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buckyalpine · 5 months

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Hi!!!! I love your work and talent, you are so amazing!💗 I was wondering if you could do a light angst fic. Like bucky is a player who is just running through women, and the avenger reader has a big crush on him . She has to watch him string girls through the tower all the time and it makes her sad. Bucky's type is dark,red lip, baddie but reader is the mom of the friend group and wears pink and is super sweet and a little awkward, she is also a mutant who has like earth powers. So whenever she's happy or laughing flowers will bloom in her hair. She's so cute. Kinda like the trope: she fell first but he fell harder. And like bucky realizes that he's madly in love with our sweet baby angel reader. And the FLUFF!! 💗💗💗

Thank you, love Binks 💖

Yes. Yesyesyes. I hope you're all ready cause I sat with this piece for weeks. Jealously, Misunderstandings, love sick Bucky, idiots in love, SO MUCH ANGST AND FLUFF . Protective best friend Steve and dash of smut cause I can't help myself, its so sweet and soft and I love these two, put myself in my feelings with their spicy and sweet loving.

"See you later Sargent" A gorgeous woman walked by the kitchen on her way out or the tower, winking over her shoulder and blowing a kiss to the soldier who smirked at her in response. Her lipstick hadn't budged even after a night of who knows what with Bucky, her perfectly curved hips swaying along with the click of her heels.

You were busy with making breakfast, dustings of flour covering your nose and cheeks, still in your baby pink pj's, looking the total opposite of the gorgeous girl Bucky spent the night with.

"Damn Barnes" Tony whistled after the she had left, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Where do you find em'-Ow!" Tony yelped when Nat gave his ear a flick, cocking her eyebrow up in amusement.

"I'll let Pepper know you're curious-

"Nope. No. I was just admiring Terminators taste" Tony threw his hands up, swiping a hot pancake from the stack you were plating making you giggle, tiny daisies blooming around your hair "These are delicious Petal. I'll never get tired of seeing that" Tony smiled, looking at the fresh little flowers that reflected your mood, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before returning to the lab.

"Sure, admiring taste" Nat snorted while Bucky snickered, taking a seat at the kitchen island; his fluffy hair still messy from bed. You set down a plate in front of him, adding butter and some fresh strawberries on the side just the way he liked.

"Here you go Sargent" You smiled softly before getting started on cutting up more fruit for Steve and Sam who would be returning from their run soon.

"These are amazing" Bucky hummed, reaching for more; he'd never get tired of your cooking. You tried to bite back a smile while vines of baby pink roses weaved their way through your hair, matching the fuzzy feeling the soldier made you feel. The flowers were not missed by Bucky who watched you continue to flit about the kitchen like a little garden fairy, making sure everyone would have something for breakfast. He couldn't help but chuckle at the way you crawled up onto the counters like a cat to reach the highest shelves, a few knotty tendrils sneaking their way through your hair indicating your frustrations when you nearly dropped a cup.

"Do you have different flowers for different moods?" Bucky continued to watch you while you slinked off the counter, starting on a smoothie.

"Sort of? Yeah I guess" You thought to yourself, noting you'd often have yellow ones when you'd laugh, or purple ones when you were excited. You only ever got pink ones around Bucky; the only person to make you feel warm and shy and soft. You were caught off guard the first time you saw the tiny pink buds in your hair the same day you met him when you joined the team. No one else seemed to notice, too busy admiring the fact that gorgeous petals decorated your hair.

Everyone except Bucky.

The soldier was trained to notice everything.

He'd seen every type of flower adorn your hair but these ones were just around him.

"What do the little pink roses mean you're feeling?" Bucky asked, cocking his head when you looked at him like a deer in headlights.

Shit.

"It-I-happy! It means I'm happy" You stuttered out unconvincingly while Bucky hummed, cleaning off his plate before heading down to the gym, taking one last glance over his shoulder before rounding the corner.

Those tiny pink roses suited you perfectly; the human embodiment of a little fairy.

Ever since you'd joined the team, they were blessed with a full breakfast almost every morning, sometimes even dinner. Outside of your role as an Avenger, you took on a nurturing role within the team and of course that was just who you were, being so in tune with nature and naturally caring for those around you. Still, it was evident you went above and beyond just instinct when it came to taking care of others; you were very much the mom of the group. Initially Bucky found it confusing, wondering why you were so nice to everyone, always checking on their needs and being prepared for just about anything. He was so used to functioning on his own, he found it jarring when you were looking out for him too; didn't you know who he was? Why were you being nice to him?

He didn't even have it in him to give you the cold shoulder like he did with everyone else. What kind of person would he be if he was rude to the sweetest person he'd ever met. You were just so precious and sweet and you always smelled like fresh flowers and sunshine, he would've basked under your light for hours on end if you let him-

Bucky shook his head, breaking away from the train of thoughts he was having about you yet again. You didn't make sense. More specifically, him thinking of you didn't make sense. He was rough, rugged, made of muscle and metal, didn't like most people and the last time he'd been nurturing was back when he'd nurse Steve back to health more than 70 years ago.

You on the other hand were literally made of flowers, combined with soft sweetness, shy smiles and giggles. You were cute. Too cute. He had no business thinking about you, ignoring the fluttery jitter in his heart as he tossed a wink to a SHIELD agent who was training at the weights. She had joined recently, typically taking on missions which required her to go under cover in skin tight dresses and bodysuits; it was perfect for her given her tall and toned build. The woman smirked in response, biting her dark red painted lip before making her way over to him by the punching bags.

"Hey Sarge" she purred, bringing her hand up to toy with his dogtags, tugging at them suggestively, "Busy tonight?"

"We're having a movie thing" Bucky shrugged, not suggesting they had to do anything else after but if that's where the night led then-

"Hmm, I'll see you later then" She batted her lashes at him before going back to her set.

This made sense.

Casual. Sexy. Flirty.

Everything Bucky was good at and comfortable with. No feelings, no attachments. No deep, undying love he felt for a certain sweet girl on his team that he'd give his life for.

This made perfect sense.

You were the last to make it down to movie night after spending most of the evening prepping drinks and snacks for others. Movie nights were rare and it was even more rare for everyone to be present. You made sure there was something for each member of the team, from sour candy to chocolate, chips, cookies, tiny sandwiches and an array of drinks you'd set up on the coffee table.

You stood at the edge of the living room dressed in your warm oversized sweater and mismatched fluffy socks, nervously peering around the room for an empty space; usually you'd curl up on the two seater sofa with a thick fuzzy blanket draped over you but-

Your heart sank seeing yet another beautiful girl cuddled up next to Bucky, taking up all the space on the couch. A part of you contemplated on going back to your room; the sinking feeling in your stomach worsened seeing the new agent adjust herself until she was pressed right against the soldier. Why did you have to fall for for the person who wouldn't look at you twice. You were dressed in clothes too big and soft, a stark contrast to the matching silk lounge set she was wearing, leaving no doubt over how absolutely perfect her body was.

"Hey Petal, c'mere" Steve noticed you looking for a spot, patting he seat beside him, shifting over so you could join. You smiled at the Captain, quietly shuffling through the room, hiding into the cushions as the movie started. Your heart dropped further each time you heard the girl Bucky was with giggle, slinking around his lap while he gave her his flirty smirk. There were occasional times where flowers wouldn't bloom in your hair and this was one of them.

Steve noticed your less than enthusiastic demeanor, catching you glancing over at the brunette super soldier and his friend for the night, internally rolling his eyes at what an idiot his best friend was. He threw his arm around you, pulling you in to snuggle with him, whispering his own commentary as the movie progressed, hoping to lighten your mood.

You giggled, a few yellow flowers blossoming in your hair making Steve grin. Bucky watched carefully, a new emotion flaring in his chest as he watched bright petals fall onto your lap each time you laughed. He didn't like the new feeling that started off as warm to blazing hot, what was it he was even feeling-

Irritation? Sure a bit.

Confusion? Most certainly but not quite.

Jealously.

That's what he was feeling. He wanted to be the one who caused gorgeous tendrils of flowers to bloom, the one to make you giggle and laugh, the one who got to snuggle up with you. He was envious over how lucky Steve was, getting to cuddle up with such a soft bunny, his jealously momentarily interrupted when he took a moment to look at what you were wearing.

You looked so comfy with your warm sweater, your feet nice and toasty with your favorite socks. Bucky remembered you talking to him about them once, reading socks you'd called them.

"They're super soft and warm!" you grinned, clutching them to your chest after a trip to a book store. "I've been wanting a pair for ages. I finally caved and got them, I can't wait to put them on"

Bucky remembered chuckling to himself over how excited you'd gotten over a pair of socks, a few buds of lavender poking through your hair from how relaxed and calm they made you feel.

You looked so soft to cuddle up with like a little bear he'd hold to his chest, one that would protect him and keep him warm and safe. He wished he had a spot beside him because you would've sat where you always do and it would be him with his arm around you instead of Steve. He didn't want anything else. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to create some distance between himself and the agent, her close proximity suddenly feelings much to hot. She frowned, feeling him pull back, scooting over till she was cuddled up with him again.

Great.

"Did you want me to grab you something?" Steve asked you as he reached over for some chips, popping a few into his mouth. Before you could respond, you saw the woman whisper something in Bucky's ear, winking playfully before sitting up and taking his hand, the both of them leaving the movie half way. You felt like throwing up knowing he was taking her to his bedroom though you knew you had no right to be upset. He wasn't yours and he was welcome to do as he pleased though that didn't make the pain go away.

Bucky's POV

"How about it Sarge" She moved her hand up his thigh, giving it a squeeze, not bothering to wait for the movie to finish. Bucky stared at her like a deer in headlights while she cocked her head waiting for a response. Bucky glanced over to you, his heart breaking seeing your face fall. "Bucky? Are you listening to me?"

Bucky blinked realizing he was paying attention to you, mumbling an apology before turning to the agent. He didn't know who he was fooling but it was getting embarrassing, especially when he knew Steve was glaring at him from across the room. Neither of them had to open their mouths to understand the silent conversation they were having through their eyes alone.

"You're an idiot"

"Shut up"

"You know you like her"

"I-I don't..."

"Then why do you keep glaring at me like I stole your girl punk"

"Don't worry about it"

"You better figure it out before you hurt her more"

"She likes me?"

"You're an idiot"

"Jerk"

That did it. Bucky couldn't' last another second seeing your petals fall, the flowers Steve brought all retreating away and he couldn't sworn he saw you blink back tears. He couldn't keep doing this.

"Um, yeah sure" Bucky nodded, leading the woman away, walking past the elevators and towards the compound exist instead. As soon as he'd told the new agent he just couldn't do it he ran back to the living room in hopes of finding you only to find your spot empty.

You did your best to bite down on your trembling lip but it didn't work. As soon as the first whimper slipped out, Steve hugged you softly, telling you to to go to your room. You looked at him through wet lashes, his soft blue eyes filled with understanding. You rushed straight to your room, zooming right past Bucky's hoping you wouldn't have to hear anything, curling up into a ball in your bed where you wept under the covers.

Why did you fall for him?

Bucky looked over to Steve who nodded towards the elevators that took you to your floor, the super soldier wasting no time pressing the button to the 4th floor. He was at your door as soon as the elevator dinged open, softly knocking while his stomach continued to churn.

What would you think of him.

Why didn't he just accept his feelings the second he fell in love with those pretty little pink roses?

God you probably hated him now.

Bucky nervously chewed his lip,

"Petal?" Bucky called for you, hoping you'd open the door, his his heart hammering against his chest hearing soft sniffles from the other side of the door. "Petal, can you open the door sweets?"

He heard you continue to softly cry, his body working before his mind could catch up as he let himself into your room. He hated the sight of the little ball buried under a pile of blankets, hiding away from the world with a broken heart because of him. He made his way to your bed, sitting on the edge, petting the blanket gently to let you know he was there.

"Bucky?" You shuffled some of the blanket off, surprised to see him there, what was he doing in your room? Wasn't he spending the night with the girl he'd brought? Why did he look so distraught? You sat up with concern, looking him over to see if he was hurt because why was he here with you when he should be with her?

"Did-did you need something, is everything okay?" You tried to keep you voice steady, quickly wiping away your tears and forcing a smile that didn't quite meet your eyes.

"No sweet girl, everything isn't okay" Bucky whispered, smiling at your confused pout, his hand coming up to brush some of the strands of hair that were near your forehead. He let his hand linger on your cheek, wiping away your wet cheeks with his thumb before sitting closer to you. "Why were you crying"

You averted your eyes as soon as he asked the question, staring at your lap instead, playing with your fingers. Your voice was caught in your throat, shrugging as if you didn't know the answer. Bucky was surprised with himself, equally shy to actually say anything even though he wanted to pour his heart out. With others the smooth talking, the flirting, the boyish smirks came easy.

Not with you.

Not with his little fairy.

"Y/n, please" He tilted your chin to meet his puppy like eyes, hoping you'd understand how he felt without saying anything. His innocent gaze caused your cheeks to heat up, feeling his rough calloused hands touching you so softly. You bit your lip as your hair betrayed you, pink petals starting to decorate your hair.

"What do the little pink roses mean?" He whispered with hope in his voice, his heart aching with need seeing your shy smile, "Please tell me pretty girl. I- I only see them when I'm around you"

"It-it means-" you hesitated, scared this would all come crashing and burning if you told him the truth. Maybe he was just being nice, pausing his date to check on you. Or maybe-Just maybe? "I like you"

Had he not had super hearing Bucky would've missed your near silent whisper. The blush on his cheeks matched the flowers in your hair as he reached out for you, pulling you to his chest.

"C'mere my precious little petal" Bucky cooed, scooping you in his arms. You squeaked in surprised before giggling into his chest, the sound making Bucky's heart swell. "There she is" He smiled against your hair seeing little buds blooming again, the tiny pink roses he loved so much sprouting to life.

"Don't you have a date" You asked hesitantly while Bucky shook his head, holding onto you tighter.

"You should've been my date petal, m'sorry for not telling you how I felt about you earlier. I was scared"

"Scared?" You cupped his scruffy cheek, letting your thumb stroke his beard while he nodded, leaning into your touch.

"Scared I wasn't right for you. It didn't feel right falling in love with someone so precious when you're the complete opposite of me" His confession caused stray tears to slip down your cheeks while Bucky kissed them away. "But I promise, if you'd let me have you, I'd take care of you and love you with my whole heart. I promise I'd never hurt you sweets, I've fallen so hard for you, there's no one else I'd rather be with"

You couldn't help yourself, pulling him down for a kiss, giggling at the surprised squeak he let out before groaning and melting into your sweetness.

"I'm yours Jamie"

Stop here if the fluff was enough. Cause next is their sweet love making.

I know it's not part of the ask but imagine their first night together where Bucky doesn't want to over step so he doesn't make a move. He notices you being more cuddly and shy, burrowing into him when you're in his room and that's when he sees gorgeous deep red roses blooming in your hair. He knows by now how to read your mood based on your flowers but he hadn't seen this before.

"Petal?"

"What is it Buck" You look at him with wide doe eyes, hoping he doesn't feel the the heat you feel radiating through your body. You need him. It's more than just physical; you need him as close as possible in the most intimate way because you adore him so much.

"Your hair sweet girl" He runs his fingers through your hair, stroking the velvety petals making you whine from sensitivity, immediately silencing yourself from embarrassment. "What do you need love, you can tell me"

"Need you closer" You whispered, nuzzling your face into his neck where you could breathe in his cologne and a scent that was distinctly him.

"Closer how baby, you're-" It takes a moment for the pieces to click for Bucky to figure out just how much closer you need him, moving his hands to your hips, rubbing them up and down. "oh. OH. Is that all baby? Need me extra close?"

You nodded with another whine while Bucky moved you to lay against his pillows before slowly undressing you until you were both bare with nothing separating you.

"Bucky please, just-just want you" On any other night, you'd allow him to tease and toy with your body but you needed him so badly, your body throbbing, feeling more empty than ever.

"Shhh, m'here baby, it's okay, breathe for me petal, okay?" He stroked your hair while rubbing his weeping tip through your folds gathering your slick before pressing his cockhead against your entrance, "m'right here"

You both gasped at the feeling of him pushing his length inside, his movements slow until he was buried to the hilt. Your pussy quivered trying to pull him in deeper, tears welling along your lash line as he started to move, hardly pulling out, keeping his cock deep inside you.

"Look at these pretty roses" Bucky whispered against your lips as he rocked his hips, his hands laced with yours while more flowers bloomed, your legs moving to wrap tightly around his waist.

"All-all just for you Bucky" You hiccupped with pleasure between moans feeling a different level of satisfaction with him inside you. You finally felt complete as he moved faster, clinging onto him so you'd feel his full body weight lay on you. "More-I-I need more"

You'd never felt like this before, your powers starting to manifest throughout the room as you grew closer and closer to your orgasm. Dark green stems crawled up the bed posts as he fucked you harder, your gorgeous floral scent sending Bucky into over drive. He was the only one who'd make you feel like this, the only person to ever get to see those dark red petals strewn across his bed.

There was something so intimate knowing no one else would ever get to see you like this, no one else would smell how sweet you were when he drove you mad with pleasure.

All the dark red roses full of love and lust just for him.

"I'll give you more pretty girl" Bucky growled, his own high licking down his spine feeling your pussy tighten around him, begging for him to keep going.

"Don't-please don't stop" you begged, clawing at his back, "I-I'm gonna-"

"Cum baby, cum for me petal, give it to me" He pleaded right back, sweat beading at his forehead, his pace growing sloppy. Your back arched off the bed as he reached to rub your sensitive bud sending your nerves into over drive. "OH BUCKY"

As soon as he felt your pussy clamp around his cock as you cried out in pleasure Bucky moaned loudly, tucking his face into your neck as he spilled into you.

"Take it love, t-take it" He stuttered, trembling as the last of his orgasm dribbled into you. He watched in awe as the deep red petals that previously covered the room disappeared into thin hair, his classic favorite little pink roses decorating your hair once more. Bucky pulled the sheets over you both, holding you to his chest while kissing your forehead at you closed your eyes.

"Sleep tight, petal"

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hd-junglebook · 15 days

Text

All I've Ever Known

Jack Hughes x F!Reader

Masterlist Link

a:n ive always wanted to write a social media manager fic so here it is, hope you enjoy.

Warnings: meanies, depression, men being mean,

Summary: the sarcastic and ambitious 22-year-old knows she needs a huge turnaround - or risk being cast aside like her previous miserable tenure with the New York Rangers.

Word Count - 4634

Part 1

The shrill beep of her alarm sliced through the early morning silence like nails on a chalkboard. Y/N groaned, slamming the palm of her hand onto the nightstand to shut off the incessant noise. Another day, another soul-crushing slog as social media manager for the New York Rangers.

She peeled herself out of bed, joints creaking with exhaustion already. After hurriedly throwing on wrinkled clothes from the hamper, Y/N shuffled into the kitchen and went through the motions of brewing a sad, tepid pot of coffee. The familiar bitter aroma did little to energize her this morning.

On her deadened commute into Manhattan, Y/N stared vacantly out the smudged train window at the graffiti-streaked concrete pillars blurring by.

How had she ended up here - 22 years old and already feeling like her spirit had been sapped dry? She'd had such soaring dreams when she was a fresh-faced college grad.

But those ambitions had quickly crashed and burned against the harsh realities of the work world. Especially at a prestigious hockey franchise like the Rangers, where the crusty old men running the show didn't have a singular clue about social media strategy. Or appreciating the vision and effort of their overworked millennial staff, for that matter.

The familiar dread settled into the pit of Y/N's stomach as she crossed the frosty threshold of Madison Square Garden later that morning.

She spent her days utterly toiling in obscurity, unappreciated by the oblivious hockey meatheads she yearned to promote and engage online. Her pitches for fresh, out-of-the-box digital activations were always stuffed back into the recesses of her brain without a second glance.

By the late afternoon, Y/N's office had become a prison of stale coffee fumes and resigned despair as emails piled up in her inbox with patently absurd content requests from upper management.

"Just do another photo shoot of the players' sticks, skates and gloves on the bench," one insipid message read. "Maybe the fans want to see the equipment up close, who knows?"

Who knows? She knew, damn it. Those kinds of mindless, low-effort posts would get swallowed whole by the endless social media vacuum with zero engagement, zapping any last morsels of strategy and creativity out of the process. It was enough to make her want to fling her laptop across the room some days.

As the endless summer afternoon bled into evening, Y/N dragged herself down to the Rangers' practice rink to capture video of the players skating drills and running through stretch routines, per the usual protocol.

Not a single one of the hulking millionaires acknowledged her presence as she wandered along the sideboards, snapping footage on her DSLR.

Henrik Lundqvist skated past, head down and focused on the ice with a Terminator-like intensity. The newly acquired Barclay Goodrow sped by without so much as a sidelong glance.

Not even a single flicker of awareness that she existed, let alone that she was the one tasked with promoting their very likenesses and careers online.

Her camera strained under the weight of professional ennui snapping each frame. Just another nameless, faceless, unappreciated cog in a machine designed to prioritize bloated egos, paychecks, and Stanley Cups over creativity or foresight.

The deafening slap of pucks and sticks against the ice drilled deeper into Y/N's skull with each passing minute. She couldn't wait to escape this dismal concrete bunker, slither back to the solace of her Bushwick walk-up, and let the existential dread wash over her in peace.

…

Y/N smoothed her hands over her pencil skirt, trying to wick away the nervous sweat as she approached the imposing oak doors of the executive offices. A tight knot twisted in her stomach, but she plastered on what she hoped was an agreeable smile regardless. Maybe this surprise meeting would finally bring some good news her way for once.

She knocked and entered at the muffled "Come in" from the other side. The cavernous space was dominated by an enormous mahogany table, the franchise's top brass arrayed around it like armored knights guarding a castle keep.

Rangers team president John Davidson sat at the head, his face drawn into its trademark humorless scowl. General manager Chris Drury drummed his fingers impatiently, while half a dozen other stone-faced staffers and advisors filled out the ranks.

Y/N's forced smile faltered slightly at the chilly reception, but she strode forward with as much poise as she could muster. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help today?"

Davidson cleared his throat, the sound reverberating like a judge's gavel in the tense silence. "Miss y/n, we've asked you here to discuss your...performance, and overall role with the organization thus far."

The knot in her gut twisted tighter as Davidson continued, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Frankly, we've been rather disappointed with the lack of meaningful impact your social media initiatives have generated over the past year.

The engagement numbers have been stagnant, our players' online profiles remain relatively dormant, and we're just not seeing the kind of strategic vision and implementation we were promised."

Y/N froze, paralyzed as each steely word bludgeoned her like a slap across the face. Her stomach bottomed out as she registered the gravity of what he was saying.

"Now, we're certainly open to any new, innovative proposals you may have to reinvigorate our digital presence," Davidson went on. "But if the current trajectory continues for much longer, we'll be forced to reevaluate whether this role is truly worth allocating resources toward."

The temperature seemed to plunge twenty degrees as Y/N realized with sickening certainty what he meant - if her performance didn't dramatically improve soon, she would be fired from her dream job before it had even really begun.

All the blood drained from her face as she stared down at her feet, struggling not to sway on the spot from the waves of dizzying panic crashing over her.

After what felt like an eternity, she managed to compose herself enough to mumble a tremulous "Understood. Thank you for the candid feedback, I'll be sure to bring a revamped strategy to the next meeting." She spun on her heel and hurried out of the room, willing her legs not to buckle beneath her.

Once out in the marble-tiled hallway, Y/N's legs turned to jelly and she crumpled against the wall, her back sliding down until she was seated on the plush carpet, knees pulled to her chest. Tears of frustration and shame burned at the corners of her eyes, but she angrily blinked them back. She would not cry, not here, not over this.

Somehow, she found her feet again and began wandering in a daze back toward the social media department's offices, her mind whirling. What was she going to do? How could she possibly overhaul her strategy and prove herself worthy of keeping this coveted position?

So lost in her panicked reverie, Y/N didn't notice the tall figure barreling down the hallway until they collided with a sickening thud. She went crashing to the ground, papers and personal effects exploding out of her bag in a cascading flurry.

"Whoa there, you okay?"

She looked up with a wince to see one of the Rangers' young star defensemen, Jake Bellman, towering over her with a lopsided grin. Of course, her day wouldn't be complete without some freshly-heaped humiliation. As if on instinct, Bellman crouched down, utterly ignoring her dazed look as he began gathering her scattered belongings.

"Sorry about that, gorgeous, I really should watch where I'm going," he purred in that rich, gravelly tone of his as he collected the last of her papers. His piercing green eyes roamed brazenly up and down her body as she blushed furiously, resisting the urge to shrink back against the wall. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before, though. What's your name, beautiful?"

Y/N stared at him in disbelief as she slowly got to her feet, brushing off her ruffled skirt. "You...you know I work here, right?" She gestured vaguely at the Rangers logo on her shirt, then fished out her employee ID to dangle in front of his face. "You've seen me around the arena a million times, Bellman. Ringing any bells?"

The cocksure grin faltered slightly as he squinted at her badge, recognition finally flickering across the chiseled planes of his face. "Oh damn, yeah...the social media girl, right? Sorry 'bout that."

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, though the boyish smirk seemed permanently etched onto his lips. "I'm shit with names, to be honest. You're just...a lot prettier close up than I realized, that's all."

Y/N rolled her eyes skyward, biting back the urge to let out an exasperated groan. Of course the arrogant jocks on this team would be oblivious to anything - or anyone - that didn't directly involve scoring goals or boosting their jock status. She suddenly felt bone-achingly, soul-crushingly tired.

"Save the flattery, please. I've got more important things to worry about than whether you find me attractive or not." She snatched her belongings back from his grip with as much dignity as she could muster, already turning her back to continue on her way.

But Bellman was undeterred, because of course he was. "Hey, hold up - at least let me make it up to you?" He crowded her personal space again, practically leaning over her smaller frame with an audacious glint in his eyes. "I get off the ice around seven...we could grab drinks, get to know each other better? Maybe I'll even start putting in a good word with the boys about your marketing skills."

Y/N fixed him with a withering stare. Unbelievable - did this Neanderthal actually think she would be tempted by trifling compliments and false promises? That she would eagerly leap at the chance to be his next notch on the bedpost in exchange for putting in the barest minimum effort to promote her at work? Her blood boiled with impotent rage and insult, swirling amid the cyclone of anxiety and devastation from her earlier brush with termination.

With a noise of disgust, she pushed past Bellman and stormed off down the corridor, head held high. She would figure out a way to salvage her career through hard work and determination, without needing to demean herself by stroking any arrogant dudebro's ego.

Because if she couldn't achieve success on her own merits, what was even the point?

…

Her boots scuffed against the winding gravel path as she made her way through the lush greenery of the Park. Her shoulders were hunched forward, jaw clenched tightly in a white-knuckled grip of frustration after another utterly miserable day at the office.

"Just post another boring picture of the players standing on the ice during warmups," she muttered under her breath, impersonating the disinterested tone of her bosses. "Like that generic, lifeless content is really going to move the needle at all with our fan engagement."

She reached into her oversized tote bag, searching for her phone to distract herself by mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Her fingers finally found the smooth rectangular device, but as she pulled it out, the bottom corner of the heavy bag caught the edge of a park bench with a jolt.

The phone went flying from her grasp, tumbling end over end until it landed with a sickening crunch on the hard pavement several feet away.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Y/n let out a strangled cry of disbelief as she hurried over and scooped up the device, her heart sinking at the shattered spider-web of cracks now distorting the screen into a kaleidoscope of fragmented colors. Perfectly on-brand for how her day was going so far.

With a weary sigh, she shoved the useless phone back into the depths of her bag. Needing something, anything, to calm her rapidly fraying nerves and provide a momentary distraction from this slow motion trainwreck, y/n reached for the BerryButtkicker smoothie she had picked up from a street cart earlier.

But as her fingers gripped the condensation-drenched paper cup, it slipped through her grasp like a lubricated hockey puck. The bright pink, yogurt-based beverage went splashing down her front, drenching her crisp white button-down blouse with its sticky sweet residue.

"Oh come on, you can NOT be serious right now!" Y/n sputtered in disbelief, frantically trying to blot the stain with a wad of flimsy napkins from her bag. But it was already too late - the pale purple blotch had set in with a vengeance, leaving her shirt hopelessly ruined.

She clamped her eyes shut, taking a series of deep, steadying breaths to compose herself. A delicate shiver ran down her spine as a cool spring breeze kicked up, rippling through the trees and causing a cascade of pale pink petals to float down around her.

All she wanted now was to get back to her cozy apartment, peel off these ruined clothes, draw herself a piping hot bath, and leave this monumentally terrible day behind her.

Y/n gathered her things and set off once more at a quickened pace, mentally plotting out all the carefully worded reasons she would use to finally break up with her neglectful, emotionally-vacant boyfriend.

She was so preoccupied with her mantra of pent-up grievances that she didn't notice the zipper of her bag had come undone until her shiny new DSLR camera went bouncing out onto the pavement.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched in horror, powerless to do anything as the expensive piece of equipment hit the ground with a sickening clang, the glass lens immediately spidering with a crooked crack straight through the middle.

A strangled sound of dismay caught in y/n's throat as she dropped to her knees, cradling the damaged camera with trembling hands. Angry tears of frustration stung at the corners of her eyes as she carefully laid it back in her bag, handling it like delicate porcelain.

She couldn't afford to replace that right now, not after how much it had set her back...could this nightmarish day somehow get any worse?

The shrill ringtone of her phone suddenly cut through the silence, echoing off the trees around her. She rifled through the bag once more, pulling out the device with its cracked screen and prepared to swipe away the call without looking - only to pause when she saw the caller ID. It was her ex calling...again.

Without a second thought, she swiped to accept the call, ready to tell him off and get the closure she needed once and for all. But instead of her voice coming through the speaker, it was his unmistakable raspy tone.

"Hey babe, how's it going?"

The saccharine-sweet greeting was like a slap across the face. A guttural scream of rage ripped from y/n's throat as she hurled the phone away from her with everything she had. She watched with grim satisfaction as it sailed through the air, shattering into a million glittering pieces against the rough bark of a nearby tree trunk.

All around her, a cluster of joggers and pedestrians froze in their tracks, giving her alarmed looks. But she couldn't find it in her to care as the last dregs of composure finally snapped. Y/n snatched up her bag and stormed off down the path, batting away her angry tears as she muttered a mantra under her shuddering breaths.

"I...hate...the stupid...Rangers. Stupid...team...stupid job..."

That thankless, idiotic social media team could all go straight to hell for all she cared at this point.

…

Two days later…

Y/n wandered into the buzzing Apple store at the mall, still feeling frazzled and out-of-sorts after the series of unfortunate events that had unfolded in the past week.

She definitely needed to replace her shattered phone, but she kept getting sidetracked, craning her neck to gaze distractedly into every storefront they passed.

As she approached the front counter to speak to one of the blue-shirted employees, a glimpse of movement through the glass facade caught her eye. Y/n did a double-take as none other than Jack Hughes, the young star center for the Devils hockey team, came strolling by outside.

And he wasn't alone - a gorgeous blonde bombshell in tight jeans and sky-high stilettos clung to his arm like plastic-wrap, gazing up at him adoringly.

Y/n's jaw went slack as she blatantly ogled the pair, a pang of surprised attraction flaring up inside her. She had always thought Hughes was cute in that boyish, approachable way, but up close he was practically smoldering. No wonder he had every girl in the tri-state area fawning over him.

The salesguy cleared his throat loudly, giving Y/n a pointed look. She startled, embarrassed at being so obvious, and spun back around to face him.

"Uh, hi! Yes, I need a new phone please. My old one is, uh, extremely broken," she said quickly, hoping her blush wasn't too noticeable.

"Not a problem at all. We've got some great options for you to look at..." the salesguy began, efficiently getting her set up to browse the latest iPhone models.

…

A little while later, Y/n emerged from the store, the strap of her sleek new smartphone cutting into the palm of her hand where she gripped the heavy bag a little too tightly.

At least that errand was dealt with, even if it put another dent in her rapidly dwindling savings after the camera debacle. She quickened her pace towards the exit, keeping her head on a swivel to avoid anyone else who might shake her focus.

Once she was back in the quiet sanctuary of her apartment, Y/n fired up her laptop and began searching for electronic repair shops that could hopefully salvage her busted camera.

She spent over an hour meticulously compiling a list of options and jotting down estimates, her tongue poking out between her lips in concentration.

Just as she was about to close the browser, a new email popped up in her inbox from an unlisted sender. Curious, she clicked it open - and felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull at the contents.

"Dear Y/N, We were recently made aware that your contract with the New York Rangers organization will be ending soon. The New Jersey Devils are impressed by your portfolio..."

The words began to blur together as she frantically skimmed the rest of the email, her heart pounding louder with every sentence. This was the Devils...they were offering her an interview for their head of social media position!

A disbelieving shriek of giddy excitement exploded from Y/n's lungs as she leapt off the couch, practically trampolining on the cushions in a frenzy.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" she chanted at the top of her lungs as she danced around the living room, punctuating each repetition with a wild fist pump.

This was her chance to get out from under those miserable Rangers Neanderthals once and for all! To escape to a fresh start with an organization that might actually appreciate her vision and skills.

Still screeching incoherently, Y/n launched herself over the back of the couch and scrambled to respond to the email, typing faster than she ever had before in her life.

…

The trendy restaurant buzzed with the energetic chatter of the Saturday evening crowd, but Y/n barely registered the din around them as she fixed her best friend Lexi with an exasperated glare.

"Lexi! Keep your voice down," she hissed, cheeks flushing as she shrank down in the plush booth they occupied.

Lexi merely arched an immaculately groomed eyebrow, her glossed lips curving into a sly smile as she prodded further. "Oh come on, you can't tell me you haven't thought about it. Which one of those hockey hunks are you gonna make a move on first now that you've got an in?"

Y/n opened her mouth to protest, but Lexi stubbornly barreled on. "Is it gonna be Jack Hughes? That boy has a face that could melt ovaries. Or maybe Nico Hischier is more your style - strong, silent, and packing the real...heat, if you know what I mean." She accompanied the lewd insinuation with an exaggerated wink.

"Jesus, Lexi! You're such a heathen," Y/n sputtered, swatting her friend's arm as her blush deepened. "I'm not working there just to ogle boys, you perv. I actually really enjoy this job and the Devils are one of my favorite teams."

Lexi nodded slowly, making a show of scrunching her face up in an expression of utter disbelief. "Yeeeeah, sure thing, honey. Keep telling yourself that."

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to let loose a blistering retort, when the waitress materialized at their tableside. "Sorry about the wait, ladies. Here are your crab cakes to start!" She slid the sizzling hot plates in front of them with a friendly smile before turning on her heel.

Shooting Lexi one more narrowed look, Y/n grabbed her fork and dug in hungrily. She'd been so wrapped up in the whirlwind of her job over the past couple of weeks that she hadn't had a chance to properly celebrate with her best friend.

Lexi took a dainty bite of the crab cake, her eyes still dancing with mirth. "Mmm, this is amazing."

"Earth to Y/N? Hello, girl, you're, like, a million miles away right now."

Y/N blinked, refocusing on her best friend's concerned expression. "Sorry, Lex. It's just been...an incredibly shit week at work, to put it lightly."

Lexi's sculpted brows hiked up in surprise. "Come on, this was and I quote, 'the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you'?" She made air quotes with perfectly manicured pink nails.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Y/N recounted the horror show of a meeting where management had essentially put her on notice - shape up and revive the team's digital presence, or risk being fired before her job even really started.

"Oh em gee, that's seriously messed up," Lexi gasped, delicate hand flying to cover her mouth. "Those crusty old jerks can't be that dense about social media strategy in this day and age, can they?"

Y/N snorted derisively, swirling the dregs of her cocktail. "Clearly they are, if they think posting another photo of a player's glove is going to boost engagement. It's like they're actively trying to be as bland and uninteresting as humanly possible online." She took a morose sip. "God, this is just like my nightmare with the Rangers all over again."

Lexi reached across the table to pat Y/N's hand consolingly. "Don't you dare go back to being that sad, mopey lump I had to deal with for months, missy. You're in the big leagues now!"

A tiny smile finally quirked at the corner of Y/N's lips. "I don't know, Lex...what if I really can't hack it with the Devils after all? What if I'm just not cut out for this?"

Lexi fixed her with a stern look, popping a truffle fry into her mouth as she chewed thoughtfully. "Okay, no, I'm shutting that shit down right now before you even start with the self-doubting pity party."

She pointed an accusatory bite at Y/N's face. "Did you just conveniently forget about the rude hottie hockey player you already had to deal with?"

Y/N's brows furrowed in confusion. "What? Bellman? What does that arrogant asshole have to do with anything?"

"Um, hello? He basically threw himself at you after nearly bowling you over in the hallway!" Lexi cried in a tone that implied the obvious.

Flushing slightly at the memory, Y/N waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing, Lex. Just an egotistical jock being a pig, as per usual for that type."

But her friend was already leaning across the table with the spark of mischief twinkling in her eyes, the way she did whenever whipping up a deliciously tempting scheme.

"Think about it, babe - all you need is to get the inside scoop from a couple of players, find out what really lights their fire on social media. Work that Y/N charm to learn what they want to see from their own team's accounts."

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but Lexi's persuasive momentum was already rolling full force. "You get the players on board, maybe even a little...incentive nudge here and there, if you know what I mean..." She waggled her perfected eyebrows shamelessly.

"Next thing you know, the Devils' engagement will be soaring and you'll be the fan-favorite queen of digital content! It's a brilliant plan!"

As ridiculous as the concept seemed on its surface, Y/N had to admit her cunning best friend made a fair point, as per usual. There was no better way to ace this critical assignment than by going straight to the source of what really resonated with hockey's biggest stars.

Their waitress arrived just then with a fresh round of cocktails, temporarily sparing Y/N from having to formulate a witty retort. Lexi immediately reached for her glass and raised it with a wicked grin. "I'll toast to that - may the thirstiest players be forever shooting their shots. And I don't just mean on the ice, if you catch my drift..."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but still clinked Lexi's glass with a grudging smile.

…

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself pacing the plush carpeting of a sleek conference room, her heart jackhammering against her ribcage. This was it - her make-or-break moment to prove herself worthy of keeping her coveted role as the Devils' social media manager.

The team's front office staff began filing in one by one. First the surly PR director, Stan Holcomb, followed by the team's social media coordinators and marketing deputies. Finally, General Manager Tom Fitzgerald entered, looking impeccable in a tailored navy suit as he took a seat at the head of the long glass table.

"Ah, Miss Ellison, thank you for joining us today," he greeted her with a curt nod before getting right down to business. "As we discussed previously, we've been rather underwhelmed by the team's online presence and fan engagement metrics this season. That's why we've called this briefing - to hear your updated strategy for reinvigorating our digital channels and driving more meaningful interactions with our fanbase."

Y/N's throat went dry as cotton as all eyes turned toward her. She gave a shaky nod, smoothing her clammy palms over the document portfolio cradled in front of her like a security blanket.

"Of course, Mr. Fitzgerald. I've been hard at work over the past few weeks, researching the latest trends and social media best practices, while also soliciting...personalized input from our team's top players." She cleared her throat, praying her voice wouldn't betray her nerves too terribly. "If I may..."

Fitzgerald quirked one brow but gestured for her to proceed. Y/N glanced around the room once more before diving in headfirst.

"From my extensive conversations with key players like Jack Hughes, Nico Hischier, and Vitek Vanecek, it's become abundantly clear that the old model of recycling dry, impersonal team graphics, stats, and promotional content is no longer cutting it in today's social media landscape. Users are seeking out authenticity and giving their attention to more intimate glimpses into their favorite players' real personalities and lives off the ice."

Y/N clicked over to her PowerPoint deck, revealing mock-up posts of humorous chirp videos between teammates giving fans an inside look into the Devils' locker room camaraderie. Short and snappy Q&A interviews highlighted the players' interests and obsessions away from the rink. Even a "Hockey Husband" TikTok skit sketch featuring Hischier and his longtime partner Lauren played out across the screenshare.

"Studies have shown that millennial and Gen-Z fans are exponentially more likely to engage with this sort of laid-back, relatable player content on social feeds," she asserted, swiping through data charts and focus group findings backing up her claims. "It builds a much stronger sense of community and lasting brand loyalty compared to traditional promotional tactics."

Pausing to take a fortifying breath, Y/N turned back to face the room directly. "Obviously, this sort of genuine personality integration will require full buy-in and participation from our players and coaching staff. I already have a few reliable personalities eager to embrace this vision...but it would need to become an organizationally-mandated philosophy woven into our overall team identity for maximum impact."

She let that hang in the air for a heavy pause, sweat prickling at the back of her neck as the executives around the table whispered amongst themselves. Stan the PR director scribbled furiously in his notepad, mouth twisted skeptically. Y/N's heart thundered so loudly in her ears it nearly drowned out the furnace blast of blood rushing through her veins in waves of nausea.

After what felt like an eternity, Fitzgerald cleared his throat once more, fingers steepled as he appraised Y/N with an inscrutable expression. All humor and lightness had drained from his tone when he finally spoke again.

"An intriguing proposal, Miss Ellison, I'll give you that. Though I can't help but question the potential...distractions such an emphasis on off-ice antics may invite. This is a team of elite professional athletes, not a troupe of entertainers or social media celebrities." His steely gaze bored into her as his frown deepened. "Are you quite certain this progressive approach wouldn't ultimately undermine the team's credibility or on-ice performance?"

Y/N opened her mouth, floundering for an answer as her mind spun in a panic...

...

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youssefguedira · 2 months

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i dont know when ill get around to writing the larger fic this is part of but you know brain worms have this

Nicky offers to pick him up at the airport like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been almost ten years since they saw each other, because he knows Joe hates planes and won’t want to try and navigate the two trains and two buses it’ll take to actually reach their hometown after the flight. And Joe doesn’t even try to protest, just texts him Thank you before he gets on the plane and then tries not to think about it for the entire flight. He fails.

When he arrives he’s exhausted, because it never really gets easier no matter how many times he does it. Moves through the airport like a zombie, operating mostly on muscle memory. He hasn’t been here in a long time. Still knows it well enough to navigate without really thinking about it.

His suitcase is one of the last to come through on the carousel, but it does come through, and then he’s walking to arrivals with his heart in his throat.

Nicky’s hanging back from the crowd, hands in his pockets. His hair is a little longer now, and at some point in the last decade he’s gotten his ears pierced, which Joe didn’t know. He’s wearing a dark green sweater and blue jeans. When he catches sight of Joe he smiles, small and restrained, straightens slightly.

“Hey,” he says as Joe gets closer, voice soft.

Joe has to swallow. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.

And he doesn’t even need to say anything else, because Nicky pulls him into a hug before Joe even has to ask, and Joe buries his face in Nicky’s neck and tries to breathe around the sob catching in his throat. One of Nicky’s hands comes up to cup the back of Joe’s neck, his thumb moving back and forth gently, and Joe is fragile enough that that gesture alone almost undoes him.

Nicky pulls back first. Smiles at Joe. “You look good,” he says.

Joe has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak. “You too.”

They linger just a moment longer, Nicky’s hand still on the back of Joe’s neck. Ten years ago, Joe would’ve kissed him; now there’s a gap neither of them quite know how to fill.

Finally, Nicky steps back fully, and Joe feels the loss of contact sharply. “We should go,” Nicky says. Joe nods, and follows him out of the terminal.

The car Nicky heads for is the same battered old thing he’s been driving since he got his licence. Joe wonders to himself how the car is even still going, and the look Nicky gives him tells him he knows exactly what Joe’s thinking.

It does something funny to Joe’s heart. He looks away, and gets in the car.

“I brought you something to eat,” Nicky says before he starts the car, reaching for the bag by Joe’s feet.

“You didn’t have to–” Joe begins, but Nicky cuts him off with a knowing almost-smile.

“You hate plane food,” Nicky says, “and it’s almost two, and the other option would be whatever we can find on the way. I thought you might prefer this to service station food.”

It makes Joe want to cry a little. “Nicky,” he says, and can’t manage anything else.

Nicky seems to understand. He pulls out what he had been looking for - a silver thermos, and a fork - and hands it to Joe. The contents are still warm when Joe opens it: pasta, warm and comforting.

“Good?” Nicky asks, watching him.

Joe nods. “Good.”

“Okay.” Nicky looks at him for a beat longer, then turns away and starts the car.

There’s a moment of delay before the CD player starts up, but when it does, Joe knows it from the opening note: he bought Nicky this CD from a thrift store the summer before he left for university, when they’d taken off for two weeks, just them and the car and the road. And there’s no chance that Nicky’s kept it in his car for ten years, but as they leave the airport and turn onto the motorway it makes it feel like they’ve done this a thousand times before, even though Nicky never picked him up from the airport when he came home, only met him at the station once or twice.

Joe finishes the pasta and tucks the thermos back in the bag. “Thank you,” he says, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means it to.

Nicky glances at him. “We’re still a few hours away, if you want to try and sleep. I will wake you when we’re almost there.”

Joe might protest under other circumstances, but the flight was long, and he doesn’t sleep well on planes anyway. So he takes off his scarf and folds it into a makeshift pillow before leaning back and closing his eyes. Nicky drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, hums along with the tune, and Joe lets the sound of his voice and the tapping of the rain on the window wrap around him like a blanket, carrying him off to sleep.

----------

Joe wakes to Nicky shaking his shoulder gently. “We’ll be there soon,” he’s saying. The rain has stopped; the radio is on, now, chattering in the way in the background. They’ve left the motorway behind for a much narrower road. Joe has to blink a few times before he catches sight of a sign and realises what Nicky means.

He sits up. The position he’d been sleeping in hadn’t been great for his back or his neck, and he’ll probably regret it soon, but he’d slept a lot better than he might’ve expected.

Being back always makes the rest of his life feel like a dream, like he’d never left at all. When the sign for their town passes Joe sits up, panic coiling in his stomach. He’s had days to prepare himself and still isn’t ready.

“Wait,” he says when they turn a corner two streets away from Joe’s parents’ house, “Nicky. Wait.”

“What?” Nicky asks. He doesn’t stop, but he does slow down.

“I can’t– I can’t do this.”

Now Nicky does stop, pulling into a lay-by. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, I just. Not yet. I need time.”

Nicky looks at him for a long moment. “When are they expecting you?”

“I didn’t give an exact time. Just sometime this afternoon.” He’d told his sister Nicky was coming to get him over the phone; she hadn’t said anything, but the silence had been enough.

Nicky doesn’t say anything, but he’s got the look on his face that means he’s thinking.

“I’ll be okay by myself,” Joe says then. “If you need to work.”

Nicky shakes his head. “I have today off.” And then, before Joe can really think about that, he turns the car around and heads back the way they came. This time, he recognises the path Nicky’s taking almost immediately, turning away from the area Joe’s parents live in and towards the outskirts of town, where it starts to become mostly farmland.

“I can park the car by my uncle’s house,” Nicky says, glancing at Joe. “Then we can go from there.”

Joe doesn’t need to ask where; they’ve walked the same route so many times he could probably do it in his sleep.

The sheep are out in the fields by Nicky’s uncle’s house, but he doesn’t see any of the lambs yet, though they must be coming soon. Nicky’s uncle let Joe try and help with lambing once, up until the point where Joe saw what exactly that entailed, and immediately lost his nerve. But he’d still let him help Nicky feed them every year.

There’s a little paved yard outside the farmhouse, where Nicky parks the car before grabbing the bag that had been by Joe’s feet. “I’m going to drop these off,” Nicky says. “You can come in, if you want?”

Nicky’s aunt and uncle have always been kind to Joe, but they will inevitably ask about his father, and Joe cannot quite bring himself to talk about that, not yet.

“I’ll wait,” Joe says.

It’s a few minutes before Nicky reappears, this time without the bag, but carrying a different thermos. He smiles apologetically as he jogs over. “I didn’t mean to make you wait long,” Nicky says. “But you know how they are.”

All Joe can do is nod. Nicky sets off down the path towards the woods that border the farm and Joe falls into step beside him. They don’t talk much on the way there, but they don’t need to: the silence is comfortable enough.

It’ll be spring soon. It’s cold but not cold enough to be uncomfortable, and the snowdrops are in full bloom, bright shards of white in the grass. The rain has stopped, but the smell of it still hangs in the air. They must’ve spent hours walking this path, enough that Joe doesn’t really need to look to know exactly where Nicky’s going.

This part of the river is just secluded enough that he can’t hear cars passing by anymore. The bench by the path is still there, though at some point they’ve built a shelter over it, which probably leaks but has kept it dry even after the rain. Nicky makes for it immediately.

If he looked at the back of the third slat from the left he’d find their names carved into the wood, side by side. Joe very deliberately doesn’t look.

Nicky sits down. Nods to the space beside him. When Joe joins him, he holds out the thermos.

“Tea,” Nicky says. “If you want.”

How many times have they done exactly this, over the years? In summer, they’d wade into the river; in winter, Joe always wanted to try skating on it, but the ice was never quite thick enough. Every time Nicky got into a fight with his father, every time Joe couldn’t bear to be in the house one second longer, they’d come here.

Joe gives into memory and rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky brings one arm up to hold him close, hand on Joe’s upper arm.

Joe closes his eyes, listens to the birds, listens to Nicky’s breathing.

Nicky says, “When is the funeral?”

“Thursday,” Joe says. He doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to think about the last conversation he had with his father, doesn’t want to imagine walking into his parents’ house and finding him gone. Of all people, Nicky will understand. It’s what brought them together when they were younger: being the only two students in their class who spoke English as a second language, and difficult fathers.

Silence falls between them, and Nicky doesn’t let him go, and Joe’s missed him, more than he really knew. He’d tried to stay in touch, and they had, for the most part, but it’s not the same as having Nicky beside him again.

Joe doesn’t think there’s anyone in this world who knows him the way Nicky does.

He doesn’t know why he says it, but they haven’t talked about it, and it feels like something they should, if only so Joe can lay this all to rest.

Joe opens his eyes. “You, uh. You seeing anyone?”

Nicky doesn’t pull away, but Joe feels the way he goes still, tense. Slowly, softly, he says, “I don’t think this is the right time, Joe.”

“Is there ever a right time?” Joe asks, half-joking.

Nicky doesn’t laugh.

Joe clears his throat. “I’m not. So.”

Nicky exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself. His thumb moves back and forth, back and forth where it’s resting on Joe’s arm, catching on the fabric of his coat. “Me neither.”

Joe’s not sure if that’s better or worse than if Nicky had said he’d found someone. If he had, perhaps Joe could put to rest the little part of him that will always be in love with Nicky. Not get rid of it entirely, but fold it away in a little corner of his heart and leave it there. This, though – this is possibility he doesn’t know what to do with.

“How long are you here?” Nicky asks quietly, moving his hand up to run his fingers through Joe’s hair, like he used to whenever Joe needed something to keep him grounded.

“I got two weeks off work,” Joe says. “After that I don’t know.”

Two weeks feels monumentally long and yet vanishingly short at the same time. And after?

They don’t talk about much after that. Small talk, more than anything else: Nicky’s still living in the same apartment, still working the same job, but Joe knows he loves it from the tone of his voice when he talks about the shelves he built for his most recent client, how he’s starting to make more of his own stuff, how his boss has been talking about retiring and leaving the whole business to Nicky. Joe could listen to him talk about it for hours. Maybe he does.

It settles the frantic thing that had woken in his chest when they crossed the town line, and eventually, Joe says, “I think I’m ready.”

Nicky turns his head inwards and kisses the top of Joe’s head. Lingers there for a moment. It isn’t anything; it doesn’t have to be anything.

“Okay,” Nicky says. “Okay.”

The walk back to the farm is largely silent, just as the walk there had been, passing the thermos of tea back and forth between them. They get back in the car, and Nicky drives them back to Joe’s parents’ house.

Nicky pulls up on the curb outside the house. “Call me, if you need anything. Or just– call me.”

“I will,” Joe promises. He has two weeks; he’s not going to waste them. They haven’t been in the same timezone in a long, long time.

Nicky smiles, small and hopeful, and there’s nothing really to say, after that.

Joe gets out of the car, and prepares to face his family.

#neon writes #the old guard #kaysanova #the setting and language of this one is deliberately deeply vague i don't know where it is the point is the Vibe #i call this one someone took le otto montagne 2022 a bit too personally! this is the first 'section' of this fic #there's a second part after a little time jump (not more than a year) which is what i like to call the past lives segment of this fic #anyway. enjoy #userlyde #userlinax #OH ALSO. the song is amore che vieni amore che vai #not for thematic reasons it's just the first track of ostinata e contraria #and its funny to me

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wannab-urs · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday

Doing my own thing with WIP Wednesday this week and combining a couple typical tag games.

Step one: Post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Loser, Baby - Dieter x Frankie

“Frankie, man, I just feel like such a fucking loser. I cannot get my shit together,” Dieter whines into the phone. He drums his fingers on the table top in front of him, contemplating ordering another whiskey. “News flash, Dee. You are a loser,” Frankie’s reply crackles through the speaker. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” “You’re calling me from a bar. You are literally addicted to cocaine, smoke too much weed, and rarely go more than 24 hours without getting piss drunk. What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know, man.” Dieter trails off. He drains the last few ice cubes in the tumbler. “Reassure me? Make me feel better? You’re my fucking sponsor.” “We’re both losers, Dee. We met in NA for fucks sake, it’s not like I’ve always had my shit together.” “Will you come get me?” Dieter’s voice is pathetically whiny. He feels stupid for even needing to call, and now he’s asking for this. “Course. Give me 15. Don’t order another drink.” The line goes dead and Dieter saunters up to the bar to order another and wait for Frankie.

Din/Ez Mandalorian rewrite (to be titled later)

(this would be the end of episode/chapter 1) “Well. They said 40 years old.” “This does look to be our target,” the droid quips. IG raises his blaster as if to shoot the sleeping man. “No. We'll bring him in alive.” “The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.” He raises his blaster again, but Din is faster. Before the IG unit can even register his movement, there’s a hole in its head. The bounty is sleeping on the floor, a pile of ragged blankets serving as a bed. He’s missing an arm, the stump wrapped in dirty bandages. Din toes him with his boot, keeping his blaster trained on him. The man doesn’t wake up. Din kicks him a bit harder and he still doesn’t stir. He picks the man up and heaves him over his shoulders. He carries him out to the blurg Kuill let him keep and ties him to its back like a saddlebag. It’s a long walk back to the ship.

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: Every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

Additionally, if you want to pick my brain about either one, I have a decent bit of lore planned out. Feel free to shoot me an ask or drop a comment <3

Tags: @chronically-ghosted @sp00kymulderr @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @burntheedges @beskarandblasters @pedgito @covetyou @jupiter-soups @toxic-seduction @futuraa-free @nerdieforpedro @kennysbellbottoms @valoxwayward @qveerthe0ry @rhoorl @party-hearses @rebel-held @dancingtotuyo @sin-djarin @littlegrungegirlaf @perotovar @javierpenaispunk @magpiepills @whatsnewalycat @schnarfer @heareball @always-andromeda @bitchwitch1981 @mothandpidgeon @all-the-way-down-here

#tag games #wip wednesday #poll

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sapphiretanto · 11 months

Text

Okay, as much as I love the positive Rise x 2012 crossover comics/drawings and fanfics where Rise helps 2012 with their problems, there is no way the boys would start crying or talking about their physical and mental scars upon the first meeting. They wouldn’t be open for hugs (maybe Mikey, but that’s the only one I can see). 2012 went through the ringer and no amount of Dr. Feelings/Dr. Delicate Touch is gonna help that. Here’s what Rise would have to help 2012 work through both individually and altogether:

**Please look at the “Altogether” section before notifying me if I forgot one; Otherwise, I may have genuinely forgot… this was all from what I can remember

**This is NOT bashing the fics, art, Rottmnt.

Leonardo

Possessed/Controlled (Parasitica, Buried Secrets, China Town Ghost Story)

Burdened with being the leader/eldest/Sensei

Right knee is fucked

Dislocated shoulder and arms (both causes of his arms being Super Shredder)

Weakened heart from when he died in space and was resuscitated

Has fallen off multiple high points (elevator shafts, rooftops, fire escapes)

Hands are most likely damaged from holding onto the chains that were wrapped around Kraang prime

Was in a 3-month coma

Throat was ruined

Was bitten by Armaggon

Hit by a blast meant to take out Hiidrala (The Cosmic Ocean)

Deal with having slain Shredder

Captured

Was thrown through a second story window

Cracked shell

Training/Battle injuries: hits on the head, kicks to the plastron or carapace, thrown into buildings or debris, pressure pointed

Under way too much pressure

Almost cut up by swords (Fourfold Trap)

Struggles with perfectionism; he’ll often feel at fault or like he failed for things out of his control (i.e. when Karai fell into the mutagen)

Frustrated as he doesn’t always get a lot of respect (particularly in the earlier seasons)

Took some bad advice from Splinter to heart— most of the time it added to the burden he carried as the leader

Betrayed by Karai

Raphael

Possessed/Controlled (Parasitica, brain worm, vampire, Chinatown Ghost Story)

Has watched those he cared about fallen from high places (Spike/Slash, Splinter, Zog, Leo)

Had to deal with his phobia (Cockroach Terminator, Insecta Trifecta)

Switched bodies

Lightning bolt plastron crack

Captured (and tortured - Clash of the Mutanimals, Within the Woods)

Betrayed by his girlfriend

Electrocuted

Nearly cooked to death (Fourfold Trap)

Swallowed squirrelanoids

Lost Spike to mutation

Nearly had to give away Chompy

Fell from various high heights (ravines)

Anger issues

Felt unfavored compared to Leo

Training/Battle injuries: hits on the head, kicks to the plastron or carapace, thrown into buildings or debris, pressure pointed

Watched Splinter be thrown into a sewer drain and nearly drown

Watched Spike/Slash, Zog, and Splinter fall off/be thrown off the rooftops

Donatello

Possessed/controlled (Parasitica, Buried Secrets, a car)

Electrocuted

Captured

Nearly cut up by Vizioso’s goons

Watched Splinter be thrown into a sewer drain and nearly drown

Lost metalhead

Under too much pressure

Burdened by being the only tech/science guy

Struggles sometimes with the fact that he’s a mutant

Struggles with his weapon— not handling, but that it is very simplistic compared to some of the more high tech things they deal with

Has his experiments ruined or messed with

Became mindless

Training/Battle injuries: hits on the head, kicks to the plastron or carapace, thrown into buildings or debris, pressure pointed

Has to change his jargon so his family can understand what he’s saying

Michelangelo

Captured

Tortured by Triceratons

Frustrated as he’s not always taken seriously

Mind invaded by neutrinos

Possessed/Contolled (Chinatown Ghost Story, Buried Secrets)

Struggles sometimes with accepting that he’s a mutant (earlier seasons— wanted various human friends besides April and Casey)

Swallowed by Mega Shredder

Burned his ass on a geyser (Eyes of the Chimera)

Betrayed by Bradford

Watched Splinter be thrown into a sewer drain and nearly drown

Training/Battle injuries: hits on the head (is hit a lot more than the others on the head in combat), kicks to the plastron or carapace, thrown into buildings or debris, pressure pointed

Was alone in Dimension X for an unknown amount of time

Nearly drowned (Invasion of the Squirrelanoids)

Knowingly/unknowingly and sometimes unwillingly made the bait or drew the short straw

Separated from Leatherhead

Altogether

Saw Master Splinter die (twice)

Watched their dad fall into the abyss (The Super Shredder/Darkest Plight)

Saw their world be destroyed

Survived multiple invasions (Kraang, Triceratons, Kavaxas, Dregg)

Saw their sister fall into mutagen

Fought various horrifying/disgusting mutants (Mom Thing, Squirrelanoids, The Creep, Parasitica, Dregg’s bugs, mutated cockroach, Snakeweed, Muckman, Rat King, mutated fungi, Don Vizioso, April clones/April Derp etc)

Witnessed each other’s deaths: Raph drained of mutagen in Within the Woods; Donnie - reduced to molecules in The Power Inside Her; Leo - died in space in Earth’s Last Stand; Mikey - vaporized by K’Vathrak/The Newtralizer in When Worlds Collide

Witnessed various other deaths: Bradford/Rahzar/Dog Pound, Tang Shen, Hattori Tatsu

Have had their minds taken over

Poisoned by Karai

Electrocuted

Nearly froze to death (Moons of Thalos 3)

Inhaled hallucinogenic toxins

Survived various explosions

Survivor’s guilt

Have been fighting in multiple rigged or burning buildings

Almost burned up entering the atmosphere (Battle for New York)

Had a “nightmare”— courtesy of Jei—where they were the last ones standing after their brothers had been killed

Witnessed the undead (Shredder, Rahzar, various spirits)

Possessed/controlled by Jei; dream beavers

Dimensional and Time travel

Had to fight each other or their friends unwillingly

Went no contact with April after having a hand in accidentally mutating her dad

Severe injuries from various opponents (Slash, Tiger Claw, Newtralizer, Super Shredder, footbots/chrome domes)

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 raph #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt 2012 donnie #rottmnt #mari rambles #not bashing just an observation #I’m sure the comics and fics are in jest #but some of them that are more serious… yeah 2012 has tons of shit #and I swear if someone asks or says the word ‘abuse’ I will block your ass

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heliads · 1 year

Note

Hello, glad I can submit this request then, I barely find any Luke Castellan fics he needs more love 😭

Anyways, I just wanted to request something small like headcannons on what it would be like at the aftermath of the Battle of Manhattan if Luke didn't die, what would he be like and how the reader would help him overcome his trauma or problems ? Just pure fluff is what I'm trying to say ;_;

Sorry if that doesn't make any sense... Please let me know if you don't understand me XD

But thank you so much if you write this <3

i see that you have asked for headcanons but i am so delighted by this request that you get a full fic instead (ily)

masterlist

Luke Castellan is not sure what to do with the fact that he did not die. It would have made for a better ending, he thinks. It was the logical conclusion. He tried to make a better world, and when that failed, he could have been terminated along with that last dream. It is what most people would have decided was best.

Yet Luke opens his eyes– his eyes, not someone else’s, not that awful feeling of having his body belong to some being that was not even human, let alone not him– and he is alive. Luke is not sure yet whether this is good or bad. He’s not sure that anything in this world could remotely fit into those categories anymore.

He stares up at a blank ceiling above, which confuses him. Last time he checked, Luke was dying on the ruined floor of the gods’ throne room. There had still been a roof over his head, but Luke swore that he could see a sky of the deepest blue. Luke had felt himself fall into that wondrous lapis void, and then he had felt nothing at all.

That was supposed to be dying. It was more peaceful than most people would say he deserved, given all the hell Luke wreaked on the world by allying with Kronos. Luke’s supposed ending had certainly not been pretty: a dagger in his hand, stabbed into the one place the immortal waters of the River Styx hadn’t protected him. Achilles’ curse had lifted, and Luke was free of the Titan that had been consuming his body whole.

Yet Luke is staring up at a room that is neither burned nor broken. At first, he wonders if this is what death is like, but he’s heard enough stories of the Underworld to know that it would never be this simplistic. No, this isn’t Death; Luke sits up slowly and manages to fight nausea long enough to realize that he’s back in Camp Half-Blood. Back home, his mind tells him, and Luke has to remind himself that’s not true anymore. He has no home. He has no people, he left them all a very long time ago.

A voice to his side makes Luke whip around.

“I’d sit down if I were you.”

Luke trains his eyes until they slowly, begrudgingly focus on an orange-shirted figure seated next to him. At last, he realizes he recognizes the guy. Will Solace, one of Apollo’s kids. He must have been in charge of bringing Luke back from the dead.

Luke is baffled by the fact that Will is perched here and not Michael Yew, current head of the Apollo cabin, until it occurs to him that Michael is likely dead. That explains the hollows under Will’s eyes, at least, and the undercurrent of hate that Will only barely keeps at bay. Such strong emotions for a boy who’s usually so cheerful. Luke supposes he only has himself to blame for that.

Will may despise Luke all he wishes, but he’s still a doctor at heart. The blond gestures for Luke to lean back down. “If you rip out your stitches and make my work worthless, I’ll kill you myself.” Will says.

Luke arches a brow. “How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

“I’m still debating,” Will replies pleasantly.

Someone laughs next to him. “Try to stay civil, Solace. Our time for killing is over.”

A camper takes a seat on Luke’s other side. After a few moments of recollection, his addled head realizes that he knows them. That’s Y/N L/N, they’ve been in the Hermes cabin for the longest time, not one of Luke’s half siblings on the godly side but yet another demigod gone unclaimed for years. They used to complain about that to him. He doubts they would repeat the same sentiments now.

Will groans. “Let me at least try to be intimidating, L/N. I only get to do it so often.”

Y/N cracks a grin, then turns to Luke. “I imagine you must have a lot of questions.”

Luke narrows his eyes at them. “Why aren’t I dead?”

Y/N does a superb job of ignoring Will’s clear sentiment that he’d like an answer to that as well, keeping their gaze firmly trained on Luke. “You tried to stop Kronos in the end. Chiron decided that, seeing as you did all that in an effort to protect unclaimed kids and demigods who were ignored by their godly parents, you deserved a second chance.”

“Does anyone other than Chiron actually believe that?” Luke asks pointedly.

Y/N shrugs. “Depends on what you do when you get out of here.”

Will jumps up. “That’s my cue to check on the rest of my suffering patients. You know, the ones that didn’t try to betray us.”

Y/N watches him go. “Ignore him. He’s–”

Luke cuts her off. “Mad that I tried to kill everyone here? I can’t blame him.”

“So you regret what you did?” Y/N questions slowly.

“I don’t regret trying to do something,” Luke says, “only that the gods weren’t as hurt as the demigods. I didn’t want to hurt us, just them. Olympus could use a good scare.”

Thunder rumbles overhead, loud and overbearing. Luke imagines it’s a warning to him: he’s treading on thin ice by staying alive, he’d better not press his luck by insulting the gods anymore.

Y/N sighs, evidently thinking the same thing. “You wouldn’t be the only one to want the world to change.”

Luke glances over at them. Obviously, he hasn’t seen Y/N since he switched sides, but he had forgotten that they used to be friends. Good friends, too. It’s nice to have at least that back to normal.

“You haven’t been claimed in the last while, have you?” He asks, changing the subject away from more dangerous waters.

Y/N smiles. “Actually, I have. Percy made the gods swear to start claiming more of their kids. I found out about my parentage a few days ago.”

Luke nods solemnly, but doesn’t ask for further details. He made a point of prioritizing the demigod over their godly parent when he was recruiting for Kronos during the war, and he supposes that habit has stuck. It makes him wonder how many more traits of the enemy he won’t ever be able to shake.

“So when do I get out of here?”

Y/N folds their arms across their chest. “Depends on what you mean by getting out of here. You’ll get a clean bill of health within the next day or two, most likely. You won’t be leaving the camp for months, though, if ever.”

The implications of that don’t have to be spoken aloud. Luke messed up, obviously, and so he’ll be on house arrest until the end of time. If he can prove that he’s worth the effort of saving, maybe they’ll let him live his life, but until then he’ll be monitored around the clock.

It’s more than he expected, at any rate. Part of Luke thought that he’d be handed over to some sort of trial once he healed up, made to face his crimes and be overly punished accordingly. That way, the gods could point to him in the decades and centuries to come as proof of why half-bloods should never reach for more than they deserve.

But no, he’ll be living. That’s certainly something. Luke leans back slowly against his cot and ponders this. “Do I get a personal guard or something?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “Kind of. You get me. I’m supposed to follow you around and make sure you don’t try to escape.”

Luke snorts. “How’d you get stuck with that job?”

“I asked for it,” Y/N says coolly.

Luke is taken aback. “Why’d you do that?” He can’t imagine anyone in this camp actively trying to bond with him, let alone someone he knew as well as Y/N. Wouldn’t they hate him for betraying them?

They might be just as surprised about it as he is. “I’m not entirely sure. Guess I thought I was the only one who wouldn’t actively try to kill you in your sleep.”

They’re brutal about it, but it’s kind of nice. Honesty is the only sort of medicine that Luke feels like he can stomach right now. Mollycoddling and sugarcoating just serve to waste time.

He half expects Y/N to back out of it, but no, when Luke is declared medically sound and all but forced out of the hospital wing by swordpoint, they’re waiting for him by the door. Luke staggers out into the bright sunlight and looks around like he’s in a dream. The camp has changed since he last saw it. Cabins have sprung up like wildflowers and more are being constructed by the moment.

Y/N notices him staring and gestures towards the new buildings. “See, that’s your doing, even if no one wants to admit it. A ton of new kids have been claimed. Hermes cabin has never been so empty.”

Bitterness surges through Luke’s throat before he can stop it. “I thought that was Percy’s idea.”

Y/N shakes their head. “Percy only got the idea from you. You can make yourself a villain if you want, but you weren’t entirely heartless. You got my godly parent to claim me, and that’s worth a lot.”

Luke smiles to himself as they go. Y/N leads him to the door of their cabin. It’s still cavernously empty compared to the close quarters Luke remembers in Hermes, and he only notices one bunk with belongings on it.

“You’re the only one here?” He asks.

Y/N nods. “So far, at least. I’ve got you now, though. Just as a warning, I will be claiming cabin counselor privileges and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Luke grins before he realizes it. The expression makes his scar ache, but he finds he doesn’t mind it quite so much as before. “I won’t fight you on that.”

He pulls himself onto the top bunk of one of the many empty rows and surveys his new domain. “Do you think it was worth it? Figuring out who your godly parent was just for them to leave you like this?”

After all, what a life. An empty cabin already collecting dust. It’s cold in here without bodies inside to warm it up. The walls are barren of personal touches. Y/N knows their heritage, yes, and is able to move out of a cabin that was never theirs, but this doesn’t seem like much of a blessing.

Y/N lingers by the foot of Luke’s bunk, and he gestures for them to climb up and join him. They do so in a heartbeat, and then they’re sitting opposite each other, gazes locked and breathing steady.

“It can be lonely,” they admit, “but it’s not so bad. You have hope that it won’t always be this way. Maybe someone will come. Maybe someone already has.”

Luke swallows harshly. “I missed you.”

He blurts it out, hardly aware of what he’s saying. He missed a hell of a lot. Y/N. Laughing at midnight, their whispered words covered up by the sounds of dozens of campers sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Training during the day, the clash of celestial bronze. Orange shirts burning like beacons against their backs. Being able to wear his beaded necklace without feeling like a traitor, even if that’s what he is and always will be.

Y/N leans forward. “I missed you too. I kept hearing about you, which is more than you got of me, but it didn’t feel right. I don’t know where the boy I knew is, if he even exists anymore, but I’d like to try and find him again.”

“I’d like to find him again too,” Luke whispers.

It is the dream of a broken boy bleeding out in the palace of the gods. At this moment, Luke isn’t entirely sure that he didn’t die there in the Olympian throne room. If someone told him that this is what dying is like, conjuring up a vision of what he wishes he could have most of all, Luke would have believed them.

In the end, Luke has no idea if this is real or not. All he can do is keep going, keep waking up each morning to see if he is still in the hazy aftermath of a second chance or finally locked down below in the Underworld. Luke always wanted to try for the Isles of the Blest anyway. Maybe this is just his second life, his second attempt at getting there.

He reaches out on impulse and takes Y/N’s hand. He can feel the blood pumping through their veins, the same certainty as being able to press his fingers against a locked door and know exactly how to break in. This is Luke’s next great trick, but he thinks he’d like to do it right.

“Alright, then,” Luke says at last, “Let’s try again.”

pjo taglist: @w1shes43

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #pjo #pjo imagines #pjo x reader #pjo oneshot #pjo luke #pjo luke imagines #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke oneshot #percy jackson

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thana-topsy · 10 months

Text

I’ve lost count of who all has tagged me in a WIP Wednesday post, so THANK YOU all my beautiful tesblr buddies. I was very busy yesterday, and today was hectic as well, so I’m rolling in late.

I’ll double whammy my wips and include some art and some writing. The brainrot continues, and I believe it to be terminal at this stage.

Urag with an undercut. Urag With An Undercut.

And here's a snippet from the fic I'm currently working on featuring these guys again some more:

---

“Thought I might find you up here.”

Enthir took another long drag from his cigarette, his eyes trained on the lights of Winterhold, winking like distant stars across the dark chasm that separated the city from the college. He exhaled, the wind snatching away the smoke as soon as it left his lips. “Were you looking for me?”

Urag leaned against the wall to his right, upwind. “It’d been a few days since I’d last seen you slinking around the grounds.”

“Business in town,” Enthir said by way of explanation. “Been staying at the Hearth.”

He saw Urag study his profile out of the corner of his eye, but Enthir didn’t look at him. “There’s more to it than that.”

Fuck you, old man, Enthir thought. He sighed and put the rolly out on the stone wall before flicking the butt over the side, watching it fall down into the darkness. “Got a visit from an old… friend.” He tongued the inside of his cheek. “Troubling news.”

“It never ends, does it?” Urag said with a sigh.

“Apparently not.” Enthir arched his back, stretching until his sternum popped. “I’ll tell you more. Inside, though. Not gonna freeze my nuts off over all this.”

Urag followed Enthir back to his cramped quarters in the Hall of Attainment. He wasted no time making himself at home in one of the chairs, toeing off his boots and propping his feet up on Enthir’s bed. Enthir paced around the room, organizing some of the bits and bobs he’d left lying around—shuffling papers into stacks, dropping loose jewelry into various boxes.

“I’ve long known the Guild has been going through hard times,” he started to explain. “Thanks to the near-endless business of our colleagues, I don’t have to rely on them as much as I used to. The new Arch-Mage had me nervous for a while there, but I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

“Wickwing is no Savos,” Urag agreed. “But she’d make an enemy of herself if she tried to push you out of the college. She’s smart enough not to mess around with the established order of things, so long as it’s good for the school.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Enthir muttered.

“Did you step away from the Guild when it started going downhill?”

Enthir paused, looking down at the book on the top of the stack in his hands: The Nightingales by Gallus Desidenius. “You know when I stepped away from the Guild. And why.”

Urag grunted, but said nothing else on the matter. “So why’s their business your business all of a sudden? Just wash your hands of them. You’re doing them a favor, the way I see it. A fence this far north?” He clicked his tongue in lieu of finishing his sentiment.

“That’s where this friend comes in.” He shoved the books one by one onto the shelf over his desk. “Karliah.”

“Karliah.” Urag repeated the name, as if thumbing through the dusty catalogs in his mind for the association attached to it. “Ah, right. Gallus’s woman.”

A needle of pain in Enthir’s chest made him wince. “Yep.”

“Didn’t she–?”

“Nope.”

Urag grunted again. “Well, that certainly shakes things up.”

#wip wednesday #topsy draws #topsy writes #enthir #urag gro shub #enthir/urag #skyrim fanfic #skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr

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preciousthingsareprecious · 11 months

Text

Fic List Part 2

Okay so I have...a lot of fics apparently soo...this list will be more than two parts as I find stuff. This starts at 2019 and goes through roughly part of 2022. Please forgive me if there’s dupes or I forgot something that is your fav. Tumblr’s search feature even for me finding my own fics is...a mess

Part 1 of the Fic List

Master List (with AO3 Links)

Those Days We Miss

Damian dealing with missing Talia

Out Here Together

Dick teaching Damian about s’mores, connected to All the Fears will Pass but readable on it’s own

Love so Soft

Bruce Teaching Damian how to do s’mores! Spiritual sequel to Dick teaching him the same thing

All the Fears Will Pass

Dick and Damian, Damian tangling with Ivy for the first time

Alfred & Damian fluff

As the Years go By

Bruce being a Dad over Dick growing up

Of Baskets and Braids

Bruce, Dick, and Damian fluff, watching youtube and being a fam

Be There, For Me

Bruce and Damian, Damian having some flashbacks and Bruce taking care of him

Hearts Pounding and Blood Coursing

Robin and Batgirl have to save Batman (Dick!) from Scarecrow

Lego Land

Damian winning at Legos

Safe Together

Dick and Damian and fear toxin trapped in a grain silo

Down Here Below

Damian trying to disarm underwater bombs

And they Dig

Damian is kidnapped and stuck waiting around for rescue

Deterrent

Dick and Damian get hit with pollen that makes them unable to touch each other and they’re trapped in a collapsed building!

Laced Drink

Damian at a Gala and getting kidnapped.

Bleeding Out

https://preciousthingsareprecious.tumblr.com/post/188647957706/bleeding-out

Part 2 of a fic set with part one being Laced Drink. Featuring Dick off to save Damian!

Close the Chasm

Dick and Bruce talking about taking care of Damian

Underneath the Christmas Tree

A new present themed baddie in Gotham nabs Robin and it’s up to Batman to rescue him!

Out of Sight

Dick loses Damian in the chaos of a Wayne event getting hijacked

That Time Tim Totally Terminated Ra’s al Ghuls’ Entire Empire Part 1

Crack fic where to spite Ra’s Tim unionizes Ra’s ninjas and also comes home with two brothers

With Warmth and Love

Damian bakes cookies with Jason and Dick. Loose sequel to I’ll give All I Have

Here we are Together in the End

Content warning: Major Character Death, no comfort. This is my only no comfort fic so please be warned.

Dick and Damian deal with earthquakes in Gotham.

Light’s Out

The power goes out at the Penthouse and Dick and Damian figure out a way to enjoy the snow day

On a Cold Winter’s Night

The power goes out at Wayne Manor and Dick and Damian chill out

Under Repair

Jason helps Damian fix a car he’s just crashed…kind of

Put on Display

Robin gets nabbed by an obsessed fan and needs to be rescued

The Weight of Us

Dick and Bruce patrolling right after Bruce returns from being lost in time

A Lucky Shot

Dick and Damian and a series of unfortunate events on patrol

Damian at a Animal Rescue Farm

This Thrilling Day

Damian and Jon on vacation pulling Home Alone stunts

You Always Bring Me Home

Alfred and Bruce! Alfred being amazing and rescuing his Bat-lad

Just a Little Too Much

Damian being a little overwhelmed by a bad day

Bake it Just Right

Jason stress baking

No Day Like Toad-ay

Damian talks to a frog

And the World Spins

Dick has a very bad no good run in with Clayface

Time Ticks By

Tim and Damian bonding while escaping the Riddler

Safe Here, Safe Now

Dick and Damian training

#fic list #my fics #precious posts #long post #fics on tumblr #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth #duke thomas #bruce wayne #batfamily

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

fic rec friday 16

welcome the the sixteenth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. home depot catalogue by @moonguilt

“No, really, he’d love to,” Lance said into the phone, just as Keith pressed the button for the kettle to start heating up.

Those words were enough to raise Keith’s suspicions just a tad. He shot Lance an inquisitive glance while opening the cabinet to retrieve his box of morning tea, but his husband was the picture of innocence, flipping casually through a Home Depot catalog they had received in the mail yesterday.

“Oh, definitely. If you need someone to paint your insides white, Keith’s your man.”

Keith dropped his box on the counter, tea bags spilling out onto the granite.

-----

Keith is having a normal, relaxing morning. Lance throws him a curveball.

this one made me LAUGH. out LOUD. it’s domestic and fluffy and FUNNY dear god, like it’s such a lance thing to do and such an objectively funny prank that i just!! literally just typing this makes the urge to reread it too great my hand has been forced.

2. kindling by @moonguilt

Lance struggles with his attraction to Keith during training, and it all comes to a head when Keith corners him afterwards to ask why he was off his game today.

Prompt from tumblr: Angry Kiss.

one of my fave vld tropes EVER is lance being whipped and then equally as furious that he’s attracted to keith at all. it’s endlessly funny to me. and then keith being the eyebrows raised, not surprised one??? gets me every time. also keith is a massive sweetheart in this fic and i love him

3. chocolate granola bars by @moonguilt

“A pillow fort sleepover!” Lance cried out, leaping up with such alacrity that Pidge had to grab her laptop to prevent it from sliding to the floor.

“No way, we're not—” Pidge stopped and blinked, exchanging a glance with Hunk, then looking back at Lance again. “... Oh.” She evidently had not been expecting such a tame suggestion. “Okay.”

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

Or, Lance is bored out of his mind and decides to organize a sleepover with the squad. Nonsense ensues, and Lance works through some confusing emotions—particularly those involving a certain mullet-haired team leader.

okay there are too many good things about this fic i cannot choose which to highlight, and so i will mention them all. ahem: a) lance is a ray of sunshine who regularly uses his power of cuteness to his advantage, b) adorable team bonding, c) shiro is a dorky nerd, d) HEALTHY LANCE AND ALLURA COMMUNICATION, e) krolia and romelle have actual characters, f) lance has allergies which isn’t rly important but he gives me a vibe that he’s allergic to several things and it’s very validating to see it in fic, g) lance validation and feeling expression for the piece of shit game show episode, h) observant lance!! and i) literally the most painful and necessary and well-written klance fight i’ve read in a while! hurt badly but was resolved wonderfully 10/10

4. Terminal Velocity by @speakswords [GORE WARNING]

The only fate worse than being tortured to death is watching, helpless, while the person you love most takes your place.

this is one of my fave vld fics of all time. although fair warning it is very violent for a good chunk of time. the story is EXCELLENT, the entire thing will have u biting ur nails in terrified anticipation and i mean that literally. whole time i was gagged. at the edge of my seat. AND i have several specific lines screenshotted bc the pure fucking devotion and care knocked me out of the water

5. you and me are cosmic dust by Yuu_chi

Knowing that your team loves and trust you no matter what and believing it are two very different things.

i LOVE keith angst. i know this fandom is very langst heavy and honestly i am too but sometimes keith angst is so so good. and this fic is one of them!! excellent read and features observant lance as well. OH and there’s a little sprinkling of suave keith in here too lol

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

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ryttu3k · 2 years

Text

In which Reddit comes in handy. Epistolary goodness! 1,377 today, 10,522 total.

Session quote:

The r/sydvampires starter guide and FAQ

Or, "We considered naming this page 'Handbook for the Recently Deceased' but didn't want to get a copyvio'.

Welcome to r/sydvampires! If you're reading this, we can only assume you've been turned recently, or have a friend or loved one who has. If you've been turned nonconsensually, we're so sorry. This is a hell of a life (or unlife) to be pushed into without warning. If nothing else, we want to reassure you that you're not alone, and you are amongst friends here. If you chose this, welcome! We hope this unlife is everything you've hoped for!

This page will hopefully be a place to find community, learn about yourself, and find a way to survive your new lifestate.

Contents

r/sydvampires posting guide

Frequently asked questions

Greater Sydney service directory

Useful links

Posting Guide

For working out the kind of posts that fit here, subreddit rules, etc. Now moved here!

Frequently asked questions

Or, how to vampire

How do I, y'know... survive?

The two most important things - avoiding sunlight, consuming blood - comes down to one thing. Magic. You know that it exists, but it's suddenly a much more important factor for us. Essentially, we're animated corpses, and what's animating us is magic. Yeah, there's different names for it - anima, spirit, life energy - but that's essentially what it is, and what we are.

So how do blood and sunlight come into it? Simply put, we need a continual source of magic to continue animating our bodies. The most bioavailable source is, well, human blood. Yeah, you can get by on other stuff - we've heard of vamps who have moved to extremely magic-rich locations and sort of eke out a living on the ambient magic - but for those who don't want to move out to Woop Woop, yeah, it's blood.

A lot of our unlives now revolve around blood.

#fic: this train terminates here #ry writes stuff #vampires

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sunflowervoltwentyeight · 6 months

Text

Happy 28th! Here is my November 2023 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. Enjoy!

Apple Pie Baked Just Right by 28goldensfics / @28goldens (92k)

“You’re sweet, thank you.” Harry was speaking so quiet it was almost eerie, but his fingers squeezed against Louis’ hand again. “I already feel like I can pretty much be myself with you. I’m glad you moved here, I’ve needed a friend. I hope you keep getting that breath of fresh air you need here.”

Louis’ heart felt like it could pound out of his chest and onto the floor in front of them.

“I’m starting to think I will.”

Louis has to get away. The news of his father’s terminal diagnosis, the loss of his job, and the breakup with his girlfriend leads Louis to leave for a life of slower things in the small town of Cedar Hills.

His new neighbor is the Cox Family Apple Farm. Harry Styles, the oldest child of the Cox Family, might just teach him how to live life a little simpler, bake an apple pie, and breathe.

Album Series by suspendrs / @suspendrs (72k)

The Pink Album (31k) They don’t really discuss how hard it is to be in this situation, or to be doing the things they have to do to continue being together. It’s just something they don’t talk about, and that’s alright. Or maybe it isn’t, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it. Or, a love seven years in the making, inspired by Harry's debut album. Part 1 of albums Fine Line (21k) There’s still a lot of things they don’t talk about, a lot of things they don’t bring home with them at the end of the day, and a lot of things that don’t even need to be said. The world is the world and it sucks sometimes, but it’s far away when Harry’s at home and Louis’s here with him and none of it needs to matter when it could just as easily be ignored. Harry tries to open up sometimes, tries to bring Louis into his world, but Louis’s got a world of his own to tend to, and it feels like more often than not they are on two separate planets and the universe just keeps expanding. Or, a love three more years in the making, inspired by Harry’s sophomore album. Part 2 of albums Walls (20k) The thing about having been on the move so much for the past five years is that now, once they’re finally able to sit down and rest for a bit, they don’t really know what to do with themselves. Louis loved the pace of the band, for all he and the others complained about it; he isn’t very fond of sitting still, and he absolutely boredom, and there was very little space in their lives for either of those things while they were so busy putting out an album every year and touring more often than not. Being in the same room as Harry while neither of them are under the pressure of keeping up appearances feels like being in a room with a total stranger, and the amount of trouble they’re having trying to get to know each other again is really rather alarming. Or, a love one whole decade in the making, inspired by Louis's debut album. Part 3 of albums

I Was Yours (I Wish You Were Mine) by staybeautiful / @harruandlou (56k)

“Harry Styles!”

His name rang out clear through the city streets. He turned quickly back to the bar, startled by his own name and startled by the voice that called him.

Standing in the doorway to the bar, back lit and glowing slightly was Louis.

Not an eighteen year old apparition dressed in the same low slung blue jeans and t-shirt with swooping bangs that was always the image in his mind. No, he was Louis now.

or Ten years ago Harry dropped his best friend and high school boyfriend off at the train station and never saw him again. Now, he's twenty seven, living in NYC, and dreadfully unlucky in love. He can't stop wistfully thinking of Louis promising that they'd see each other again in ten years time. A chance meeting outside a bar has them tumbling head first into a summer of music, milkshakes, and maybe each other.

On the Edge by zanni_scaramouche / @zanniscaramouche (47k)

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

From Dust to Lust by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom (45k)

From the moment Louis set eyes on the gorgeous stranger across the airport terminal, he knew the guy was trouble, which was the last thing he wanted. He wouldn’t have thought spending two days cooped up in a car travelling from the Australian Outback to the East Coast would change his mind.

It’s funny how things work out.

OR the one where Louis and Harry are fly-in-fly-out mine workers, coincidences are totally a thing, karaoke is an underrated form of foreplay, and the universe most definitely works in mysterious ways.

Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by angelichl / @angelichl (40k)

They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

"Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

Bloodsport by tofiveohfive / @tofiveohfive (40k)

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

Illusions of Someday by softgoldenglow / @usignedupforthis (26k)

The one where law student Louis and aspiring musician/full-time barista Harry are both a bit of a mess. There's dance parties and rainy beaches, vodka shots and mugs of tea. The world is hard but they're figuring it out together.

Not a Lot, Just Forever by givesuethemoon / @givesuethemoon (4k)

“I think,” Harry says, voice quiet, “that no matter where I go, who I meet, how old I get… I’m always going to come back here. I’m always going to come back to you.”

Part 3 of 22-23 canon

#28th appreciation #read #larry fic rec #monthly fic rec #2023 fic rec #trackinghappily #trackinghome #hlcreators #1dficvillage

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ultralightpoe · 1 year

Note

HII!!

could you please do a tangerine (bullet train) x fem!reader lil fic inspired by the song ‘life in the fast lane’ by eagles xx 🤍🤍

Life In The Fast Lane- Tangerine

Authors Note: YOU'RE KIDDING! THIS SONG! THAT MAN! OMG GOOD EYE-- I am working on requests rn. They are open until sunday so I recommend getting those in

Warnings: Stripper, drugs, abuse, death (not reader or tan)

Word Count: 2507

If you want to make a character + song request LOOK HERE

Enjoy!

He was a hard-headed man

He was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty

She held him up, and he held her for ransom

In the heart of the cold, cold city

The hallways of the club were dim, the very few lights there were flashing to the beat of the song that the girls on stage were dancing to. A feeling of dread filled you and you found yourself dragging your heels a little slower as you made your way to the private dance rooms of the building.

You had just gotten off the stage, looking forward to sitting in the locker rooms for a moment when your ‘boss’ told you that you got the blue regular. One of the other strippers laughed, looking at you and muttering good luck. When you asked who he was she merely explained that he was a regular that always wore a blue suit and was hard headed and rude. How wonderful.

By the time you reach the door you are sure you’re ready, taking a deep breath in as you turn the knob and sneak your way in. He doesn’t smile when he sees you, merely just tilts his head and raises a brow.

You realize then that you are scowling, and as much as you don’t want to be here you need the money so you place a flirty smile on your face and lean on the pole in the center of the room, letting him admire you. “Hmmm…”

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks, flexing his fingers around the glass he was holding. He tilts it up to his lips, his eyes never leaving you as you do a small twirl around the pole.

“I was just expecting someone….more….”

“More?”

“They said you were hard- headed.” You smirk, one leg hooking around the metal and lifting yourself to spin before you land back on the ground and strut to him. “Hard-headed and rude.”

“Well something is hard, and I can tell you right now it ain’t my head love.” He teases, watching as you straddle his lap. “You’re quite a treat, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so,” You breathe out, twirling your hips to the beat of the song before his hands slide up your thighs. You slap them away, watching a possessive look flash in his eyes before shaking your hand. “No touching, against the rules.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to take you home.”

“I have plans after this.” You smile, trying not to look into his eyes.

“It’s quite adorable that you think you have a choice, pet.”

He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude

They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude

They had one thing in common

They were good in bed, she'd say

"Faster, faster, the lights are turnin' red"

He had quite the reputation around the club, and they weren’t good. The girls all whispered about the cruel things he had done, what he did for a living. They all warned you to stay away if you knew what was good for you.

But you had gotten your first taste of him that night, and there was no going back from that. You were absolutely addicted. The first man in bed that could actually match your speed.

“They say you shot a man in the club once.” You whisper, working him in your hands as he speeds up the car to pass a yellow light. “Is that true?”

“If it is?” He seethes out, trying to keep his cool as you work him to the edge. “Shit-”

“I just want to know- That was is red!” He runs it anyways, moving one hand over your own to help finish him. You watch in awe, a heat traveling your skin as he cums.

“Pull over.” You order, making him look to you as he pants out, his load a mess across shirt. “Pull over. I want you.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

surely make you lose your mind

(Life in the fast lane) yeah

Are you with me so far?

The addiction to him was maddening, you found yourself thinking about him every second of every hour. You imagined him in the audience as you danced, imagined him under you as you did private dances rather than the older uglies.

You couldn’t get enough of him.

He, little did you know, was in the same position. It was beginning to mess up his job and Lemon was beginning to question him as well. He just wanted to breathe you in, and feel every inch of you every moment.

Eager for action and hot for the game

The coming attraction, the drop of a name

They knew all the right people, they took all the right pills

They threw outrageous parties, they paid heavenly bills

Tan soon learned that the sooner he finished his missions the faster he can get back to you, which made him better at what he did. He was making money, so much money that he was sure he could buy the world for you. It was what you deserved.

Everytime he got back from a trip he brought you a small trinket, telling you about the place he had been in as you danced for him, eyes gleaming with love and excitement. Something tightened in his chest every time he saw this look on you, he wanted to make you this happy all the time.

“You seem mellow today, love?” He whispers, nipping at your jaw as you grinded back into him, eyes closed in content. Although he was happy you seem relaxed he was beginning to worry.

“Took a pill…” You sigh, sliding his hands up your body until they were on your chest, your back touching his chest as you swirl your hips. He gasps out, cock springing to life but his head is throwing red flags.

He takes a hand away from your chest, drawing a whine out of you, before turning your head to look back at him. “What type of pill?”

“I don’t know. The boss gave me….” You smile dreamily and he pulls your forehead to his own.

“Why’s that?”

“He says all the good girls take em. And I want good shifts.” You explain, reaching for the hand that was still on your chin and taking his thumb into your mouth to bite on it. “Tan…..I need you.”

“Don’t take the pills love.” He warns and you shake your head.

“It’s mardi gras party, everyone took em” And he really wanted to keep arguing but before he knew it you had one of his hands up your skirt and he lost all train of thought.

There were lines on the mirror, lines on her face

She pretended not to notice, she was caught up in the race

Out every evening, until it was light

He was too tired to make it, she was too tired to fight about it

He kisses you goodbye for once, telling you before he leaves which he never really did before. By the time he gets back he is desperate to make it to the club.

For the first time there they tell him you were busy, he asks when you were free and the security tells him in the morning. Tangerine, wanting nothing more than to bash the guys skull in and go grab you, waited in the parking lot smoking until the sun came up and mostly everyone was gone.

He waited and waited until finally another stripper opened the back door, dried blood going down her face starting at her nose, and she waved him in. He tried not to panic about the tears rolling down her cheeks as he followed her to the back rooms.

There was a circular booth around a table with a mirror, and he cast a side glance at the traces of lines on the table and the rolled up dollar bill before his eyes tracked you down.

Sat in the center of the booth, slightly hidden in the dark, you sat numb to the world. Your eyes puffy with tears and one cheek reddened beyond belief, when he gets closer he can see lines of fingerprints on the skin and his body heats up.

“Your fucking manager?” He seethes, tone harsh as his hands gentle. He pulls you closer, trying not to scare you off.

“I’m tired.” You whispered, leaning your forehead on his chest as he nodded and moved to pick you up. He was too tired to go after the manager tonight, and he wanted to get you home as soon as possible.

His arms wrapped around your torso and under your thighs, lifting you with the ease of a man that spent his whole life fighting and killing, heading to the door when a hand clasps him on his bicep. Nails dug into his skin as he turned to look.

“You can’t tell anyone- he’ll kill her.” The stripper with the bloody nose croaks. He bit back a smile, debating on whether or not he should tell her. But he doesn’t, not when you begin whining in his arms.

surely make you lose your mind

(Life in the fast lane) yeah

(Life in the fast lane) everything, all the time

(Life in the fast lane) a-ha

Lemon was shocked when Tangerine carried you into the apartment, never having seen his brother's girlfriend before, and was even more shocked when Tangerine laid you on their couch.

“Get me some water, will ya mate?” He asks, tone sharp as he shucks off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, not taking his eyes off your form while Lemon rushes to grab what he asked for. “Come on lovey, open them eyes for me.”

You don’t, not even when he pats your cheek.

“Is she dead?” Lemon asks, bringing the water. A wave of panic climbs up Tangs throat and he nearly screams, but he reigns himself in and grabs the water before pouring some in your mouth.

You cough, eyes cracking open a little as he forces you to drink. “You’re driving me mad over here.” He whispers.

You, not fully awake, begin crying softly. Tears running down your cheeks as you curl up. “Don’t be mad. Pleasetan…”

“No no no. I’m not mad. No one is mad.” He soothes, moving to sit on the couch and lay with you. “I just meant I’m crazy worried, love.”

Blowin' and burnin', blinded by thirst

They didn't see the stop sign, took a turn for the worse

She said, "Listen baby, you can hear the engine ring"

"We've been up and down this highway, haven't seen a goddam thing"

Your phone blew up with calls from your manager at the club over the next few days, going from fake worried to just downright threats, telling you to show up. The last one reading ‘stupid whore better be laying in a ditch when I find you’.

Tangerine would go and handle the situation now, but he was focused on you and your withdrawals. You had been sweating up a storm, sick and puking nearly every five minutes and thrusting the blankets off to breathe even though you were shivering.

He didn’t understand how you could be shivering cold and still be sweating more than the ocean, Lemon said it was normal.

You cried a lot, which was completely okay, and you apologized way too much. You begged him not to be mad and he felt nauseous every time because how could he possibly be mad? Every night he curled around you, rubbing the bruised cheek and letting you cry into his chest before finally passing out clutching onto him. He was happy you were here, in his arms. But he wished it had happened without you in this state.

“Easy now, love.” He soothes, rubbing up and down your spine as he got comfortable. “We’ll make some breakfast in the morning. It is gonna be okay.”

He would make it okay.

He said, "Call the doctor, I think I'm gonna crash"

"The doctor say he's comin', but you gotta pay him cash"

They went rushin' down that freeway, messed around and got lost

They didn't care, they were just dyin' to get off, and it was

The man screams and cries in agony, begging for help, begging for a doctor. Tangerine doesn’t loosen up on his work, slicing up and down his hand with a saw as he pictures your crying face and your soft little pleas. He didn’t give a shit if this man was in pain, he had hurt you.

“ILLGIVEYOUANYTHINGYOUWANT” The man, Earl, screams as his other hand fights against the handcuff on the desk. Tangerine had already broken all his fingers on that hand and would soon be cutting out his tongue so he couldn’t talk.

It was funny that he was offering anything he wanted, what Tangerine wanted was to be home with you enjoying the first good day you have had in weeks. But instead he left you cuddling his brother and watching thomas the train so he could be here, torturing the shit that had hurt you.

“IHAVE - C…..C-CASHINTHESAFE=” He screams out as the hand finally falls off, Tangerine smiling and heading for the safe before he passes out of blood loss.

“Code?” He asks, turning to look as the man mumbles out the 4 numbers to the code, a small feeling of pride filling him when the door swings open. “Ah. What a lovely chap you are.”

He didn’t mean it, his tone was dripping with sarcasm as he grabbed everything in the safe and threw it in a bag. Then he stops as he comes upon it, a picture of you. You hadn’t known the picture was taken, the camera looked to be up higher as you smiled on the phone with someone, no top since you had been in the dressing room.

This must have been the night Tangerine called to tell you he was returning, you had teased him by telling him you were changing. “Oh bloody hell.”

“Imsorryimsorry imsorry-” The man sobs and Tangerine rolls his eyes and aims the gun he had hidden in his waistline.

“I’m not.”

surely makes you lose your mind

(Life in the fast lane) yeah

(Life in the fast lane) everything all the time

(Life in the fast lane) a-ha

Four months later you are welcoming him home from a trip, jumping on him the second he crosses the door and tightening around him like a koala. “I. Missed. You.”

The words were said between kisses and he would have answered in same but instead he just carried you to the room with his lips crashing against yours and diving onto the bed.

“I brought somethin back for ya.” He finally answers, panting to catch his breath when he pulls back from the kiss, pulling out a small ring he had stolen from a store. “Think ya might want it?”

(As per usual I'm nervous and hope you like it. Btw I'm a slut for comments so please comment! And send in your character + song requests before Sunday)

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train x reader #tangerine bullet train angst #tangerine bullet train #tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine bullet train smut #tangerine angst #tangerine imagine #tangerine smut #bullet train #bullet train imagine #bullet train smut

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year

Text

Fic: The Price of a Life

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Dubcon, rough piv sex, that thing when you want it but you're too dry so it hurts - don't do it please just don't, creampie, Joel is bossy, enemies with benefits, unprotected sex (it's a postpandemic military dictatorship, there ain't no condoms, but there is in the real world, so slap rubber on that meat before inserting it), canon typical violence.

Summary: You are a FEDRA agent who find Joel Miller outside the QZ, but let him go because he saves your life. The next time you meet, he thanks you in his own special way.

Words: 2,546

You have just entered the building for a sweep when you hear a clatter in the next room. Pointing your gun and flashlight against the door, you approach it on light feet, your eyes fixed on the dark opening. Nothing more is heard, and you can’t see anything, so you enter and immediately check behind the door.

The room is cluttered with debris and dust, a mausoleum picked out by years of raiders. There's a pushed over wardrobe in the middle of it, and you move around it to secure the back of it.

In the same moment as you see him, a man stands up from behind the wardrobe, pointing a shotgun at you.

"Drop it," you command him immediately, shining the light into his face. You recognize him from the QZ: he's one of those who burn bodies. And he deals drugs, you know that, too. The local FEDRA agents are well aware of him breaking curfew and doing supply runs outside the QZ, but as long as he keeps his head down, keeps them with pills, and doesn't cause trouble, they're willing to look the other way.

Actually finding him here is another thing, though. There is no way you can look the other way now.

He's staring at you, eyes as black as coal. You know from hearsay how dangerous it is, but this is the first time you see it for yourself. He looks ready to leap at you: his broad body is as tense as a pulled bowstring. All he needs is a window, a crack, and he'll have you.

"I'm warning you," you add, but you know that this is just about who draws first. He will pull the trigger on you. He does not move, he barely even blinks.

That's when you hear the hiss slightly behind you. You turn your head towards it just as the infected monstrosity attacks, and in the next moment a gun goes off, the shot making your ears ring. You jump back, expecting to be hit, but the infected has stumbled onto the floor and is bleeding out fast.

Heart racing, you turn back to the man, gun pointed at him. He, in turn, has his shotgun pointed at the infected, but directs it immediately back to you.

You take stock of the situation, and twitch when your walkie crackles. Your CO wants a report on the shot.

The man is completely still, finger on the trigger, waiting for your next move. It only takes you a second to decide. You lower the flashlight but keep the gun pointed at him. You press the com button on the walkie-talkie.

"One infected, terminated. It's clear. I'm coming out."

You receive confirmation from your officer, and start to back out of the room, eyes and gun trained on the man, flashlight lowered. Even in the half dark, you can see his obsidian eyes watching your every move. When you're out the door, you stop for a second and just look at him.

Last chance.

You lower your weapon and leave the building. When you step out to the sunshine, you realize you've been holding your breath since the attack.

Night has descended and with it, curfew. You patrol the dark, deserted streets of Boston, nodding to a passer-by that you know from previous patrols: he works late, and has a permission slip. You're not going to bother him again. His droopy eyes and shuffling steps tell you everything you need to know: he just wants to get home, to his bed, and sleep for as long as he can before it all starts again tomorrow.

QZ night watch might seem much easier than running missions outside the city walls, but it's just another side of the same coin. You're on your own, and you know how dangerous smugglers can get. Your arm will always bear the scar from one that got a little too close with a knife once.

A searchlight from one of the watchtowers passes by, illuminating the street, before continuing over the buildings. In the wake of the passing light, you see a figure slipping out of an alleyway and hurrying across the street. You raise the rifle and switch on the flashlight.

"Stop!"

The figure does not slow down, so you start to run. It disappears into another alley, with you in pursuit. As you turn the corner, you run into a tall, broad frame. The rifle is yanked from you, and you're slammed face first into the brick wall. You're wearing a helmet, but the impact makes you bite your tongue, and the taste of blood fills your mouth.

Before you've even gotten a good look at him, you know that Joel Miller is standing right behind you, sturdy arm pressed against the back of your neck, the length of his body pressed up against you, one of your arms twisted behind you back.

You made inquiries about him, discreetly, after the episode outside the QZ. The things you found out would have been blood-curdling to pre-pandemic you, but since the outbreak, you've done some heinous shit yourself. Joel Miller’s rap sheet, had he had one, seems almost normal now.

In the harsh light of day, inside the QZ, you would watch him carry bodies and throw them onto the burning heap of dead people. His ruddy face half concealed behind a bandanna, he was still easily recognized by the gray in his dark hair, the scowling intensity of his stare, and the way he carried himself. He seemed to be fueled by a quiet rage that only needed a spark to flare up and consume everyone around him, moved with fatigued determination. He had boldly met your stare from across the pyre, and there was something about the look he gave you that moved something deep inside of you, something you thought was dead and forgotten.

"Release me," you now spit, trying to snake your other arm behind you, looking for a grip of his head. Joel twists your arm a little tighter, and you let out a hiss. A little more, and he'll dislocate your shoulder or break a bone.

"Any other weapons?" he demands in a low rumble that does something to you despite - or perhaps because of - the threatening tone.

"Glock. Right hip," you yield, and Joel quickly finds the holster, snaps it open, and pulls out the gun. You hear it clatter to the ground further away.

The second he's holding the gun, you shoot out from the wall, using the momentum to bang your head back against him, hitting his chin. He curses but slams you back against the wall, like you are just a ragdoll who didn’t just use all your strength to try to break free.

“Don’t do that again,” he tells you, “For your own good.” Is that amusement you hear in his voice?

You spit blood but stay still. Joel is pressing you against the brick wall with his body, and you haven’t had a man this close to you in… well, a long time. There’s something stiff rubbing against your ass cheeks and your head swims when you realize that it could be something other than his holster. His warm breath burns the little stretch of skin that shows at the back of your neck, between your helmet and jacket. You smell him; smoke and stale clothing with a hint of dusty leather. Swallowing, you hope he can’t feel your pulse, because your heart is racing at an embarrassing speed.

There’s a scratch of static from your walkie as the tower wants a report from you.

“Tell them everything is okay,” Joel says immediately, releasing you enough so that you can answer and confirm that all is well. As soon as your hand is off the HT, Joel captures your wrist and turns you around. Just as you face him, the moon breaks out from behind the clouds, and you gaze up at Joel’s face, lit by silvery light. He comes across as even more menacing in the cold moonlight that deepens the shadows in his face, sharpens his nose, makes the gray in his hair and beard almost glow. His glower is the same as before, but there is something else there: curiosity.

And something deeper, darker. Your gut drops, your pussy clenches.

“Please, let me go,” you ask him, ridiculously polite. Joel releases your hand and slides his palm up your arm, fingers closing around your throat as he eyes you so intensely that you find yourself wishing you could just sink through the ground.

“I will,” he lets you know in a voice that despite its calm lets you know that he’s issuing a threat, “but only after you take what I give you.”

You swallow hard when you realize what he means, and he feels your throat muscles flex. His thumb comes to a rest over your windpipe, rough pad caressing your prickled-over skin.

“I… I let you go earlier!” you stutter, mouth going dry, yet pussy growing wet. Joel smirks as he pushes down on your windpipe.

“I know.”

With that, he leans in as if to kiss you, but hovers right in front of your face. Your face burns in shame when you realize that you’ve come forward in anticipation of the kiss despite the added pressure on your windpipe. He cocks his head, the dark smirk spreading.

“You might enjoy this after all.”

He’s embarrassingly right. When he releases your hands to unzip your jacket, you just stand there, passive in the moonlight, letting him pull open your jacket to throw an almost uninterested glance at your chest. He proceeds to your belt, unbuckling it and pulling your pants down without ceremony, your shorts following.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he murmurs as he shoves his hand between your legs, fixing you with his stare. Burning under the intensity of his dark eyes, you want to cast down your eyes, but find yourself hypnotized by him. His fingers push through your wet lips, causing a shiver to run through you. You whimper when he slips one finger inside you, not far, but enough for you to clench around it.

His grin is infuriating and makes your cheeks burn even hotter.

"Just be quiet and it'll all be over soon."

I don't want it to be over soon. The thought lands in your mind, makes itself comfortable, and renders you pliable as Joel manhandles you so that you're back to facing the wall. You hear his belt buckle snap open, his hot breath is on your neck, and then you feel his stiff shaft at your entrance. You press your eyes shut in anticipation and whine when he starts to push inside. You're wet, but not wet enough for him to just slip in. The friction makes you groan, and Joel immediately covers your mouth.

"I said be quiet."

You bite back on another whimper as he pushes deeper. Sweat breaks out on your forehead and you lean it against the cold brick wall. You should stop this, you should elbow him in the side, fight back, bite his fingers to cease his slow, painful invasion. But you can't, and you won't. Your fingers grasp at the coarse wall, and you clamp your teeth together, and you take it, let him claim you, inch after unwilling inch. When he's all the way inside, hips connected to yours, he stops still, hand sliding slowly down until his fingers slowly curl around your throat. You stay completely still, afraid to move, unwilling to move in case your non-compliance inspires him to just leave you where you stand. And that is the last thing you want, to be discarded and disregarded by Joel Miller.

"Is this what you've been thinking about up in that high and mighty tower of yours?" he growls into your ear, pulling out a little before thrusting back in, making you choke on your held back moan.

"You've been thinking about me fucking you in an alley like this, haven't you? I could see it in your face the first time I laid eyes on you."

Your Yes comes out as a pathetic little snivel, and he rewards you with another thrust. Your pussy is beginning to coat him in enough lubrication to move with less resistance, but you're still gulping at how tight a fit you are providing him with.

He ruts into you, faster and harder as lubrication starts to permit more movement. Nailing you to the wall, he releases your throat and places his hands on your hips instead, to help him ravage you with greater force. It's fast, it's brutal, and it's fucking good to be used, be useful, not just a pawn or hired gun for some faceless government agency, no, now you mean something to a real person, and you haven't been meaningful to anyone in a very long time. And it feels so good, his cock just feels so good the less traction there is, maybe you'll even be able to cum, fuck, when was the last time you had an orgasm? You push your ass out as your teeth sink into your lower lip, and Joel immediately picks up the pace, as if understanding what you are trying to accomplish. There is no more speaking, only muted moans, panting breaths, and the lewd, wet slapping filling the alleyway. You keep your voice down by biting down on the sleeve of your jacket, choking for every time Joel slams his hips into yours. Then he slows down, his breathing becomes strained, and he buries himself in you, all the way in, and you feel your fluttering core fill with thick, hot semen. His hips twitch, driving himself even deeper, however that even is possible, and your hipbones scrape against the wall. One of his hands is released from your hip and covers yours on the wall for just a fraction of a second before he pulls out and takes a step back.

You hear him zip up his jeans, and you turn around slowly, hoping your legs will carry you. He's looking at you from under heavy eyelids, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"We're done."

You pull up your pants and find your voice. "I didn't even cum." You hear how whiny and bratty you sound, and lower your eyes when Joel steps up to you again. He places two fingers under your chin and raises it, forcing you to look at him.

"Maybe next time you won't chase me into an alley and try to shove a gun in my face," he instructs you in a voice that makes your pussy clench around the cum seeping out of you. His thumb drags over the corner of your mouth, and you become aware of the dried blood there.

"You're bleeding. Clean yourself up."

With that, he backs further in between the buildings, kicking your Glock to you before disappearing into the shadows. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, sort out your clothing, pick up your handgun and rifle, and step back out of the street. An excited smile spreads on your face.

So, there is a next time?

#the last of us fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #my fic

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