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cupid-styles · 2 months

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daisy 3 - the epilogue (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

the final part!! sorry it took forever for me to finish this series. I really hope you guys enjoyed it and like this little part that wraps everything up :)

part one | part two

word count: 2.9k

content warnings: inappropriate relationship, minor age gap (4 years), not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N and Harry shift into a relationship — or what feels like one — faster than either could have ever anticipated.

In hindsight, Y/N supposes it makes sense. They’d been suppressing romantic and intimate feelings for each other and now that it’d all come to a peak (no pun intended), tangled between Y/N’s cotton sheets, it felt oddly… natural.

The entire thing made her warm with happiness, a busy kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering through her tummy every time she even thought of waking up next to Harry. They hadn’t had another sleepover since that evening, and admittedly, she’d been a bit scared that she would wake up to rushed apologies and explanations of “I need to get out of here, this was a mistake”, but it had been quite the opposite.

The following morning, when her sleepy eyes cracked open, she felt a warm weight pressed up against her back. It took her a moment to come to, but when she did, she remembered the strenuous activities from the night prior, and blushed and rolled over to find the object of her affection waking up from his own deep sleep.

“Morning,” he’d croaked before smiling through puffy eyes. “Can I make you breakfast?”

That had been two weeks ago, and it seemed like the cotton candy cloud they were floating on had yet to touch the ground.

It went without saying that they were still extremely careful on campus — however, now that the temperatures were shifting into a more comfortable number, jackets were being shed and bright tulip bulbs and crocuses were beginning to pop up from the moist soil. They were telltale signs that spring was steadily bolting their way, which meant that the end of the semester was, too. Between the hopeful weather and the pastel-hued beginnings of a relationship between the two, it was enough to pull Y/N from the inklings of her seasonal depression and Harry from his own existential dread.

In short: It was good. Things were finally good, even if they hadn’t talked things through or officially decided on what they were doing yet. Y/N thinks she was okay with that, as long as it meant she was on the receiving end of Harry’s gentle kisses or his sweet goodnight texts.

Yeah. She could most definitely live with that.

. . .

“I found a kitten last night.”

The words make Y/N blink her eyes open. Their lips hadn’t even been fully disconnected by the time his words were ghosting over the seam of her mouth, an apparent eagerness to verbalize this new development from the past 24 hours.

“Oh?” Y/N asks with a quirked brow, fingertips focused on the feeling of his soft knit cardigan.

“When I was taking the garbage out,” he quickly explains. “She was hiding behind the trash cans.”

“She?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and Y/N immediately identifies his body language as nervousness — he’s nervous to tell her about this cat he found near his building complex, and the thought, for some reason, makes her body bubble with giggles.

“I looked to see if she had a collar or tag or anything and she doesn’t. I took her in and washed her off. She was starving, but I was thinking of taking her to the vet when I leave campus today.”

Y/N hums, “Well if she was starving and dirty, it’s a good thing she found you.”

A pinkish flush flowers over Harry’s cheeks and he shrugs his shoulders. “The vet in town is always swamped with college kids impulsively adopting animals. I was thinking of taking her to the one a bit further away.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” Y/N nods, tugging the strap of her tote bag a little closer to her body. Harry normally isn’t so slow in his goodbyes to her, and she really needs to get to the library to work on an essay outline.

“Will you come with me?”

Her eyebrows nearly fly up to the ceiling. They’ve never done anything in public together — not since they saw each other at Target a few months back, and that doesn’t even count because they weren’t seeing each other back then. It was something that made Y/N toss and turn at night. She knew that in the eyes of the university, their relationship was forbidden — neither of them were that dim to understand that — but in any other context, there was no reason why a couple of their age couldn’t be together. It sometimes made her wish that they did meet under different circumstances, like at a bar or even swiping right on a dating app.

“I was thinking maybe you could stay over afterwards, because the only appointment they had available for this evening was at 7 pm and I’m not sure how late we would get back,” Harry tacks on, and the addition only makes her stomach continue to swarm with nervous butterflies. “You can say no. I just thought it would be nice. A stay-at-home date, maybe.”

She’s nodding like a robot before her brain even allows her the opportunity to think it over. And yeah, call her childish, maybe, but the thought of him calling it a date — she supposes this is the closest they can get to one in the near future — makes her heart skip a beat.

“That does sound nice,” she agrees with a smile. “Do you want to pick me up at 6? I’ll… I can pack a bag and we’ll go from the vet to yours later on?”

He nods, mirroring her own enthusiastic grin. “Okay.”

. . .

After a marathon at the library (she was in the beginning stages of doing research on a comparative essay on Emily Brontë’s work), Y/N trekked back to her apartment, stuffed some food down her throat, showered, and packed a bag for Harry’s.

She was a little nervous — okay, maybe fairly nervous, considering the last time they did anything close to this, it had all been very spur of the moment. Things weren’t awkward because of it (it was the opposite, actually), but the rest of their relationship had been spent in Harry’s tiny office. They played footsies while they graded, ordered takeout to the English building while they spoke about their days, and snuck loved-up smiles when they passed each other on campus, but this felt more… finite, maybe. Real. Like they could exist outside the confines of their university.

Harry texts her when he’s on his way and then when he’s downstairs at 6 o’clock on the dot (here xx, which makes Y/N’s heart flutter). She has her usual purse on one shoulder and a tote bag on the other, where she’s packed pajamas for the night, an outfit for tomorrow, and all of her toiletries. She swallows as she locks the front door and turns to see the familiar navy sedan parked right outside, biting her lip when she sees the curly haired brunette in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” he greets the second she gets in the car. She flashes him a smile, though his own facial expression exudes an air of nervousness, “Do you know much about cats?”

“Um, my sister brought a stray in when we were kids. We only kept her for a few days, but I guess I know a little.”

Harry nods, “I’m scared she’s anxious back there. I tried to make the carrier as comfortable as possible for her, but she’s probably nervous, right? She’s in a weird guy’s car and she doesn’t know where she’s going.”

Y/N breathes out a laugh as she twists her body to look in the backseat. Low and behold, there’s a brand new carrier with a small kitten inside. She coos at its salt and pepper fur as she unlocks the gate, gently reaching in to grab the cat. She can’t be larger than a few pounds, and Harry’s right about her being nervous — she’s trembling, whether it be from the confusion of the situation or an issue the vet will likely tell them about.

“Here, I’ll hold her for the ride,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a delicate kiss to the top of her head, “She just needs some love, hm?”

“She kept slipping on the hardwood floors in my apartment last night. I felt so bad.” Harry replies as he puts the car in drive, a slight pout on his lips. Y/N laughs lightly at the thought, stroking her forefinger over the kitten’s back.

“Poor baby,” she glances up at Harry, blinking when she realizes he’d been glimpsing down between them and the road, “Did you think of any names for her?”

He coughs and flicks his right signal on, “Um, yeah. I thought of a few. Haven’t really decided on anything yet, though. I guess it depends on whether or not the vet thinks it’s a good idea to keep her.”

“Sure,” Y/N hums, though she can already tell from her brief knowledge of pets that the likelihood of this little kitten having a home is slim. She’s tiny and underweight and doesn’t have a collar, which means she probably isn’t chipped, either. “I think you’d do well as a cat dad. Maybe you can adopt if this little one doesn’t work out.”

“You think so?”

A small smile cracks at the edges of Y/N lips. It’s apparent that Harry’s scared and needs some sort of reassurance from someone, and she’s happy to be the provider. “Of course I do. I think you have a lot of love to give, Harry.”

She watches as his throat bobs before his own lips form a gentle smile.

“Yeah. I think I do, too.”

He reaches over and carefully intertwines their fingers together. When she gives his hand a small squeeze, she thinks she sees his body visibly relax.

. . .

As Y/N anticipated, the kitten Harry found doesn’t belong to anyone.

The vet does a thorough check-up and the results are relatively positive; she’s just on the malnourished side and will need a lot of food, love, and care to get her to a place where she’s considered to be healthy. She advises Harry to bring the cat back in a month to do another weigh-in just to make sure her diet is nutritionally-dense enough, and he has no problem agreeing.

Y/N scoops the kitten up and gently scratches and pets at the back of her head as Harry talks to the receptionist, supplying information about his name and phone number for the follow-up appointment. It’s only when he’s asked for the kitten’s name that he somewhat freezes. Y/N peers up, assuming he’s just nervous because he hasn’t settled on anything yet. It’s understandable, she supposes — if her parents had let her and her sister keep that kitten from their childhood, they probably would have named it “Princess Muffins” or “Little Lady Kisses”, which Y/N just thinks is embarrassing for the cat.

“Ophelia,” he murmurs lowly before coughing into his hand. The receptionist doesn’t question it as she quickly types it in, but it makes Y/N’s eyebrows raise. She continues scratching at Harry’s newly named cat, using her blunt fingernails to slowly rub the patches of fur behind her ears. She’s not sure if she’s being too fussy and self-centered, but if she remembers correctly, the first time she and Harry met, they talked about how Ophelia from Hamlet was a big inspiration for Y/N’s capstone project. She shrugs it off, especially when they’re done at the vet and they step into the low light of the evening. Silently, they walk side-by-side and back to Harry’s car.

Daylight savings, despite being a stupid concept, arrived just a few weeks prior, which means they’re now privy to a few more hours of daylight before night stretches over the sky. It’s nice — spring hasn’t completely sprung up yet, but there are little reminders here and there that it’s coming. It isn’t freezing tonight but there’s a slight chill in the air, so both she and Harry are bundled up beneath cozy crewneck sweatshirts. He pulls the sleeves of his over his knuckles and the small action makes Y/N’s heart squeeze.

“Are you fine to hold her on the drive back?” Harry asks once they’re back in his car. She nods happily, content with having a small, cuddly kitten curl up on her lap for the next 30 minutes. The evening sunlight bathes the interior of the vehicle as Harry pulls out of his parking spot, flicking on his left blinker to take them back to his place.

“D’you wanna get Thai for dinner?” Y/N asks, suppressing a yawn as she turns her head to look at the male beside her. Again, she watches as his muscles melt a bit, less rigid than they were just a moment or two before, and a smile edges at his lips as he nods his head.

“That sounds great. Could go for some pad thai.”

“Mm, me too,” she agrees, taking her phone out to pull up the ordering app, “Can we split some dumplings, too?”

“I’d love that.”

She smiles to herself and they chat aimlessly and quietly about their respective orders, each of them deciding on noodle dishes (Harry opts for a veggie-only option while Y/N picks shrimp) and an order of mushroom dumplings. She asks if he’s vegetarian or trying to be — she presumes it’d be a rather important thing to know about the person she’s… dating? Casually seeing? What were they doing? — but he shrugs noncommittally, as he does for many questions she asks. It’s almost as if he’s not used to people asking him about his likes and preferences, and she thinks that’s dumb. She wants to know everything there is to know about him.

When she prods him about his vegetable forward habits, he finally explains that no, he’s not a vegetarian, but he likes to eat meat-free when he can. This prompts her to ask him about his other tastes: His favorite ice cream flavor (Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, which she approves of), his favorite flowers (pink tulips because his mom used to grow them), and his go-to drink when he goes out (“I never go out, I’m an old man, but I am partial to a tequila soda”).

Her time playing 20 Questions is finally up after he picks up their food and they arrive back at his place. By now, the sun has fully retreated and Ophelia is sound asleep in Y/N’s lap. When he puts the car in park, he stops her before they go inside.

“Why are you asking me all these things?” he asks with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. She resists the urge to reach out and smooth it with her thumb.

“I just wanna know. I’m curious.” she replies, shrugging.

“You wanna know about the first album I ever bought and how old I was when I had my first kiss?”

“Of course I do,” she pauses, confused. “Why? Do you not want me to know those things?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I just… I don’t know. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know how much more forward I can be with my feelings,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip, “I know this is technically against the rules or whatever, but… I like you. You know that, right? That what I feel for you goes beyond sex and some silly fantasy.”

She watches as he swallows tightly.

“I like you too,” he murmurs, reaching out to take her free hand into his. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me but it’s just… odd, I guess, to imagine that you really, truly like me. I sound like a middle schooler, god—”

“Don’t do that.” she quickly shakes her head. If it weren’t for Ophelia still perched atop her thighs, she’d reach forward and take his face between her hands. “Don’t belittle yourself. I like you, Harry. So much that I’m willing to risk my status as a student. You get that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he nods swiftly, “And you understand what I’m risking, right?”

It’s not meant to be a one-up — it’s genuine and it’s real, and she nods her head and swallows the small lump of tears that’s developed in her throat. It’s the reality of their relationship and it’s necessary to address, especially if either one of them wants to go any further.

With Harry, he has more to lose. He’d be fired, of course, but his degrees could be taken into question, too. His license as a professor. Everything he’s worked for, all potentially wasted on Y/N.

It’s a heavy weight for her to wear.

But, as if he can read her mind (or maybe he can just read her facial expression), he gives her hand a squeeze.

“And you’re more than worth it, Y/N.” he says with soft eyes.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” she blurts out without thinking. Her eyes immediately widen while Harry’s crease with happiness, and she’d contemplate taking back if not for the massive grin that stretches across his face.

“Truly, I thought you’d never ask,” he replies cheekily, and Y/N responds with a gentle swat to the chest. He laughs. “I did name my cat after you, after all.”

. . .

That night, when Harry has Ophelia tucked into one side and Y/N into the other, and she’s half-asleep as they watch another episode of whatever docuseries she convinced him to turn on, after they’ve eaten themselves into a Thai food coma and talked about the latest books they’ve read with promises to exchange them, he realizes he’s never been so happy in his life.

Y/N can comfortably say the same.

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indigovigilance · 7 months

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Neil Gaiman's 3 cameos

"But Neil only has one cameo, it's in the movie theater!" Come now. What show are we watching? There is not just one cameo. There are three. The first one is...

The one that actually happened:

but then there is also...

The one that was supposed to happen, but didn't:

See those two people in the background? Lower left-hand corner of the screen? By rights, that should have been Neil and Terry, but Terry was taken from us too soon. Neil wrote this scene intending to do the cameo by himself, in honor of his friend, but on that day couldn't bring himself to do it:

Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it. [...] it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

The fact that the scene exists at all, I think, can be taken as a cameo. I would interpret it as one of Neil's cameos, since he wrote it as a self-insert of an important aspect of his relationship to the work, but it is also Terry's cameo. Focusing on the empty space where something ought to be is itself a representation of what is missing; there is something to be said for drawing attention to absence, which is what our knowledge of how this scene came to be accomplishes.

There's no good way for me to transition to the next part of this meta other than to encourage you to take a deep breath and remember that Terry Pratchett has been immortalized by this and other works. He is beloved, and not forgotten, and lives on in our hearts, and we honor him by celebrating his works not only in mourning but in the full range of emotion that his works inspired in us, including laughter.

Because this next part is just silly.

Neil's AU Gary Stu cameo:

Neil Gaiman has told the story multiple times about how a careers advisor tried to redirect his life course from storytelling to... *shudder* accountancy. Here's one quote [source]:

Gaiman: I very much wanted to write comics. I remember as a kid, I was 15, and I had a meeting with an outside careers adviser. I was asked, “OK, well, what do you want to be?” And I said, “Well, I really want to write American comics.” There was a long pause, and then the outside careers adviser said, “Well, how do you go about doing that then?” I said, “You’re the careers adviser. You tell me.” And then there was another seriously long pause, and the adviser said, “Have you ever thought about accountancy?” I said, “No, I have never thought about accountancy.” And then we just sat and stared at each other.

We are all very lucky that teenager!Neil decided to completely disregard this advice, but Good Omens S1E2 contains a character that seems to resemble who Neil would have become (or thought he would have become) if he had let that careers advisor drag him into a life of bean-counting mundanity.

We may not see Neil's face in this scene, but we do get to experience his existential dread of the what if: what if I had never become a storyteller? What if I had listened to that wanker, and lived a life without following my dreams?

I'd say it counts as a cameo.

#good omens #good omens meta #neil gaiman #cameos #this meta somehow got a second life I have no idea how or why but we’re on our way to being blessed by Beelzebub

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andhumanslovedstories · 6 months

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everyone's always like "oh Animorphs are so dark, Animorphs are so fucked up," and I was kinda like "okay yeah sure" because people will say anything that they encountered in their childhood was actually fucked up. People have a very specific view of childhood media where it is all basically Dora the Explorer, and therefore any level of threat or nuance gets this hyperbolic reaction.

so I'm reading Animorphs for the first time, and you know what? fine fine fine fine fine fine fine fine fine FINE ANIMORPHS ACTUALLY IS THAT FUCKED UP. YOU GUYS WIN THIS ONE.

anyway we did a podcast about it.

Animorphs Part 1: Baby's First Existential Dread

apple podcasts | spotify | buzzsprout

(cyrus btw has already read animorphs, it was at a formatively young age, and don't even worry, the books made them So Weird.)

#cracked spines #animorphs #people gave us money to do this the economy is in shambles

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essentiallyleaf · 7 months

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day 24. car sex. with. ningning.

1286 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, car sex, Z O O M I N, deepthroating, semi-public sex, a bit of classic existential dread.

notes.

it is so fucking late i gotta go. speedily, leaf.

It’s at times like these that you want to treasure the most precious resource you have. The sun just sank down the horizon of Alpha-Earth, giving the sky this vibrant, electric aura, from the golden and pastel blue West to the indigo East. Hundreds of headlights leave long trails of yellowish white and rusty red all along the highway, almost as if the lines were already there, and the cars just following their predetermined paths. Your right foot pushes down, getting closer and closer to the asphalt. They can call you old-fashioned, but you love the growl of the rear combustion engine, the sound of rubber on tarmac. Time. They say it gets slower as you approach light speed, you’re far from it, but it’s almost like the clock’s hands move slower as the speedometer needle reaches new peaks. Nothing feels as close to God as this. The car takes a life of its own, and you wish you could simply close your eyes and, feel. The thrill you get when you’re on top of a tall building, and part of you wants to take a step. Those are also just passing moments, you think as you lift and return to cruise speed.

Ningning is beside you like she, sometimes is. Her hand falls on your pants-clad dick and starts rubbing like it does almost every single one of those times; the other times you’re already naked. Not the first time this happens in the car, even at high speed, so you simply turn auto-pilot on (they forced everyone to install it even on cars built before 2035) and let your head fall back in pleasure as she reaches inside your underwear to caress your bare length. Your right hand naturally goes to her almost naked back, needing to feel her skin under your finger pads.

She doesn’t dress to impress; sometimes she doesn’t dress at all. And the navy skintight rags she’s wearing today, well, those almost qualify as the latter. You’re in your usual attire, combat boots, cargo pants, the ones that tighten at the ankle, a close-fitting long sleeve shirt and a windbreaker. She needs your help to lower your pants and underwear, then goes back to stroking your cock, spitting on it for lubrication and reaching down to fondle your scrotum from time to time, causing you to moan up towards the roof of the car.

“Mmmh- Ning?”

“Huh?”

“Mind speeding the process up a little?”

Ningning likes to take her time, you learned that long ago. To make you look at her as she pulls the little lever on the side of your seat to move it backwards, positions herself between your legs, and stamps one long wet kiss on your tip. Or to observe people strolling at the night market, mothers buying their sons balloons, couples eating tanghulu (“You can tell if they’re good kissers just by looking at that” “Want to try with me?” “There’s a more hands-on way”; that was your first shared kiss, and it was more than just hands, on one another’s bodies after that). Right now her blue-tinted eyes are on yours, as her mouth surrounds more and more of your cock and she starts to feel her eyes watering and her lungs lacking air. She resists for almost fifty seconds this time - a good one, though not in her top five - drawing more than a groan from you before she has to back out and seek for oxygen.

“Are you okay?” She nods quickly, her hands cleaning up some of the drool that has accumulated on the sides of her mouth. “I need you right now, Ning.”

Ningning smiles and snorts lightly like she has you in the palm of her hand, and at the same time she has to concede this one to you. You stare at her open-mouthed as she somehow rids herself of her clothes, revealing her supple breasts and thick outer lips to you, and only thanks to your tinted windows not to any car around yours. She straddles your lap and wraps her arms around your neck to kiss you deeply while you grab onto one of her plump thighs with one hand and align your shaft with her already wet slit with the other. Her eyes are finally closed as she focuses on the feeling of your tip swiping up and down her vulva, brushing on her clit at every passage.

She’d been looking outside for almost all the trip, scrutinizing every detail of the gray and neon skyline of Nu-Seoul. Ningning has always had her own, unique wide-angle lens on the world. She has a little plant shelf right below her window in her apartment. It’s in one of those old, gray, samey buildings they were plopping one next to the other back when a growing world population wasn’t just a myth; the place is small and the plaster falling apart. One day she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the new little blossoms on the orchid, or at the bland, shiny neons on the skyscraper behind it, you couldn't really tell.

“Do you ever feel like the world is moving too fast for you?” She asked, sounding dispirited.

“I try to stay on pace”

“I feel… impotent. Like there’s nothing I can do, to change it”

“Do you think it’s on you to change it?”

“I think it’s on me to try.” She turns her gaze towards you, you let out a little sigh.

“When it’s just the two of us,” You sit beside her and wrap your arm around her back. “We can make what we want of our time. Make it speed up, slow down… It’s just ours. No one will ever take that away from us”

What you’re making of it now is pumping your dick in and out of her pussy while gripping onto her full asscheeks while she whimpers in your mouth at the sensation of her hole being stretched. She loves that feeling like she loves the feeling of wet grass on her feet when it’s raining, though meadows are but a distant memory in a city eaten by cement and desolation. Her soft, tight walls squeezing you in a humid embrace. You were wrong; this is what makes you feel like you’re touching the Infinite, reaching Eternity. Ningning moaning in bliss on your lips, on the crook of your neck, on the headrest of the driver’s seat. Her hands not finding rest, switching between your pecs, your jaw, your hips, and her own heat, digits circling at frenzied pace on her clit. You speed your thrusts up, time slows down. It’s a race ending in a photo finish; you can see the end, it’s close for both parties, but you never seem to reach it. Take a look at her pleasured state, savor the moment. Savor her tits as well, feast on them, then slap her ass once, twice. She wasn’t expecting it, her instinctive reaction is to drag her pelvis forwards towards you, giving you a different angle to attack. Exploit that to hit every crevice, every little patch you weren’t able to before, and as she contracts around you in one long, then multiple short and rhythmic flexes of her lower abdomen, each accompanied by a scream that fills the entire cockpit, you have your own release. Spill cups and cups of milky substance into her womb, every spurt coinciding with an upwards thrust and a small bite on her shoulder, as you continuously groan in complete bliss. Then it’s silence, a second, or an eternity, it doesn’t matter anymore, before she talks again.

“Back seat for round two? I want it from behind”

footnotes.

now i can’t unsee the asthma periods. you cursed me @erospandemos. gaspingly, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #aespa #ningning #aespa ningning #aespa smut #ningning smut #aespa ningning smut

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hd-junglebook · 14 days

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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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