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puckarchives · 4 months

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basement yard conversations: l. hughes

blurb: in which you overhear luke say that you’re much more attractive than him while he’s talking to jack and quinn. / word count: 1.7k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

The conversation had taken place on the back deck of the Hughes Family lake house, and to be fair, you don’t think you were supposed to be particularly privy to it. It was nearing almost 11 PM at night, and you had just come out of the shower— clean and sun kissed and reveling in the after effects of a day well spent out in the sun with your favorite boy and your favorite family.

This was the second summer you had spent with Luke, and by default, the entire Hughes gang as they took a much deserved rest in the off-season, now that both the Devils and Canucks had ended their seasons. So, with you being off from college and the boys not starting their training for at least two more weeks, you had opted to spend some time at the lake house in Michigan.

That particular day, you had spent most of your morning (and afternoon, if you were being honest,) out on the lake, simply laying on the boat or joining in when the boys began wakeboarding— falling a few times, but ultimately being able to hold your own before Luke had jumped in with you, and caused you both to go tumbling into the water.

From the boat, you could hear both Jack and Quinn laughing at you and Luke, both of you making your way over to where they had stilled in order to let you reboard, and where Luke readied himself to begin his turn— which didn’t last long, as he began swaying to the point where he just simply fell over.

Once the four of you had come back in, it was straight to the shower for you— a moment to wash off the lake water and reapply aloe vera before your skin began to get dry.

Walking towards the back porch, you could see the boys huddled around the fire pit— Jack and Quinn sitting in their designated chairs, and Luke in a larger seat, waiting for you with a blanket in his hand. As you walked closer however, and before you could open the screen door, you overheard a snippet of their conversation— something that always surprised you, as their conversations could exist on a spectrum of simply talking about dinner plans, to them arguing over who the most problematic Pokémon character they played with growing up; currently, Charizard was in the lead because, as Luke had stated a few weeks prior, you can’t spell the world ‘Charizard’ without ‘hazard,’ an explanation that still made no sense to you, but that the boys had agreed to almost immediately.

Stilling at the fragments you could piece together, you could hear Jack repeating that he “definitely did have it,” but that for him, “it was louder than it was for Quinn.” You didn’t know exactly what “it” was referring to, but quickly pieced together your answer as Quinn spoke up.

“It’s like, the internet thinks I have no rizz. I got called a fucking wet cat the other day,” he said, waving his hands around. It was true— you had seen the tweet first, and then sent it to Luke, who promptly sent it into their group chat. So that’s what they were talking about— rizz.

Although you didn’t know exactly how that had come up— when you left, they were discussing the intricacies of Zegras’ worst choices— it was still a novelty to take in— the way that Quinn would talk in his broody way, only exacerbated by the winces he would occasionally give off because of his gnarly sunburn, whereas Jack was all excited hand movement and loud laughs. But it was your boy, specifically, who had all of your attention— Luke’s soft smirk on his lips, the way he would wait until either boy was finished talking before including his own thoughts, and the way he would keep egging on his brothers. However, you didn’t miss the way he would open his mouth to say something, but automatically be either shut down, or have to wait for another turn to avoid interrupting his brothers. While Luke may have been a killer on the ice, he was still the youngest brother— caught up in trying to work his hardest to be on the same level as his brothers, but still always beating himself up for it.

You didn’t think there had been a day where Luke went without comparing one thing about himself to his older brothers— whether it be simple comments about how he needed to get faster in order to compete with Quinn’s own speed, or even have better hand-eye coordination in order to keep up with Jack, it was always something that he lacked, and he never paid attention to the things he did have— things that you loved about him, like the way he would always bring his brother’s up in conversation— always with a smile on his face, and always reminiscing on their childhoods. He never spoke ill of anyone, (even when they deserved it,) and when he had hurt another player on the ice a few weeks back he had made it a point to apologize personally, and even send them a card. Luke, for all the faults he saw in himself, had one-hundred times the good parts, even when he didn’t recognize them.

It was the next few sentences, however, that caught your attention; now, the conversation had switched over from Jack and Quinn’s respective levels of charmism and ability to, as they so eloquently put it, “pull and have game,” to Luke’s, he looked down, still with a small smirk on his face, and played with his thumbs.

“Well, you see her,” Luke said. “She's definitely much more attractive than me, and if anything, I have the rizz because she was strong enough to get my head out of my ass and see that she had been there the entire time,” he laughed.

His brothers only egged him on, adding in moments where they saw Luke, quote on quote, ‘have game,’ including earlier that same day, when the four of you were out on the boat. When you had been putting together the coolers for the boys to lug on to the boat, Luke hadn’t missed a beat and, while you were chopping up pieces of fruit on the kitchen island, had flirted with you like he had never met you before, and hit on you.

“Well hello, pretty lady,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and flexing his arms above his back. He puffed out his chest in a mock bravado, and continued. “You come here often? Because you’re a sight for sore and beautiful eyes,” he said, scooting closer to you. For as cheesy as he was, Luke loved doing this— hitting on you as if you were two teenagers in the 80’s, and as if he hadn’t been your boyfriend for the past two years.

“You know, I’d love to take you out on the boat sometime, if you’re free? I’ll even let you drive it if we leave your boyfriend on the shore,” he said, now with his arms actually up, and him, (once again,) flexing. God, you’re boy was a total softie.

Your only response was heaving laughter, as anytime Luke got like this it only brought a smile on your face. “Well, sir, my boyfriend would surely be disappointed in me if I just left him on the shore” you jokingly replied. “And besides, he’s old. I’m not sure his fragile heart could take it if I just up and left,” you said, before closing the cooler and making your way outside.

Luke scrambled after you, only to grab the cooler out of your hands, open the door, and drop it right outside. Before you could ask why, he whistled over at Quinn who was waiting for the two of you on the deck, and scooped you up in his arms, before making his way to the dock, you still laughing, and him looking at you with a look of pure adoration, and, in your opinion— full of love.

Now, however, as you stood on the other side of the screen door, you opened it, automatically calling all three heads to look in your direction, and, as you walked towards Luke who had his arms open to you, said: “No, Luke’s definitely lying. This man has ALL the rizz. How do you think he keeps me coming back over-and-over for more?” you asked the other two, giving your boyfriend a kiss on the forehead as you stood between his legs and pet his still-wet curls.

“He can say that I’m the one who got him to notice me, but your brother? The ultimate rizz king,” you laughed, trying to mimic what you heard the gamers on TikTok say about rizz the other day.

“But, to settle your debate once and for all, I have literal proof of who has the most rizz,” you announced, to which the other two Hughes brothers cheered and egged you on to show them. Pulling up Twitter on your phone, you scrolled through your favorited tweets before getting to one that had made you bust out laughing only days prior, but that labeled what kind of “rizz” each Hughes brother had.

“According to this tweet, a certifiable source if I’ve ever seen one,” you joked, “Quinnjamin Hughes has the rizz level of a wet cat you want to take home, and of a man that just makes your “I CAN FIX HIM” fever go crazy, Jacket Hughes has the rizz of a man who had a borderline homoerotic relationship and a praise kink all in one, and Lucas Warner Hughes has the rizz of a man who will always shoot up and knows it,” you finished.

As you closed your phone and set it down, you looked up at the faces of the Hughes dynasty around you— Quinn was shaking with laughter, his head in his hands, Jack was wheezing in the corner over you calling Quinn “Quinnjamin” and the way they had gotten all of their names wrong, and Luke despite the jokes, was looking directly at you. He wasn’t laughing like his brother’s, but instead looking at you with the softest smile.

“And don’t I know it, sweetheart,” he said.

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hughes brothers #new jersey devils #nj devils #jack hughes #quinn hughes

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riding-the-sunset-bird · 4 months

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Another day, another post dissecting Our Life's code! This time we'll be going over how Our Life decides whether your Cove will be Studious, Sporty, or somewhere in the middle!

If you've already seen my post on how the game decides where Cove is on the spectrum between warm and cold, then most of this will feel extremely familiar, but you don't need to check that post to understand this one! I'll be going over everything exactly the same.

According to GB Patch, getting a sporty or studious Cove is primarily based on what you do with him activity-wise.

Part of it is what Cove literally ends up doing in the events. There are multiple times where he can do something more physical or do something more low key. Another part is a somewhat meta “the player is creating their reality” type of deal. For example, if the player makes it clear that their MC is the sporty one around, that would have to mean Cove isn’t the sporty one. So even without interacting with Cove directly you’d rack up a lot studious points for him because your choices are describing a world where Cove isn’t that into sports. That’s not to say it’s impossible for the MC and Cove to both be into sports. Describing your MC specifically as the one into sports is excluding Cove from being super into sports, but he doesn’t have to be excluded. The most straightforward way to get a sporty Cove is to just really focus on it. Whenever there’s something that could possibly make him more interested in bookish things, lean away from that. And whenever there’s a way to encourage him to like or do physical stuff, do it. So, for example, don’t accept just being a silver medalist in Grown-up, don’t say that the MC is a faster runner than Cove when trying to get away from Shiloh, do ask him question that lead to him talking about outdoorsy activities he does, etc.

Calling it "points" is very accurate because it's very much a points system. Whenever you do certain actions with/say certain things to Cove, the game will add a "point" to either Cove being studious or Cove being sporty (in extremely rare cases, it will add two instead of even subtract one).

(also, shockingly, reading the book with Cove in Sleepover actually has zero effect on Cove being Studious/Sporty; I even had to read through the script to confirm and the only reasoning I can imagine is because it's related to getting a CG and the devs wouldn't want players who want the CG to feel forced into making Cove more studious just to get it)

The tutorial of the game also vaguely details the studious to sporty spectrum:

[Cove']s interests fall along a sporty-mixed-studious spectrum. It works similarly to the personality one. When he's young, Cove has a variety of interests. As time goes on that can stay the same, begin to focus on more athletic/outdoorsy activities, or become more interested in academic/indoorsy ways to spend time.

And, if you've ever been in the Cove Creator, you'd know that there are five "states" that Cove can be in when it comes to his interests, with one state being between Studious and Mixed while another is between Mixed and Sporty. However, as far as I can tell, the game will never actually check for these two states, meaning that Cove is either Studious, Mixed, or Sporty, without any sort of Studious-Mixed or Mixed-Sporty at all.

In terms of the first check of the game - after the end of Step 1, of course - the game will examine the points you've gathered and decide where on the spectrum Cove is. If you have more Studious points, then the game will look only at how many points you've gathered there and vice versa with Sporty points. If you have an equal amount of Studious and Sporty points, then there will be a sort of "coin flip" to determine which points the game will check (this actually happened to me once where I had to go back on a save and got a Sporty Cove instead of a Studious one even though I'd done nothing different, simply because I'd accumulated an equal amount of sporty and studious points with Cove).

The remaining points in the other category are thrown away, and if you don't have enough sporty/studious points (depending on what you had more of or what the game chose in the "coin toss"), then you get a Mixed Cove.

Interestingly enough, the game is actually uneven in how it calculates a "fully Studious" or "fully Sporty" Cove. If you have six or more points in Studiousness, then you get a "fully Studious" Cove, but the game only asks for five of more in Sportiness to give you a "fully Sporty" Cove. This means that you could have six points in both Studiousness and Sportiness, which would give you a "fully Sporty" Cove if the coin flip picked Sportiness, but if the coin flip picks Studiousness, you'll only get a "Studious-Mixed" Cove.

As stated above though, the Studious-Mixed and Mixed-Sporty states don't really exist and serve as Studious and Sporty respectively anyway. In the grand scheme of things, it won't matter, but I digress.

Keeping that in mind, the game only cares if you have three or more points in either Studiousness or Sportiness. If you have three or more Studious points, you get a Studious Cove, and if you have three or more Sporty points, you get a Sporty Cove (and a coin toss if you're equal in both to decide whether he's Studious or Sporty). If you do not have enough points in either, you get a Mixed Cove. A Mixed Cove is most likely if you either play through Step 1 without playing any moments or avoid leaning Cove towards anything Studious/Sporty at all.

Cove's personality and appearance are also unrelated to whether he's Studious or Sporty, excluding moments where a multiple choice option might affect multiple values at once (but this is coincidence rather than direct correlation and, yes, I'll mention them when they come). Cove will also still do things like go surfing in Wave even if he's Studious, it's just that he'll be an awkward surfer instead of a graceful one (no comment if he's Mixed).

In terms of things that affect the player directly, the gummy bear toss in the Step 2 DLC moment Birthday is one of the biggest things that come to mind, as you'll lose if Cove isn't sporty and your MC hasn't been given any "sporty points" of their own (since this post isn't about the MC, I'll keep it brief and just say that the game keeps track of your own athletic ability during Step 2, such as if you tell Kyra that you like to swim). If that matters to you, you can opt for a sporty Cove and save yourself the trouble as there's no Studious equivalent of the gummy bear toss.

As for all of the moments in Step 1 where you have a chance to influence Cove's Studiousness/Sportiness, here they are!

Step 1 - Prologue

When Cove and the MC try to flee from Shiloh (if the MC agrees to go along with Cove):

He was fast, but you knew you could outrun him if you had to. [sporty +1]

He was not that fast, you knew you could outrun him if you had to. [studious +1]

He was not that fast, but neither were you. [studious +1]

At that speed, you weren't sure if you could go fast enough to reach him. [sporty +1]

Shopping

When Cove is staring down absentmindedly at the sand:

"Are you looking for snails?" [sporty +1]

"Are you looking for shells?" [studious +1]

"What is it?" [studious +1]

"You didn't feel the need to ask why." [sporty +1]

When Cove goes back to not saying anything on the beach:

You didn't either. [sporty +1]

"What did you want to go to the shops for?" [studious +1]

"What do you usually do on the beach?" [sporty +1]

Grown Up

When Lizzie tells Cove and the MC that they won silver in the pretend Olympics:

"Silver sucks. I don't want silver." [sporty +1]

"I'm okay with that." [studious +1]

"Hey, we can do better than silver!" [sporty +1]

"Silver's not bad. Nice." [studious +1]

You stayed silent. [no change]

Long Day

When Lizzie asks the MC if they're a chicken who doesn't want to ding-dong-ditch the mean grandparents:

"Yeah. Cluck-cluck." [studious +1]

You'd rather just avoid them. [studious +1]

You thought they deserved worse. [no change]

"I'll do it." [no change]

When the MC gets to decide what they see in the clouds:

You saw a dolphin. [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt}

You saw a car. [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt}

You saw an alpaca. [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove the dark blue short-sleeved shirt}

You saw a smiley face. [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove the red salamander sleeveless shirt}

You saw cloud shapes. [studious +1]

Sandcastle

[NONE]

Fireflies

When the MC notices Cove lagging behind the group while en route to poppy hill:

"Are you not gonna come?" [no change] {but will give Cove cold +1}

You tugged him along. [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1 on Indifferent and warm +1 on Fond/Crush}

You walked with him. [no change] {but will give Cove cold +1}

You waved at him to hurry. [no change] {but will give Cove warm +1}

You ran off. [no change]

When Cove fails to catch a firefly after the MC catches one:

You encouraged him to try again. [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

You told him about the firefly you had. [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You made a joke about what happened. [studious +1]

You did your own things. [sporty +1]

Library

When the MC chooses to go with Cove rather than participate in the quiz:

[sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

When the MC and Cove are about to be interrupted in their game of hide-and-seek (dependent on how good the MC has been at the game; answers marked with a * are the correct ones):

1st round of hide-and-seek

Next to a Peter Pan poster.

*Beside the fairy tale display.

*Behind the solar system model.

2nd round of hide-and-seek

By the fire awareness station.

Near the stuffed animals.

*Under the giant piece of fruit.

By the outlaw poster.

*In the fantasy section.

Near the toddler books.

3rd round of hide-and-seek

*In all the old Christmas stuff.

Next to the kid detective poster.

*Behind the Willy Wonka statues.

Final Tally

the MC won zero rounds (Cove will say "I'm doing good.") [sporty +1]

the MC won one round (Cove will say "I'm doing good.") [studious +1] [sporty +1]

the MC won two rounds (Cove will say "I can still win.") [studious +1]

the MC won all three rounds (Cove will say "I need to do good in at least one round.") [studious +1]

If the MC chose to go do the quiz instead:

[studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

Ghost

[NONE]

Barbecue

When the MC is racing the other kids to catch the girl with the squirt gun (if the MC chose to go play with the kids in the first place):

You outran them easily. [studious +1]

You outran them with effort. [sporty +1]

You weren't as fast as them because they were speedy. [sporty +1]

You weren't as fast as them because you just weren't fast. [studious +1]

You moved to the side to let them pass; you didn't wanna win this race. [no change]

When Mr. Holden comments on his interests:

"Those are things Cove likes." [sporty +1]

"Wow. It's a good thing you live by the beach." [studious +1]

You stayed quiet. [no change]

Runaway

[NONE]

Sleepover

[NONE]

Step 1 - Ending

When Cove tries to skip a rock across the water (if the MC chose to stay with him):

You were impressed over how far he got it to go. It sailed way out into the sea. [sporty +2] [studious -1]

It was a good toss. That was pretty neat. [sporty +1]

It wasn't a long throw. But he didn't care to try for that. [studious +1]

The rock sunk kind of... like a rock and fell back down almost right after he tossed it. [studious +2] [sporty -1]

And that's all of them! A few surprises are in there, but it's mostly straightforward in either prompting Cove to talk about outdoor/active things he does or choosing options that imply he's particularly good/fast (whether compared to the MC or in general). Particularly tricky are the ones that might change Cove's appearance/personality when you didn't intend for that to happen and are trying not to use the Cove Creator to get the Cove you want.

Still, it's definitely easier to gauge than Cove's appearance or personality, so whether you wanted this for a guide or just for the data, I hope you enjoyed! :D

#our life #our life: beginnings & always #olba #cove holden #type: cracking the cove

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blocksgame · 9 months

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Tips on character voices when writing fic

This is written in mind for people writing fic in MCYT/QSMP/DSMP/Life series/etc kind of fandoms. But if anyone finds it useful for anything else, well then, hell yeah.

Character voice is big in all, uh, fiction, and mimicking it in any fanwork is big. But I think it’s especially big in these fandoms where the voices are so distinct – it’s usually how a Real Person Somewhere (the streamer) talks, versus something very scripted that you’d see in a TV show or novel. And it can be a big difference in your character sounding generic versus really feeling true to the original.

Listen to a bunch of your subject talking. If you want to write a character well, watch vods from their point of view, or episodes where they show up a bunch. Take note of what they say and how.

2. If you don’t know how to start doing that: try literally writing down what they say. Transcribe an actual exchange in fic-format. You probably won’t want to publish a literal exchange from canon, but it will give you a sense of how to physically write what they say.

3. If you do this (or just pay attention to how they talk), you will get a lot of: Stumbling, pauses, repeating words, filler words, weird sentence constructions, fragments, etc. I love em! Here’s something that comes through in improv much more than in novels or movies: Most people, even very charismatic people, are not very eloquent when they speak. Writing out conversations or sentences will give you a sense of the unique and delightful way in which your subject is not eloquent. vvvvv way more under cut vvvvv

(People use a LOT of filler/etc when they speak. It’s reasonable to cut back on this if it’s interfering with a nice-looking or readable result. I believe this is the eternal struggle of people who write transcripts – you want the transcript to be accurate, but there are also a lot of things you can obviously simplify and not lose the meaning. So you’ll end up falling somewhere on this spectrum either way. But I do think a lot of mediocre/generic fic dialogue is very stylized – it doesn’t sound like your guy because your guy literally wouldn’t say that. They would say it worse and more confusingly.)

(I’m serious, if you’ve never sat down with a short non-completely-scripted clip or real conversation or whatever and just written out exactly what was said, do it. It will make you better at writing.)

4. Wonda-cat made a really incredible list [link] of characterizing speech patterns for the Dream SMP members. But you can also do your own reconnaissance and come up with your own patterns, common phrases, etc.

5. You do not have to get EVERYTHING right. You’re not going to, like, get so deep into the speaker’s brain that you can produce “exactly what they would have said if they were somehow in your fic.” That is impossible. You’re just trying to evoke a character, and if you get a few turns of phrase to ring true, you’re doing great.

6. A lot of these people are popular because they are hilarious. Include jokes. Yes, even if your thing is angsty or serious. A lot of the most serious lore I can think of from, e.g., the Dream SMP or 3rd Life or the QSMP - the really story-defining, life-and-death moments - were absolutely hysterical. If you’re writing characters who are usually funny, then add some humor. It can heighten angst via contrast and a sense of realism. Ask yourself what a funny streamer would make jokes about if they were possessing a character in this situation.

7. Some people have the mystical ability to “hear” character voices in their head, and read things in their voice. If you can, do this with all of your dialogue during the editing process. This won’t always get you there, but sometimes it can catch things that sound wrong by invoking "that's really hard to imagine them saying". If you don’t have this power, try recruiting a friend who does.

8. So there’s dialogue and then there’s narration that’s still from a character’s point of view. I’ve mostly given you tips about dialogue, but a lot of this is also true for narration. IMO, narration is less about phrasing things the way the subject would, and more about recreating the way they think. I don’t have concrete rules on how to do this, but here is my wisdom:

You can get eloquent again - narration is more of an abstract and artistic process than dialogue.

Spend time with your subject’s source material.

Pay attention to what they notice and care about. How do you think they think?

Don’t be afraid to get weird with it.

That last one also applies to all art ever.

9. MCYT tends to give you a great boon you don’t see in other media: what the speaker says to their chat/audience when nobody else is listening. This can be incredibly characterizing even if you’re writing a story where people don’t have chats. It’s your person talking about their thought processes and feelings! Mine that shit.

10. Some questions that might help guide both characterizing narration and dialogue (that you’d get from dialogue):

How open are they about their feelings?

How often do they lie? What do they lie about?

What kind of metaphors do they use, if any?

How quickly does their mood change?

How can you tell when they’re in different moods?

What kind of things do they pay attention to?

How formal is their speech?

11. Finally, this is a little odd, but I find it’s much, much easier to write a character that sounds good if I, the author, like them and am rooting for them at least a little bit. If a character needs to be there who you don’t love, try to love them. Or at least get a sense of what other people love about them. It just makes everything else easier. I swear to god.

Happy writing out there!

#mcyt fic #fanfiction #writing advice #writing tips #fanfiction tips #qsmp fic #dsmp fic #works for whatever too I'm just not gonna try to tag everything #fanfiction advice

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puppetwoman17 · 3 months

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Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

#billy batson #captain marvel #justice league #dc universe #shazam #identity reveal #temporary character death #magic community

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jaidens · 8 months

Note

imagine bradley falling in love w mavs daughter 🤭🤭🤭 or like them growing up together and js being like hs sweethearts and stuff idk but like JUST IMAGINE 🤭🤭🤭🤭

I was seven and you were nine looked at you like the stars that shine

pairing [s] : bradley bradshaw x mitchell!reader

warning [s] : mentions of : goose

a/n [s] : requests are open! dal loves herself a bradshaw

Bradley Bradshaw had known the Mitchells since he was still wobbling when he walked. Pete was practically a father figure after Goose passed away. His daughter was like a sister to him, which led to him taking comfort within her. Bradley was known for being her sidekick in elementary school, middle school, and highschool.

In elementary school, it was all fun and games. Bradley and you had a willow tree together that Bradley would hang from the branches while you did your homework. That was always the difference between him and you. The sporty, athleticism in Bradley while you chose the approach to reading and staying quiet.

Bradley brought out a different side in you. He made your head fuzzy and the butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He was your first crush when you were seven-years old. On the playground, he punched the hell out of Lucas Dillinger after he pushed you off of the swing set.

Then, in middle school, filled with hormones and acne you still had a major crush on Bradley Bradshaw, the lead player of the San Diego Middle School baseball team. Most girls in your middle school had a crush on him, and it ended up in him distancing himself from you. It made sense in your head. Bradley was popular and you were on the opposite spectrum of popularity. The longing stares across tables didn't make sense however, as Bradley pushes the wet broccoli on his plate while staring at you.

Highschool is where it started. When Bradley leaped up enough courage to ask you to the Homecoming dance with a poster board and your favorite flowers. The dumb smile he had on his face pulled you away from the embarrassment you had in the math hallway that day.

He picked you up in his suit and tie, and went silent whenever you walked down the stairs. His hair was pushed back slightly and he walked over to you, handing you the bouquet to you and hugging you tightly. “You look... amazing.”

Bradley Bradshaw was in love with Maverick’s daughter. That's what he knows when he sees you in his bomber jacket, a helmet, and some pretty boots as you rev up Mav’s motorcycle. You were both 18; dumb and in love as you start driving down the flight ramp on your dad's bike.

Bradley didn't have the heart to tell you he was leaving the next week.

That night you and him laid on the cold concrete and stared at the open sky. The light pollution was almost barely there, exposing all of the constellations and stars that twinkled. Bradley knew you as the quiet girl who read Junie B. Jones while everyone else played free tag. Now, you were the girl who was out of braces with pretty teeth and pretty everything.

He says your name quietly. You turn your head and see those soft hazel eyes looking into yours, as he swallows the anxious feeling in his throat. “Can I ask you something?” You nod towards him and he shakes his head and says,

“Can I kiss you?”

Those dumb feelings you had arise fuller in your head. A hand on his chest, a turn of your hips, and you connect your lips with his. The soft feeling of him apologizes for anything he had ever done to you in the distant past.

“Yes. Anytime you can kiss me.” You laugh and Bradley runs his hand across your cheek and smooths his thumb against it.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look? It's the only one I got?”

—

“Mommy! Momma! Did Daddy really ask you out with a poster?!” Your girls blabber questions and you quiet them down with a laugh.

“Sh. Shh.. you can ask Daddy about that tomorrow. Get to bed girls.” You tell them when you walk out and then the light off. Bradley stands in the hallway with a smile.

“That story always gets you baby.” Bradley says before you pull him into a deep kiss with a tug of his collar. “Shut up.”

#☆ — dal!!#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader #bradley bradshaw x wife!reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x mitchell!reader #top gun x reader #rooster top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

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abiiors · 8 months

Text

three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had.

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you.

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet.

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend.

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction.

your date clears his throat.

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?”

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary.

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly.

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene.

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily.

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?”

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him.

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august.

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories.

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?”

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t.

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly.

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers.

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago.

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess.

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely.

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks.

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you.

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily.

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides.

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.”

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips.

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for.

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to.

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again.

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull.

have you?

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands.

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?”

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer.

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are.

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue.

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours”

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick.

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now.

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes.

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.”

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker.

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up.

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward.

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george.

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now.

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted.

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want.

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you.

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands.

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face.

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily.

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue.

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?”

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do.

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight.

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in.

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again.

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick.

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls.

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster.

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look.

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles.

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again.

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight.

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855

add yourself to the taglist

#RIGHT. GOODBYE.#ross macdonald #george daniel #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #ross macdonald smut #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #matty healy #adam hann #smut writing #smut fic #minors do not interact #female reader #the 1975 fic #three/some

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lily-fics-11 · 2 months

Text

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 3 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here (feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes

Chapter 3

You attend your first fight club meeting and it causes things to go awry with Hazel.

CW: Canon level violence and gore. Sexual innuendos. Profanities. Angst that turns to fluff.

You are on the edge of your seat, overwhelmed by anticipation all day. You have a few classes with Hazel, but you don’t get many opportunities to talk to her. You are painfully reminded of the way you two had avoided each other all these years when you found yourself sitting far away from her in every classroom.

You share your plan to give the fight club a chance with Isabel and Brittany at lunch. The two cheerleaders share stories about the fights they’ve been in over the past few days with a reassuring enthusiasm. They tell you that they were thinking about dragging you along after they had officially tested the waters. They weren’t sure if fight club was your style of chaos or not, but they are excited for you to join. Though you can't help but notice that they are not quite as excited as Hazel. Your friends were surprised that you knew Hazel at all, which makes sense.

Regardless of being too humble to say it out loud, you are seated atop the throne of the Rockbridge Sapphic Hierarchy. There were queer girls scattered throughout the spectrum based on physical appeal and societal contribution. PJ and Josie are on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from you, scraping the bottom of the barrel. Saying that Hazel was somewhere in the middle would be generous, though she by no means falls under the ugly and untalented category like the other founding members of the fight club. Her adorable face and easy going nature score her a lot of points, at least in your book. You do however understand that not everyone sees Hazel the way that you do. You tell Isabel and Brittany how you and this girl, that is so different from you, are neighbors, neglecting to mention the entirety of the situation.

For the rest of the day you try to prepare yourself for a fight and spending time with Hazel. You are unsure which is the most daunting. After the last bell you take a deep breath before entering the gym. You immediately spot Hazel across the room in the midst of a deep conversation with Josie and PJ. She is still wearing your sweatshirt. You decide to put your stuff down and not interrupt. You barely have time to say hi to Brittany and Isabel before PJ gets everyone’s attention by yelling “alright bitches circle up!” You move quickly so that you can stand next to Hazel before someone else can. You can see her excitement when she tells you “you don’t even know how happy I am to have you here. I’m glad that we are spending time together again.” Your heart is racing from Hazel’s words even more than the anticipated violence. “Alright skanks, let's get started!” PJ screams and steps into the center of the circle. “I’ll go first,” she announces. She paces around the circle a few times before stopping in front of you.

“Who am I to pass up the opportunity to draw fresh blood?” She asks, looking around at the rest of the group. An anxious lump forms in your throat. Hazel steps in front of you. “I told you she was with me” she practically growls at PJ, who doesn’t even acknowledge Hazel except for a push out of the way so she can get closer to you. The alleged delinquent looks you up and down hungrily. It’s like she can’t decide if she wants to kiss you or inflict pain.

“I’m sure she can handle herself, isn’t that right sweetheart?” PJ coos. Hazel tries to protest while you are focused on PJ. “Little miss juvie doesn’t scare me. I can take her,” you declare confidently.

Have you ever called yourself chaotic? No. Have you ever denied allegations of being chaotic? Also no. Do you shy away from chaos? Absolutely not. While Hazel is a true chaotic good you are more of a chaotic neutral. Your ambitions come first and your morality comes second.

You learned the hard way that you could not in fact ‘take’ ‘little miss juvie’. But you weren’t going down without a fight. The experience was exhilarating despite your struggle to hold your own. You make the first move, a simple shove.

“Is that the best you can do?” PJ taunts, disregarding your inexperience, before delivering a punch to your gut in retaliation. You start to double over in pain and PJ’s other fist meets your jaw in an uppercut. You stumble backwards and PJ takes advantage of that, kicking you in the face. You feel the pain seer across your mouth and cheek. “What a shame,” PJ continues taunting, “to defile such a pretty face.” As PJ regains her footing she looks at Hazel and asks “isn’t that right?” Murmured reactions buzz around you. You take PJ’s temporary distraction as an opportunity to dive towards her legs and knock her off her feet. Her head slams against the ground. Before she can take back the upper hand you clamber over her and grab her wrists. PJ has a smug look on her face as you pin her arms to the ground. You glare down at her and say, “I don’t go down so easy. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You thought you were hot shit for about 10 seconds before PJ admits, “normally I would let a girl as hot as you do whatever she wants to me,” and knees you in the chest before declaring “but not this time.” You crumble to the ground beside her. PJ pulls you up off the ground, onto your knees, by your hair as she rises to her feet. She’s clearly trying to get inside your head as she continues to mock you. “You have overestimated yourself princess.” She circles you like a predator hunting its prey. As you attempt to get up she takes you out at the knees in one swift movement. She approaches and hovers over you. You are expecting a final blow but instead PJ leans in really close like she’s about to kiss you. You lean as far away from her as you can. Nevertheless she continues to get closer. When her lips are about a centimeter away from yours she grabs you by the hand and pulls you to your feet. Everyone applauds, signaling the end of the fight.

“I have to admit babe, I’m pretty impressed. I never thought someone so dignified could also be so scrappy” PJ confesses with a sly smile. “Really?” You scoff, not letting her get inside of your head.

“Yes. But you’ve got a lot to learn. A pretty girl like you, I’m more than willing to teach you everything I know.” She offers with a wink. You roll your eyes at her. This wasn’t the first time PJ has flirted with you and could only assume that it wouldn’t be the last. Brittany is clearly the girl she has her sight set on but she treats you like a backup plan for when she is inevitably rejected by the very straight, out of her league, cheerleader. Not that you weren’t out of your league. The fact that you were also a lesbian caused her to be bolder than she usually is with others. However, this felt personal and you can’t tell if she wants you or wants to be you. You leave the center of the circle and PJ trades places with Josie, who looks around trying to figure out who she’s going to challenge.

You take back your spot next to Hazel. She subtly inches towards you. She puts her hand on your shoulder and her lips get close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you ok?” She whispers. You give her a nod and she searches your face for something, though you aren’t sure what it is. As she steps away from you she doesn't go far, staying much closer to you than she was originally. Her hand slides down your arm, finding itself in yours. Her hold on you lingers for a moment before she fully lets you go, as if she’s afraid of what might happen when she does.

There are a lot of fights including a variety of match ups. None of PJ’s other fights get taken to the level that yours did, although she enjoyed getting pinned down by Brittany a little too much. You are very thankful that you only participated in one fight because you are aching all over. Everyone else seems to be handling the pain a lot better than you are. It must be something you get used to. Feeling a little dazed, the longer the meeting goes on, the harder it is to stay on your feet. Once the meeting has concluded the circle disbands and you collect your things. Hazel had taken off your sweatshirt before the meeting to avoid getting any blood on it. She puts it back on and timidly approaches you. “Want to walk out with me?”You just nod your head because your mouth and jaw hurt so much. Your silence seems to make Hazel even more nervous.

As you push through the doors to exit the gym she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and asks, “so, what did you think?”

You just laugh. “I think I got my shit rocked.”

“I know, I know. But you knew what you were signing yourself up for. You saw me after yesterday's meeting. I will admit that you were at a disadvantage. What I meant was how did it make you feel?” She starts to fidget with her rings, drawing attention to her hands, making you lose your train of thought. Hazel looks at you expectantly and you try to regain your composure as fast as you can.

“I’m not sure why, but I think it felt… good? I was able to let go of my inhibitions. I felt the pain instead of my feelings.” Hazel playfully punches you in the arm, which is fortunately one of the few places on your body that doesn’t hurt. “Why do you sound so surprised?” She teases “I promised you. Pinky promised. You know that’s practically a blood oath to me.”

“There was definitely blood,” you begin, then mumble “but your promises don’t hold the weight that they used to.” You weren’t sure if you wanted her to hear that or not so you left it up to fate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hazel questions. She’s not angry, just hurt. Her eyes grow wide with panic.

“You know exactly what that means,” you snap at her. The fire of all your hurt and resentment burns through the feelings of longing and nostalgia. In rare form, Hazel is at a loss for words. She starts to break out in a sweat.

“You know what, I am feeling pretty good and I’m not ready to let go of that yet. We are not going to do this right now.” You continue on, leaving her behind. You no longer hear Hazel’s footsteps on the linoleum floors. She’s stopped dead in her tracks. “Please,” she calls after you, her voice strained.

“Hazel, I told you I’m not doing this right now.” You hear her approaching so you stop and turn around “You’ve been acting like nothing ever happened. Did you think I was just going to forget? Or did you forget because you weren’t the one that got left behind?”

Tears begin to well up in Hazel’s eyes. Her voice cracks as she tries to plead with you, “please, just hear me out, I promise I can explain…” You cut her begging off. “It’s not worth wasting your breath, Hazel. I promise.”

You turn your back on her as tears start to fall from your own eyes. You’re stomping away at first but you can’t get away from her fast enough as your heart breaks all over again. You start to run. It triggers an escalation in your physical pain, but that doesn’t stop you. You are too far into your own head to notice whether or not she is following you.

When you get to your car you throw your bag into the passenger seat and slam the door behind you. You don’t even bother to put on any music. You peel out of the parking lot and drive well above the speed limit while the effects of your injuries continue getting worse. You know that you probably shouldn’t drive like this, but you needed to get the fuck out of there. Once you are parked in your driveway suffering washes over you. Your head falls to the steering wheel and you begin to sob. You had never let yourself cry over Hazel before. Years worth of pain pours out of you, an agony far worse than any physical damage could ever cause. If she had punched you in the face it would at least only have left a temporary mark. There is nothing you can do but let the heartache eat you alive. You have tried to ignore it, but you are in love with Hazel. You wonder if she has any love for at all. If she did, why would she do this to you?

You have no idea how much time has passed when you hear a car pull up next to yours. You turn and see Hazel's car in her driveway. “Fuck!” You scream, balling your fists and pounding on the steering wheel. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make a break for it. You only manage a few steps before your fight catches up to you and you go down. Hard. You hear Hazel coming towards you repeating “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” until she is knelt down at your side. You turn away so that you don’t have to look at her and she can't see your puffy red face.

“I know that you don’t want anything to do with me, but you need to let me help you.” You can’t stand the effect that she has on you as you weigh your options for a moment. You ultimately end up nodding your head in agreement. You are not sure you could even make it into your house on your own because your head is spinning from the pain and tears. You take a deep breath and turn your head towards her. Hazel’s hands gently move to your face, wiping away your tears and telling you that it’s her turn to take care of you. She puts your bag over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your waist to help you up. Hazel brings you inside, and helps you get comfortable on the couch.

“First aid kit?”

“Bathroom. Ice packs are in the freezer.”

It’s been a while but Hazel knows her way around. She rushes around your house and quickly returns with everything she needs. She warns you that she is going to have to get close to you before she kneels down in front of you, settling between your legs. She passes you the ice packs and you put them where you are feeling the most pain.

“Do you have a hair tie?” She asks. You nod and hold out your wrist. Hazel takes the hair tie and tells you to turn your head. You oblige and she gently pulls your hair away from your face and into a ponytail. You hold your breath the whole time.

You wince in pain as Hazel attends to your split lip and cheek laceration. That doesn’t stop the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when she touches your face. Your heart nearly stops when her fingers brush over your lips. Once she finishes cleaning you up she sits back on her knees and assures you that you won’t need stitches. You’ve had enough time to calm down so you tell her “you can talk.”

“Are you sure?” Hazel is very hesitant and a little afraid.

“I’m listening.”

“I want to start off by telling you how sorry I am, and that I only did what I did because I thought that’s what was best for you. I never wanted to hurt you and I thought that letting you go would cause less harm than holding on. I was going through so much and I didn’t want to drag you into it. There were things I couldn’t talk to you about. Couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I had all these feelings… they were so strong… and I didn’t know what to do with them. I didn’t think that you would understand and it felt like I was going to lose you one way or another. So I bit the bullet instead of stringing you along. By the time I came to terms with things it was too late. You had already moved on. You had new friends and popularity. I know now that I was wrong. I was young and stupid and in-“ she pauses for a brief moment and mumbles “in deep.”

She returns to her previous tone and assures you that “no one has ever been as important to me as you are. You never stopped being important to me. I haven’t gotten close to anyone else because no one could ever replace you. I’ve spent every day since I let you go regretting my decisions but I was also too scared to do anything about it. I hate myself for screwing up my one opportunity to have you back in my life. I’m not asking you to forgive me. All I ask is that you believe me when I tell you that I never meant for any of this to happen and I’m really, truly, sorry.” Hazel is the one crying now. She anxiously waits to hear what you have to say, clearly in distress. You take a moment to collect your thoughts. Your brain is in fight or flight mode, telling you to lash out, but your heart is telling you that it’s time to forgive and forget. So you turn to your intuition.

“I’m not going to forget what happened, but I do believe you. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t missed you” All these years the ‘why’ had cost you countless hours of sleep. You finally have an answer and it gives you a sense of peace. You trust Hazel. Not just because of her history of honesty, but because you know that she is a terrible liar. You needed to get your feelings out, though you should have known you could never stay angry at her. You are hopelessly in love with Hazel Callahan, the girl next door. The tears stop falling from Hazel’s blue eyes and they are filled with a new sense of hope. You reach out to wipe the tears off of her face and she smiles. She throws her arms around you and holds you tight. “I’m never going to do anything like that to you ever again,” she whispers in your ear. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you.” You pull away, arms still around her, your faces mere inches apart. A smirk creeps onto your face. “Anything?”

“Yes. Literally anything. Whatever you need and whatever you want. Now that I have you back I’m never letting go again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

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alieinthemorning · 4 months

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For Your Eyes Only [Leona Kingscholar]

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

On a mundane Monday, the same as any other, Leona found a letter resting on his desk. At first glance, he thought nothing of it. More official affairs, he thought. But then he caught a faint, familiar scent.

Your scent.

Now, he was awake. How the hell did you slip out here without him noticing—

Usually, even the slightest movement from you would rouse him.

“Deep ass sleep…” He said through a yawn.

He decided to completely avoid the fact that he had gotten so comfortable around you that he could truly fall into a deep sleep. Instead, he dragged a hand through his hair, and finally picked up the envelope.

“For Your Eyes Only, huh…”

Two feelings, on extreme opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, flooded him at once.

And honestly?

Both terrified him.

It took him a few minutes of staring and contemplating before he opened it.

My King,

I love you.

I wanted this to be the first thing you read when you woke up.

Just a simple reminder, that you are loved and cherished.

Every day I wake up, I am blessed knowing that I will see you, my love.

And it is the same when I am safely within your arms.

As I hang onto your every word during meetings, I am reassured that you are truly a king fit to rule.

One who cherishes his kingdom, and wants to see it flourish.

One who holds his head high despite the weight of the crown.

One who knows that he is not alone.

If the whole world plans to extinguish your light

They find a need to make you break and cry

Don’t you worry, love, I am right by your side

So, just smile for me; it will be alright

“And as this letter comes to a close, let me remind you:

“I love you, Leona Kingscholar. Now and forever more.

Your Sovereign."

He didn’t hear you come in.

He didn’t feel your presence as you wrapped your arms around his middle, reciting the final lines of the letter.

He didn’t know when he started crying,

or when those cries became outright sobs.

You simply guided him back to bed, and threaded your fingers through his tresses.

Silently reassuring him,

You were there,

You weren’t judging him,

You loved him.

You

Loved

Him.

“…I l-love you too.

So much.”

God, that last line, gets me every time.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie series: forevermore #alie ficlets #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar x reader

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nburkhardt · 10 months

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Of Insomnia and Nightmares.

Idk what this is tbh. We’ll go with hurt/comfort mostly with absolutely no real plot 🫣

“You’re not in bed. I came looking for you.”

His head hits the back of the cabinet with a loud ‘thunk’, wincing he brings his hand up to rub it before looking over at Steve, standing there still with bed-head and his boxers on.

It’s not technically his first time waking up at this ridiculous time of three in the morning. Also not the first time Steve looks for him. It’s an unfortunate side effect from nearly dying; insomnia and nightmares.

They both have it, luckily or well maybe, unluckily.

Steve tends to treat his insomnia by doing house work or he bakes. When he wakes from the nightmares he doesn’t even attempt at leaving the bed; he shifts in bed and holds him tight. Which always wakes Eddie up, but he doesn’t mind.

Because his thing is louder usually, actually. Right now he’s in the kitchen putting dishes away, which isn’t his thing whatsoever.

“Sorry, sunshine. I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares and insomnia, ya know?”

Steve nods and walks further into the kitchen, before stopping next to him. “And you decided to do, my thing?”

He snorts and looks down at the plate in his hand, shrugs and puts it in the cabinet before closing it. “Just needed a moment, needed my hands to be busy.”

Steve wraps his arms around his waist, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Leaning back into his boyfriend, “I usually wake up to the sound of you playing, what’s different?”

“Just, needed to be busy, I guess” he shrugs before turning around to wrap his own arms around Steve, “Let’s go lay down?”

Steve looks at him. Concern is written all over his face and Eddie can see him trying to figure it out, “Bats?”

Sometimes he wants to dive into Steve’s brain and figure out just how he can read him and know. It’s a little frightening to know that he’s easy to read.

He sighs and rests his head against him, closing his eyes he squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah, they hit before I could even start playing”

Steve let’s out a displeased sigh and squeezes him close. Doesn’t say anything because it’s not necessary, they’ve both told each other the words of comfort already. They’ve been together long enough to know when it’s not necessary.

All he needs right now is to be wrapped up in Steve’s arms.

They’re settled in bed, Eddie nearly on top of Steve. They’re quiet, but not asleep. Neither is actually sleepy at this point now; it’s still too late to really do anything else but lay in bed.

“You know, I was saving those dishes for when I woke up.”

Eddie could’ve sworn Steve was at least falling asleep, he moved his head slightly to look at his boyfriend and finds him with his eyes closed and a small smile, “yeah? You planned that?”

There’s a tiny hum of confirmation, makes him snort before laying his head back down and closing his own eyes. “Sorry, you just looked so comfortable and cute drooling on your pillow that i physically couldn’t wake you up with music”

He feels Steve tighten his arms around him, “I don’t drool”

A smile pulls on his lips, this is nice. This is everything, actually. Didn’t know he could have this.

“Of course not, sweetheart” he mumbles and sinks into the Steve’s warmth more, closing his eyes, “I love you”

The arms tighten again and he feels Steve’s lips press against his head, “I love you more”

Before I ramble more, i’m ending it there. This wasn’t supposed to take me this long but my brain has been lacking on creativity lately :(

Anyway, here’s my permanent tag list under read more! (If you want to be added let me know!!)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito

Also tagging @momotonescreaming & @steddierthings because they asked for this during wip weekends and doing that helped me finish it 🥰🥰

#steddie #steddie fic #Steve x eddie #nburkhardt writes #this was supposed to be shorter #Eddie Munson fic #steve Harrington fic #stranger things fic #posting late again my time 🫡

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lurkingshan · 7 months

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Talk to me about noble idiocy! I know it is one of your most beloathed tropes... what makes you dislike it particularly? Are there examples or variations that you find more tolerable? Or ones that you feel are especially egregious?

Wow, what a gift. Thank you for inviting me to rant about my beloathed, noble idiocy.

So first, what is it? Noble idiocy is a very well worn drama trope that in its barest definition means that a character does something stupid for ostensibly noble reasons. In most dramas, it shows up in the form of one character destroying a relationship for the other person’s “own good.” It is usually justified under the notion that the noble idiot is trying to protect their beloved, and it most often shows up as the final act conflict in romances. As a drama viewer, I hate this trope for so many reasons.

Let me count the ways:

The trope is predicated on the notion that the noble idiot knows what is best for their partner and is entitled to act in their interest, usually without their consent or knowledge

It’s also a trope based in a failure or outright refusal to communicate, which is always a frustrating thing to watch

Committing an act of noble idiocy is a breach of trust in a relationship that is hard to believably come back from, as it requires deeply hurting the person you claim to love and feeling righteous about it to boot

It’s also just infantilizing and shows deep disrespect for one’s partner and their agency to make their own choices

Most dramas don’t actually hold the noble idiot to account, uncritically accepting the notion that they believed they had a good reason for what they did and thus should be easily forgiven

Consequently, an act of noble idiocy often destroys any faith the audience has in the relationship and the inevitably tacked on happy resolution falls flat

The trope is very often used cheaply as an easy shortcut for conflict when a drama is running out of steam or isn’t sure how to fill its runtime, and thus tends to feel false and sometimes even like a complete violation of character

So yes, noble idiocy on my screen is an automatic groan for me and usually takes a drama down in my estimation because it’s just such a lazy, overused trope. But there is a spectrum and some versions are more palatable than others. For instance, if the noble idiot has extremely well-established reasons to think they are not good for their partner, the drama has been naturally building to a break, and the partner is well aware of what is happening and why, I find that much easier to swallow.

A good example of this take on the trope is Just Between Lovers, a kdrama about healing from a traumatic incident and its aftereffects. Gang Doo, the male lead, feels he is holding his girlfriend back, and so he takes a job that will send him away for awhile to give her a chance to move on. She doesn’t want him to leave, but she is fully aware of where he is going and why. So while she’s frustrated and hurt as she watches him go, she isn’t left wondering what went wrong or thinking this is about anything but his trauma, which she already knew about. She knows it is because he loves her so much that he is leaving. As a result, their reconciliation was believable.

The next step down is the just plain stupid variation, in which the noble idiot doesn’t realize there will be fallout for their failure to communicate their intentions when they decide to abruptly leave their partner. This version showed up in Because This is My First Life, a kdrama about a contract marriage, when the heroine, upon falling in love for real with her husband, decided she didn’t want a fake marriage anymore. She decided to end the relationship and take a short time away so they could start fresh. The problem? She didn’t tell him that’s what she was doing, she just left him with no explanation. The male lead, a neurodivergent person who had struggled to open up to her in the first place, was deeply damaged by this abandonment. It’s an act a person claiming to love him would never do. Because of that, I can never love the drama wholeheartedly or trust in that relationship, which really pissed me off because until that final act of noble idiocy, it was a lovely and thoughtful romance.

By far the worst version of this trope is what I call the needlessly cruel variation, where the noble idiot outright lies to their partner about their feelings and intentions as a way to make a clean break. This usually takes the form of claiming not to love them anymore, and it is fucking infuriating. Plus and Minus is a great exemplar of this version of the trope, and it’s the reason I start hissing every time it comes up. After pursuing a relationship with his lifelong best friend, Li Kung bows to homophobic familial pressure and ends their relationship by claiming he misread his feelings and does not love Tse Shou after all, leaving Tse Shou confused and destroyed, having just lost both his lover and his best friend with no warning and in the cruelest way imaginable. It was out of character for Li Kung and absolutely untrue to their relationship dynamic. That the show then tried to tack on a fluffy happy ending after that unbelievable breach of trust just made me even more angry and I will honestly never forgive it.

There are others that fall somewhere along the spectrum—A Boss and a Babe, for instance, lives somewhere in the gray space between the second and third variation, as Cher told Gun he was leaving him because they were not compatible and told him not to look for him, and failed to communicate that his intention was to finish his degree so that they would become more compatible. It was cruel in that there was zero reason for him to not just tell Gun what he was doing, but it was based in Cher just being low (high) key stupid about other peoples’ emotional needs rather than him intentionally setting out to break Gun’s heart.

And then there’s something like We Best Love, which starts out giving the impression that we are dealing with noble idiocy before peeling back the layers to reveal that both Shi De and Shu Yi had been tricked into thinking the other abandoned him, and it was actually Shu Yi’s dad who interfered to keep them apart and confused. Shi De was definitely an idiot for never talking to Shu Yi to confirm the breakup and trying to defeat his dad on his own, but he never actually nobly dumped Shu Yi in the first place. It’s an interesting twist on the trope that starts as infuriating and becomes more sympathetic as it’s unraveled.

In conclusion: I really do despise noble idiocy narratives on the whole. But that doesn’t mean it’s a completely useless trope, and there are dramas I love that have deployed milder versions of it. It can and has been used effectively in a way that supports character and leads to relationship development. It’s just so rarely the case that I instinctively recoil from it, and I wish drama writers would stop and think 12 times before deciding if its use is really necessary or compelling in their stories.

#drama tropes #noble idiocy #just between lovers #because this is my first life #plus and minus #a boss and a babe #we best love #shan answers

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faithforgottens · 1 year

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𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx. summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. → inbox status: OPEN don’t repost my works anywhere.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 am i gonna see you tonight?

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 :(

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 hellllllooooooooooo??

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me

You’ve never claimed to be smart.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.

Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.

Lucky you.

Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.

Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.

“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.

They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.

You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.

“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”

“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”

“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.

You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.

“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”

Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.

“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”

“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”

“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.

Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.

All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.

Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.

It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”

The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”

Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”

You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.

Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.

You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”

As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”

Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”

Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”

“Your funeral.”

Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.

She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”

Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”

“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”

You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”

Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care?

Probably not.

You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.

Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”

You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.

You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”

When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”

You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference.

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.

“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.

Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.

Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.

She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches.

“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath.

“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip.

You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”

Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.

“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.

“Nat, what...”

“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected.

The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment.

“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.

Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.

“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair.

“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.”

You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours.

“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?”

“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body.

“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”

More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil.

Maybe you were misplaced somehow.

Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”

You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”

“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.

“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt.

You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”

She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”

The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”

You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.

"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”

You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”

“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Please, Nat, gonna...”

“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”

“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.

“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”

Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated.

“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”

Beat that, Danvers.

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