took the cap off the bottle with her teeth, spitting it and taking a swig. “I’m just about to throw hands, Blue, I swear.”

YFN and Jordan laughed. “Blue?” Jordan asked.

Before YFN could answer, Ridley noticed her and got closer to the screen with a smirk. “Oh, hey there Jordan Nobbs, you’re looking sexy tonight.”

YFN groaned. “She flirts with everyone, don't be surprised.”

Jordan laughed and answered politely. “Hey mate, nice to meet you! Where was our invite?”

“Oh baby, you’re free to join me aaanytime.”

Jordan’s mouth dropped and YFN groaned, knowing this would happen. “Anyways! Riddles, you know the stalker issue?”

“Oh yeah, you need me to come sort them out?”

“Oh, Lucy’s all over that. No, they put a complaint in about my Visa so I’m headed to the embassy tomorrow. I need a character reference who’s known me at least ten years-”

“-say no more, baby Blue, I’ve got you.” The girl reappeared and was grabbing at Ridley’s face, kissing her cheek. Ridley pulled away, her attention still on her close friend.

“…Yes… but will you be awake tomorrow around 10am your time?”

She hummed and then agreed to set her alarm. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she wasn’t reliable for this, but she knew Ridley and knew she could trust her with anything, anytime. She was incredibly loyal, and the distance between Spain and Australia had meant they’d spoken less which wasn’t what she’d ever wanted with their relationship. But regardless, they were always the type of friends who could call each other up after 6 months and everything was the exact same between them.

Ridley was still flirting with Jordan when the girl from earlier again tried to drag her off the call. Jordan was flirting back, enjoying the attention and YFN made sure to end the call before she saw the girl’s tongue down her throat.

“An acquired taste, I told you. She’s one of my favourite people though. She’s basically family to me.” She laughed.

YFN and Jordan made them dinner while Lucy was still off and on the phone. They ate and then Lucy took Jordan home with hugs and promises that they’d see each other soon in Birmingham. YFN ‘requested’ a shirt with Jordan’s name and number on it. She wanted to wear it to her first Villa game. Jordan was excited that she wanted to wear her shirt, and promised to sign it for her.

Lucy returned to the dishes done, and a squeaky clean YFN who was ready for bed. She looked tired and threw her AirPods and phone onto the couch before taking YFN in her arms. She was so warm and soft and felt like… home. Home had never been place to Lucy. It had always been either her family or wherever she made it with a club. She and YFN hadn’t known each other long but the best way to describe their relationship was that she’d always felt like home to Lucy. For the first time in her life, home felt like a person. The thought of Spain in the back of her mind was a dark thought that she tried to keep back there. She groaned and hugged her little Australian tighter.

“Luce?” She said softly. Lucy pulled back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for today. Thank you for looking after me… I know it’s been a lot to deal with.”

Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed. “This is all on me, all this happening has been because of me and I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. I just….” She paused as she tried to keep her emotions together. “… I really don’t want to lose you.” Her voice was husky as her emotions seeped through.

YFN took her face in her hands. “Luce, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, as long as you want me. I need you to know that.”

She was right, Lucy did need those words. A tear slipped out and YFN wiped it away from under her glasses.

“I still want our dates though, regardless of what happens. I’ve planned one for us tomorrow after the… you know. And then the next date-”

“-is all me.” Lucy cut off. “I’ll plan the third.”

“Okay.. but I need to talk to you about… amending one of the deals we made.”

Lucy’s head tilted in question.

“We’re not sure what’s going to happen. We’re not sure what tomorrow will bring. I want to spend every night with you like it’s our last because we deserve that. Regardless of if I’m sent away tomorrow, or in a week, or when you go to Spain…”

As if to prove her point, she pulled Lucy closer, walking backwards until her back was against the wall, Lucy pressed up against her. Lucy couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her. It was soft and gentle, full of emotion. YFN’s hand found its way to the back of her head and tucked itself into the strands of dark brown hair, using that as leverage to be able to tilt her head and control the kiss a little. They let themselves enjoy it until they could feel each other getting excited, their bodies beginning to move like they wanted more. Lucy pulled back unwillingly, their mouths still close.

“Little one, are you asking me for sex?” She couldn’t help the soft chuckle building up in her throat.

YFN looked up at Lucy a little guilty, her lips pressed together, dimple on full display. “I want all of you. I don’t want to have to wait.”

“Are you… okay after last night?”

She nodded. “That’s part of it, I think. I feel like I lost control of myself at the bar, and I just need… I need to feel like I’m in control of my body again. This is my life, these are my choices, and no one can take them away. And I’ll always choose you..”

Her palms were flat on Lucy’s abs, her body shaking as she rocked, feeling the strap slide in and out with a silky wetness that only Lucy could make her body produce. Lucy’s hands were on her hips, guiding her as she fucked herself while Lucy looked up at her like she was Aphrodite herself. YFN leant forward over Lucy and started taking the strap that way, moaning at the different angle, the wet fucking sound changing notes. Lucy was caught by surprise at the new angle she took so deep and needily. Her rhythm was so ruthless and the new position felt so good on her clit that Lucy knew she’d orgasm soon. Her hands tightened on her hips, her own hips thrusting up to meet hers. Lucy’s back arched and her head bowed back.

“Oh…ffffuck. That’s th…the spot. Fuck. I can’t… I can’t keep.. God I’m going to come.”

This only encouraged YFN who’s pace increased slightly, her hands either side of her head, looking down at her whimpering Lucy. She took her right to the edge, knowing just how well the strap was riding her clit and just before she came, she sat back upright and changed her approach. Lucy came back to life, whimpering at the orgasm she was just denied.

“Little one… I… I was…”

“I know,” YFN panted, her hands again on Lucy’s abs as she rode her. “I know.. just let me get a little closer first and we can finish it together, Luce… argh… just…fuck…just give me a minute. It’ll feel so much better n…now that you’re frustrated.”

Lucy’s hands on her hips encouraged her some more, almost fully picking her up and slamming her back down again. Her hips eagerly thrusted upwards, as deep as she could go. Her little Australian was riding her so well and god, she was a sight. Hair down and well messed by Lucy’s hands during their sex, mouth still wet from the taste of Lucy, her lips swollen and bruised. Her tits were bouncing and excited, nipples out and well sucked. Lucy pulled herself up and grabbed a nipple in her mouth, eagerly sucking the sensitive bud. YFN whimpered and grabbed her hair, holding her head to her tit while she sucked. And god, she sucked. And licked. And nibbled. When she was finished with the first, she moved onto the second and when YFN couldn’t bare it any longer, she pulled Lucy’s head back, making her groan in annoyance as her lips were forced to part with her nipple with a wet popping sound. YFN’s mouth found Lucy’s jaw and with one hand in her hair, she pulled back to give her access to that sharp jawline and strong neck. She nibbled and kissed along those areas that took up so much of her daily thoughts all the while continuously riding her in desperation and need. She knew Lucy wasn’t used to being in a situation like this, but her Englishwoman was taking it so well. Her hands moved from her hips to slide up YFN’s back, pressing her close as she moaned at the feel of her mouth on her throat. Their panting and moaning and swearing were filling the room along with the humidity from their sweaty bodies sliding against each other.

It was taking YFN a little longer than usual being her fifth orgasm of the night, but god, she was getting there. Her rhythm increased to more of a bounce, encouraged by Lucy’s thrusts upwards meeting hers.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well. You look so good, my love.” YFN pulled her mouth away from her neck and looked down at Lucy with hooded eyes. It’s the first time Lucy had ever called her that. She pushed Lucy onto her back again and pressed her hands into her tense abs to help her slide up and down the strap with a depth that she just couldn’t get any other way. The sound of fucking resonated the room, drowned out by their gasps and moans and whimpers. She could feel her wet excitement dripping down the insides of her thighs and undoubtably coating Lucy also. As she was about to come, she leant forwards again to her previous position, hands either side of Lucy’s head and she rode her until Lucy was so wound up that she couldn’t breath.

“Fuck….fuck…fuck…little one…y…yes… oh God….” Lucy had never not been in control of her orgasm and she didn’t realise, but it just made it so much more intense.

YFN leant down and swallowed her moans with her mouth, their tongues meeting. “Come with me, Luce…. Come… come with me…”

They came so hard and tight that they could barely move. A cry ripped from Lucy’s throat and YFN could barely continue to ride the strap as she was so clenched around it. Lucy shoved her up and down on it, needing that bit of friction on her clit to drag out her orgasm, knowing that YFN needed the same. They rocked until they came down, their movements slowing and relaxing.

YFN wasn’t an athlete like Lucy, but she’d just put in a hell of a workout. Her body was tingly and drained from her fifth orgasm, and she just wanted Lucy to hold her and kiss her to sleep. She managed to lift herself up off the strap and Lucy unharnessed, throwing it to the floor and pulling YFN down onto her. YFN laid her full body weight on her, head in her neck.

“You did so good, little one. So, so good.”

“I… I really like you Luce. My body just wants you again and again and it scares me how much I want you. Not just sex… I want you. All of you. Grumpy, happy, protective... sleepy.” She admitted huskily with a yawn into Lucy’s neck, and Lucy wondered if she were sleep talking.

Lucy hummed happily, her fingers tracing up and down her spine, finding those little back dimples at the bottom. “However much you want me, just know, I want you more. I’ll always keep you safe. I’ll always be right here.”

She knew she was speaking to herself as YFN was already asleep, her breathing had changed and her body was fully relaxed onto her. She pressed a kiss to her forehead and was similarly out like a light.

#lucy bronze #jordan nobbs #lucy bronze x reader #woso #engwnt #lionesses #lucy bronze imagine #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #england lionesses #katie mccabe #caitlin foord

155 notes · View notes

outsideratheart · 1 year

Text

Plans (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: This idea has been in my head for while but whenever it came to writing it my mind would go blank. I hope you guys like it.

To those around you your departure from Wolfsburg didn't come as a surprise but the rest of the world couldn't believe they would let you go considering the way you performed at the Euros with Germany. For you it wasn't about the money like the rest of the world assumed, you wanted to play for a team that valued you and over the last 18 months Wolfsburg hadn't done that.

You had been playing football since you were 4 years old, got your first professional contract at 16 years old and was the youngest player male or female to become the starting goalkeeper. Throughout your career you never picked up any injuries other than a niggle here and there. That was until a reckless tackle left you needing major surgery on your shoulder and put you on the side line for almost a year. Your return to the starting 11 came in the second leg of the champions league quarter final against Barcelona where you managed to keep a clean sheet and contributed heavily to giving the Spanish side their first loss of the season.

When it came to your contract negotiations you made things very clear, you were the number 1 goalkeeper. It wasn't a claim fuelled with arrogance, it was backed by facts. They had different plans, ones that didn't align with yours so you asked your manager to put some feelers out. Throughout the euros he would keep you updated and when he called to say Sandra Panos was taking an early retirement to spend more time with her family and that Barcelona was interested, you didn't think twice about it. During the summer tournament you, along with your manager, had several video calls with the Catalonian side and came to terms on a contract which pleased both you and the team. They only had one request; it had to kept a secret until Sandra made her announcement.

It's how you found yourself standing outside Joan Camper on 2nd August just two days after you lost the final. You were told to take a few days off to recover from the loss and to take some time off but you didn't want to. Losing the final in extra time was brutal and you couldn't sit around doing nothing or you would obsess over every minute detail.

"You're the new signing?"

You turn on your heels to see Ingrid walking rapidly towards you with Mapi not too far behind her.

"I cannot confirm nor deny" you briefly hugged the Norwegian before she introduced you to Mapi.

The three of you walk into the facility but you are soon pulled aside to sign your contract and make things official. The process itself is tedious, page after page requires your signature and several members of the higher ups take a photo with you. Then the part you were waiting for comes, they give you your shirt. It felt weird seeing your name on the back of anything that wasn't Wolfsburg and it fills you with a bitter sweet feeling even though you know the change was needed.

Shortly after you are led out onto the field so you can be officially introduced to the team. Many of them you had met before when representing Germany but now they were your team mates and there were a couple that had already held that title in the past. You had already seen Ingrid earlier in the morning, Frido welcomes you with open arms stating how happy she is that you're both on the same team again. There was only one person left.

"No way did they let you go" Caro shouts as she runs across the training pitch. She leaps into your arms as soon as she's close enough. Caroline is one of you best friends and you were devastated when you learnt she was leaving Wolfsburg after 6 years.

"Barely even fought for me" you whispered in her ear.

She jumped down and you can tell that she is caught aback by what you've said but she hadn't seen the way they treated you after your injury.

"I bet the girls wasn't happy"

"Not in the slightest. I had to keep it a secret until Panos announced her retirement. Svenja was the first one I told, then Poppi who isn't talking to me, not properly anyways"

After the quick catch up you watch the team train from the sidelines. You wasn't allowed to join in until you completed your medical. The team was worried about putting you to work so soon after the euros so they wanted to put you through some tests before they let you put on your gloves.

As a football fan it was amazing watching the Spanish champions train. The tika taka style is something you have always admired and to see it up close, well it filled you with excitement for the upcoming season. You see Mapi struggling to defend against Caro and you see an opportunity to gain some points with the defender.

"Mapi, come here" you call her over when they split for a drinks break. A few of the players watch as you whisper some tactics in her ear then show her the positioning your former team mate uses. When the scrimmage resumes you watch as Mapi follows your advice and stops Caro twice in a row.

When Mapi looks your way she points at you leading the Norwegian to realise what you must have told her.

"That's not fair" Caro complains.

"How did you know what she'd do?" Ana asks you.

"It's my job to know how attackers think so that I can stop them. Caro is a creature of habit and hasn't changed her style since she left Wolfsburg so it was easy" your football IQ had helped you become the player you are and it's the reason why teams did more research on you than any other goalkeeper.

"Clearly not if you couldn't stop her at Camp Nou" Pina's voice is laced with smugness.

Out the corner of your eye you can see a couple of players shaking their head, a few even burying their face in their hands.

"It's hard to do that when you’re watching from the stands Claudia" the young forward was clearly confused "I had only just been cleared by our doctor so I wasn't playing"

Pina went bright red when she realises the mistake she had made.

"Alexia's going to love playing with her. I wonder if she knew Y/N was signing with us" Marta whispers to Caro.

"I think she knew before us but not by much. Just wait until they can play together, the way their minds work will be make them dangerous. Speaking of, Y/N!" Caro shouts over to you "Have you met Alexia yet?"

"No, I heard she is coming in later for some physio so I will meet her after my physical"

The team share a look. Alexia sang your praises often and it was no secret that she admired you not only on the pitch. They wished they could be a fly on the wall for the first meeting between the two of you.

As expected you pass your medical with no issues. The cardio test is easy and even though you were fresh off a gruelling tournament you showed no signs of fatigue. The only thing they were a little cautious on was your shoulder, in the lead up the winning England goal you were taking out by a white shirt and during the ceremony you were seen holding your elbow to limit the pressure on the joint.

The physio asks if you want the TV on whilst she works. You connect your phone and play a reply of the Euros final. The doctor scoffs beside you but doesn't say anything. After the champions league they learnt the importance of understanding a loss.

You are laid on a treatment table as the physio tries her best to turn your shoulder inside out. The pain was there and it was more than you were willing to admit but you had a strict recovery routine and you didn't do it after the final so you were a little sore. The physio tells you to lay on your front so she can look at the muscle behind your shoulder. Your focus is 100% on your breathing and trying to relax, so much so that you don't hear the door open or the sound of crutches travel across the room. It is only when you hear her speaking to one of the other physios closest do you wave yours off so you can finally meet your new captain.

You wait for her to finish talking before introducing yourself, only Alexia beats you to it.

"I never thought we get the chance to play together. I'm Alexia" Alexia is quick to remove her arm from one of her crutches so that she is able to shake your hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Even though it has been a month since her surgery you can tell she isn't used to her crutches so you pat the closest treatment table so she can sit down.

“Mucho gusto”

“Igualmente”

Alexia's eyes widen at your Spanish response, even more so that it sounds authentic even with your german accent.

"Surprised the German speaks Spanish” You laugh a little at her shocked response. Truth is as soon as a potential move to Barcelona got brought up you started studying the language straight away. You had welcomed many people to Wolfsburg and you told them the same thing 'learn the language and get to know to the culture'. You had been putting in the work on the first one but given this is your first day in Barcelona you hadn't had to chance to experience the second.

"Mm-hmm" she was impressed and you knew it.

“It would be ignorant of me to move to a different country and not make the effort to learn their language. I was just doing some extra physio work but i'll get out of your hair so you can start yours"

"No, no. I don't mind you been here" Alexia surprised herself by allowing you to be there when she does her rehab. Since the injury she has been keeping herself to herself but there was something about you that made her feel comfortable. Maybe it was the fact that you had been through something similar to her, you understand what it was like to be at your peak then have everything come crashing down.

Alexia gets changed into some training gear and when she re enters the room you are stood up as the doctor assesses the movement of your recently healed shoulder. Your upper body was covered in noting but a sports bra revealing your sculpted arms and toned abs.

Alexia admired the view in front of her, maybe for a little bit longer than she should have for when she meets your eyes she sees that you've caught her.

“I’m sorry, I...I" Alexia stumbles over her words and you find it adorable "I was —”

“Checking me out" you finish her sentence, smirking as you do so when you see her cheeks flush red "Don’t be embarrassed, own it. Do you want me to turn around so you can have a full look”

Alexia laughs as you walk back towards the bench as if there's a catwalk “enjoying the view from behind?” you almost shout back to her

“Yes” you turn hastily, shocked at the new confidence Alexia has "What? You said to own it"

"Touche Putellas, touche"

Alexia starts her rehab whilst you sit back on the bench wearing a compression sleeve which is hooked up to a machine to monitor the pressure. After twenty minutes she notices what is playing on the TV and he first instinct to to scold you for tourturing yourself but it would make her a hypocrite because she did the same thing after Turin.

It gets to the final ten minutes and you know what is about to come. You fists turn into balls as Chloe Kelly's shot hits the back of the net. Your eyes close for a brief moment and a single tear falls down your cheek as you do so.

"It was a handball" the soft voice brought you back to the present.

"Doesn't matter. I should have been better" you couldn't bring yourself to look at Alexia.

"It's not on you Y/N" Alexia tries to console you but she knew nothing would take away the sting of losing such an important game "I know it's easy to blame yourself when your team loses but a loss cannot be placed on one person's shoulders"

"Especially if that person isn't able to play" you knew that you might be pushing the boundaries of your friendship which was formed not even an hour ago but you knew she needed to hear it.

"It's that obvious" you send her a look that says yes "It's hard not to think what would've happened if I could have played but i'm coming to term with this" she point to her knee showing that she was starting to accept her injury.

"I don't know if this will help but I knew we would beat you before the Euros even started. After the Italy game I saw your team's weak spot. Your number 10 Hermoso"

You see Alexia wince at the mention of her former team mate and ex girlfriend.

"I take your face as confirmation that the rumours were true" Alexia nods her head "Ok well back to what I was saying. Hermoso played a bigger role than your team realised and you couldn't replace her, it was obvious you were still experimenting when the Euros started. So let's say you were healthy because I worked really hard to build what we called an APS, Alexia Putellas--

"Segura?"

"Close but the S stood for strategy, the Alexia Putellas Strategy. I worked with Lena Oberdorf for months perfecting it and I am confident when I say she would have made your job incredibly difficult when we played each other"

"I guess there's only one way to find out" Alexia says as she continues her rehab. The thought of playing against you and seeing this APS in person gave her a little bit of extra motivation.

It is almost an hour later when Alexia is done and although you finished over 45 minutes ago you didn't want to leave. You were enjoying getting to know your new team mate with it been just the two of you. The first few questions revolved around your career, after that you refused to talk shop, normal question only. You discussed everything from top 5 movies of all time to favourite Christmas memory. Without knowing it you had both put each other on pedestals and this time alone together made you both human.

Before going home you had to get your new training clothes from the locker room. When you leave the building you see Alexia sitting on a bench typing furiously on her phone.

"Is everything ok?" you ask the midfielder.

"My sister is suppose to be picking me up and now I can't get a hold of her"

You hear her leave a voicemail for who you can only guess is her sister. The way she furiously speaks leaves you no chance of understanding what she said.

"That wasn't Spanish"

"Catalonian"

"I'll add it to my list" you joke.

Alexia is clearly stressed out about the situation and it leaves you no choice but to be her knight is shinning armour.

"Calm down" you place you hand over her phone screen "If you want I can take you home"

"To my mum's"

"Ok, let's go" You take her bag before she can argue and lead her to where you've parked.

Once in the car you give Alexia your phone so she can pick the music. The drive to her mum's is done in comfortable silence, the only sound was Spanish music and Alexia's instructions. You pull up outside, get her crutches and bag from the boot before helping her of the car and following her to the front door. The path isn't exactly even so you are cautious of every step she takes. Her mum, having not recognised the car outside her house, meets you both at the door.

"Querida, I thought Alba was picking you up" She takes the bag from you.

"Me too but she never showed"

Alexia's mum stays in the door way with you and Alexia on the other side of the threshold. It's almost like Alexia doesn't want the day to end as much as you do.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

"Mum, this is Y/N Y/L/N our new goalkeeper. She played for Germany and she used to play for Wolfsburg"

"I thought she looked familiar. She's the one you couldn't stop talking about the other night when we watched the final. Sorry about the result Carino"

You still didn't like the pity in people's eyes when the give you their condolences for the loss. It is something that Alexia is quick to pick up on.

"Y/N this is my mum Eli Putellas Segura"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs Putellas or is it Segura" the panic in your tone is small but it's heard by the two Putellas women.

"You can call me Eli. Thank you for driving my daughter home. Would you like to come in for a drink?"

Truth is you would love to but you had already made plans.

"Maybe another time. Ingrid is letting me stay with her for the next fews day and in return I agreed to cook dinner"

"Did the club not help you find an apartment?" Alexia asks, her eyebrow slightly crooked as frustration grows within her.

"They did but for obvious reasons they didn't expect me to be in Barcelona so soon. Something about taking some time off" you joke.

"And you wanted to get back to work" Alexia understands you completely.

"See, you get it. If only everybody did instead of worrying about me" you laugh off your wish.

Eli watches the two of you go back and forth for a few more minutes. She couldn't believe you had only ever met on the pitch because the sight before her looks more like a reunion between old friends than a scene between two people who only got introduced today.

Both mother and daughter stand by the door as they watch you get back into your car.

"So what's going on between you two then?" Eli wasn't blind and the connection that was slowly forming between you and Alexia was clear to anyone with eyes.

"I don't know. She will be good for the team though"

"And for you. I haven't seen you smile like that since you came back from England"

"She understands what I'm going through" Alexia's reply was short and sweet.

Over the next few months you continued your rehab sessions even though you were fully cleared. You even coincided your sessions with Alexia's when possible so that you could spend as much time with her . You even took part in her workouts on top of your own. It was exhausting but totally worth it.

You suggested that the club invest in a reflex grid, it was made up of several shapes connect by ropes. Every time the ball hit a shape, it would send it in a different direction. Some nights you would stay behind with the goalkeeper coach to do some extra practices using your new toy. Alexia would watch from the window of the treatment room and even came outside to watch you train. The team saw the way you brought out the old side of Alexia, the one they feared went away when she had her surgery. They wanted to know if anything was going on but your former Wolfsburg team mates told them that you were a very private person and given that Alexia is in the middle of rehabbing her knee, you most likely wouldn't have made a move.

It was after one of those late night sessions that Alexia joined you on the pitch. She hadn’t done it much because she hated being on the grass and not being able to lace up her boots. You were tidying up when you saw her walking over.

“You looked like you were having fun?” Alexia helps you put the balls back in the bag. You can see her thinking about doing something with it but ultimately decides against it.

“Don’t be sad Alexia, you’ll be the one taking shots at me before you know it. As for me having fun I was. I saw you watching, did you enjoy the show?” You judged her slightly.

“I’m gay” she blurts out.

When you turn to face Alexia you see her stood a few meters behind you. Clearly she stopped walking and you didn’t realise.

“I’m honoured that your feel comfortable enough to share this information, I really am but you’ve got to know by now that I already knew this”

“Then why haven’t you made a move? We have been flirting for months, I spend more time with you than anyone else yet you haven’t asked me out. Why? Is it because I’m broken?” She points to her knee. Even now she was still coming to terms with her injury and it caused her confidence to take a huge hit.

You walk back to where she was standing. She has no idea how difficult it was for you to respect where she is in her life.

“Alexia” you take a hold of her hand “I like you more than I have anyone in a very long time. You’re beautiful, strong and when I was at my lowest you put me back together when you had your own issues to focus on. I would love nothing more than to take you out for dinner but right now you have to focus on your recovery. Trust me when I say I have plans for us once you're back on the pitch”

“You do?” Alexia asks in disbelief.

With a simple nod of your head a huge grin appears on her face.

“So right now I won't act on my feelings. Instead I will stay by your side and be there in whichever way possible"

"Vale" the way Alexia smiles and how it reaches her eyes gives you an incredible feeling. Then again everything she did had you feeling a certain type of way, you couldn't quite put a finger on what it was but in a time were things were new and uncertain she brought you peace.

It was the right thing to do yet you regretted your decision of not pursuing Alexia every time you were near her. Since the night you admitted your plans the energy between the two of you changed and when you were in a room together the tension was heavy and obvious to anyone who took a few seconds to watch you both.

It was during media day when the team really saw the connection between the two of you. The morning was spent doing interviews and the afternoon was spent taking photos for social media and the team website. The last set of photos to be taken was of the team wearing a new limited edition kit. At first everything was normal but when it came to Alexia's turn you could sense something was off. You knew she hated getting her photo taken especially when it was this staged but it was something deeper than that. You watched as she shakily tied her boots and re-adusted her socks for the umpteenth time. It is only when you see her staring at her knee do you understand what's going on.

"Give us the room" you tell the other players.

Many of them argue that they need to get changed too but quite frankly you don't care. Even when the women around you try to get your attention you don't take your eyes of Alexia whose own begin to well up ever so slightly as she gets more and more overwhelmed.

"Now!" you raise your voice this time and it doesn't come as a surprise when the team do as they're told.

As soon as they leave you close the door behind them and lock it. When you turn around you see Alexia's hands shaking as she once again adjusts her socks.

"Talk to me Ale"

You crouch down so that you can see her. Her hands tremble as you hold them tightly.

"My socks won't cover it"

Many people didn't understood the psychological affect scars had and the visible ones took a knock to your confidence that was difficult to overcome. You knew this feeling all two well but it's the first time you see Alexia struggling with the reminder of her surgery.

“Every scar tells a story. This one, if I remember correctly” you point the scar on her right index finger “tells me you're not as skilled in the kitchen as you are on the pitch” Alexia sniffled as a small chuckle escapes her mouth “and this one” you place your hand just above her knee not wanting to overstep her boundaries, she nods her head letting you know it’s ok for you to touch it.

Alexia's breath hitches slightly as you stroke over the reminder of her ACL surgery. The goosebumps that form on her legs let you know the affect your touch has on her but now isn't to time to tease.

“This one tells the story of a strong women who was given the option to give up but she chose to fight. It tells me that even when she wanted to give up she kept going. It shows bravery and resilience” despite a voice telling you not to, you place a gentle kiss on her knee.

"It reminds me that I'm broken" Alexia tries to swallow the ball of emotion that is rising the the surface.

This side of Alexia is one that you have gotten to known well over the past few months but it seems like this time the pain runs deeper than before. She had been cleared to train on the pitch starting next week but the scar on her knee is a constant reminder of how quickly things can change.

"You're not broken Alexia and you should wear that scar with pride"

"Like you do yours?" she is quick to respond and it's clear she is trying to pick a fight because it means you won't talk about her scar anymore.

You quickly take off your shirt and chuck it aside revealing three scars on your left shoulder. She trails her thumb along each scar in a similar motion to what you did only minutes ago.

"Happy?" you raise your eyebrows as you hope to have satisfied the woman in front of you.

"You hide your scars Y/N and you can't say you don't. You swapped shirts with Lola when we played Atleti but you waited until you were in the tunnel so that nobody saw you without a shirt on"

"Maybe I just didn't want you to be jealous when people start ogling my sculpted physique"

"Y/N I'm being serious. I've used you as inspiration for my recovery. You worked hard, got your spot back on the team and lead your to country to the Euros final"

You groan slightly as she mentions the final. It was still a sore subject and she knew it.

"I know you don't like talking about it but you should. You worked your way back to a major tournament, it's something I hope to do as well. Don't you see that you are telling me not to be ashamed of my scar when you are of yours"

Alexia was right, she knew it and you did too. Your team mates, past and present, would consider you a great leader and the reason for that is because you would never ask them to do something you wouldn't do yet this exactly what you are asking of Alexia.

An idea comes to mind. You may not be the captain of this team but you still have to lead by example and that it exactly what you planned on doing.

"Come with me" you hold you hand out and Alexia takes it happily.

Your entrance to the other room gains the attention of the rest of the team. You aren't wearing a shirt and Alexia is holding your hand.

"I'll show them mine if you show them yours, ok?" you ask Alexia who hesitantly nods her head.

You ask a member of the staff for a pair of scissors and ignore the questions coming from your team mates and the co-ordinator of the photoshoot who is reminding you that there is only one goalkeeper shirt. A few gasps can be heard when you cut the sleeves off your shirt.

"Y/N! What are you doing?" someone tries to stop you but they are too late.

"Time to show the world that injuries do not define you and your scars are not something you have to hide"

You see Alexia smiling ear to ear when she realises what you are doing. After putting on your goalkeeper gloves, you grab and ball, hold it forward and turn slightly so that you scars are fully exposed. The photographer begins taking photos immediately and is loving your new found confidence.

"I want to do it too" Mapi shouts before taking her shirt off and cutting the sleeves.

You can see a staff member glaring at you but you can only mouth an apology. You ruining the kit was one thing but now there were two shirts which were now made of less material than the others.

Alexia watches you mess around with Mapi. She knows that you have done this for her but she still isn't sure. A couple of the other players join you in taking less than professional photos but it sums up the team perfectly; a group of a people who mess around together and enjoy each others company.

"Alexia" you sing and she saunters over to you.

Doubt still lingers in her eye but you reassure her that it will be ok and she believes you. She pulls her sock down revealing the full length of her scar.

"Beautiful" you lower your tone so that only she can hear you.

Upon request, you and Alexia pose for a few photos together. You're favourite is the one where you are down on one knee pretending to shine Alexia's boot. It was the perfect shot as it showed both her scar and yours.

She cannot be sure if its the vulnerability she is feeling or the fact that you have once again gone out of your way to make her feel better that causes her to do what she does next. She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close. The proximity in which you faces are is the biggest challenge you've faced yet. Every part of you is yearning to feel her lips on yours but you somehow show restraint. Alexia on the other hand doesn't care for such thing.

You could hear a pin drop when she leans in to kiss you just on the corner of your mouth. It is the quickest kiss you have ever experienced and leaves you frozen in place. Did she really just do that in front of the team?

"Thank you Y/N"

She walks away without saying another word. If she were to turn around you would the smugness of her face. After finding out you wanted to pursue something more with her, Alexia bided her time, waiting to strike. Her injury made her feel helpless but she needed to she you just how daring she can be.

"Scheiße" you run your fingers through your hair as you try to bury the desire to go after the Catalonian and finish what she started.

"How's that will power now?" Caro teased you.

In that moment you regretted confiding in the Norwegian about your feelings for the captain.

"On the verge of being non existent"

"Can we get some cold water for the keeper please" Mapi jokes.

Since that day Alexia wasted no opportunity she had to tease and rile you up. It's as if coming to terms with her scar was the last thing on her list, other than her first game but that was coming soon. She had been given the clear the start training with the ball and when it came to set pieces and ball in motion training she requested that you be in goal because she knew you wouldn't takei it easy on her and that she would have to earn a goal with you in between the sticks.

Weeks pass and soon enough it is Alexia's first game back. The way the crowd erupts as she enters the pitch at the 67th minute is enough to make goosebumps rise to the surface of your skin. It showed just how much this club loves her and seeing a stray tear fall down her cheek shows you what the club means to her.

When the final whistle is blown the team waste no time in celebrating the return of their captain but you choose to observe from a distance. You were still new to the team and you didn't want to intrude on a moment between family because that's what this team was.

As Alexia walks towards you she has a huge smile on her face and you know exactly what she is feeling. Even the way she walked was different, it's almost as if she was lighter.

You open your arms out expecting a short hug but Alexia's arms tighten around you and you feel her tears fall down your neck.

"It's ok, let it out"

She takes a few moment to gather her emotions and with a deep breathe she pulls away to face you.

"I'm back on the pitch. You know what this means"

Of course you did. you haven't been able to think about anything else since the team got told about Alexia's return game.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 6"

"That's it?" you knew alexia had a need for control and her knowing only when you'll pick her up sent her inner control freak into panic.

"That's all you need to know for now"

The two of you do a lap around El Johan as you take up the atmosphere. It truly was like nothing else you've experienced before, the support of the fans was unmatched. In the past few months you surprised yourself at the amount of restraint you showed Alexia but in this moment it was worth it. She was fit, healthy and back doing the thing she loved.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine #barcelona femeni one shot #espwnt x reader #espwnt imagine #espwnt one shot

739 notes · View notes