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supercutszns · 3 months

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Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.

This year, there were two.

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.

“You alright there, sunshine?”

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.

You haven’t talked to him since.

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both.

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.

He will not. Stop. Looking at you.

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.

Luke, calling your name.

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly.

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

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alphabetboyluvr · 2 months

Text

the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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youunravelme · 11 months

Text

the worst wing-woman

author's note: just like all my other fics, we are existing in an alternate plane where tito was never traded. also i've never worked for the nhl, so i have no idea how accurate being a photographer is but guess what. idgaf. also sorry for the amount of italics in this fic, i have no self control apparently. and shoutout to my new friend @dani746 for helping me with this monstrosity.

summary: you've been in love with mat barzal for as long as you can remember, so what do you do when he asks for your help to win over your friend?

pairing: mat barzal x islanders photographer!reader

warnings: cursing and low self esteem

despite working for the isles for two years now, you still got nervous walking into work.

you weren't a stranger to the team, some of them you knew quite well. anders and marty being two players you were friendly with (mainly due to the fact that you were somewhat friendly with their wives). but there was always one player who eluded you, who you'd only ever had professional interactions with.

mathew barzal.

and it shouldn't be surprising, you were a measly photographer whereas he was the star player of his team, the winner of the calder trophy, an nhl heartthrob. why should he pay attention to you?

media day was one of your favorite days, mainly because it was the closest you ever got to holding full conversations with him. not that the conversations went anything beyond "look right here" or "great job, mat."

you didn't even think he knew your name.

the longest conversation you had with him consisted of him asking to see the photos you took and patting you on your back when he liked what he saw before he went off to talk to tito.

"you having a good day?" you nearly jumped a foot in the air when your staring was cut off by anders walking up to you.

"yeah," you said when your heartbeat returned to normal. "just busy is all." you held your camera up as if that was enough of an explanation.

anders nodded. "any of the boys giving you a hard time?"

you shook your head rapidly. "nope, they've all been on their best behavior."

"even barzy and beauvillier?" at the mention of their names, the duo turned their heads and locked eyes with you and anders.

you wanted to dig a hole and die in it.

"what about us?" mat asked, sauntering over with his best friend right behind him.

"you haven't been giving her a hard time, have you?" anders crossed his arms. and if you weren't panicking at the closing distance between you and mat, you might've noticed the shared smirk between the three hockey players in front of you.

"us?" tito asked. "why would you think that? we've only ever been angels."

before anders could ask you to corroborate tito's story, your name was called. you awkwardly waved to the three men before walking over to another set of props, ready to photograph another hockey player.

"done embarrassing yourself?" your coworker tyler asked.

you lightly shoved his shoulder. "shut up."

"seriously, you're not his type," he added. "he's not gonna go for you."

tyler might as well have stabbed you in the gut with how much his words hurt you, but you put a smile on and nodded. "yeah, i know. i know."

and you did.

you knew.

but you'd be delusional for a little while longer if it meant going to work wouldn't suck every day.

later that night, you found yourself at a bar with a group of your friends. you didn't want to go originally, but when alexa said she needed to go out to get over her ex, you felt like you had no other choice.

which is how you found yourself sipping a soda water in a booth while your friends danced and took body shots.

your gaze wandered around the bar aimlessly before you checked your phone for the time.

you'd only been there for an hour.

it took all self restraint not to bang your head against the table.

"having fun?" your head snapped up at the familiar voice only to see anthony beauvillier standing at the edge of your booth with a self satisfied smirk.

"i--"

"i didn't take you as one to go out drinking on a weeknight," he said.

you slumped into your seat. "i'm not. my friend alexa wanted to go out because her boyfriend just dumped her and she wanted a distraction."

anthony took the seat opposite of you. "and that is...?" he gestured at your drink.

"soda water," you answered. "i'm the DD for tonight."

"oof," he groaned before taking a sip of his beer. "that's rough."

you shrugged. "it's not that bad, i'd rather my friends get home safe than get drunk and show up to work hungover."

anthony nodded in a way that you'd seen other men do, the type of nod that comes right before someone looks around for someone more interesting to talk to.

"but what about you?" you rushed out, nearly tripping over your own words.

tito smiled. "what about me?"

"why're you here?"

he shrugged. "mat wanted to come out and didn't want to go out alone, so here i am."

mat.

you wanted to vomit.

"oh," you mumbled. "mat's here?"

tito nodded and gestured with his bottle to the bar. "he's over there talking to some brunette."

you followed with your eyes and when you finally locked eyes on him, you wished you hadn't.

he was talking to alexa, smiling at her the way you wished he'd smile at you.

maybe you could leave the bar and get hit by a taxi on the way out, that would be less painful than seeing the man you're in love with flirt with your friend.

"you okay?" anthony asked, nudging your leg with his foot.

you turned your gaze back to him and attempted to give him your most convincing smile. "i'm great!" you said before throwing your soda water back and coughing when the carbonation burned.

anthony didn't say a word.

when you looked back at the bar, alexa was nowhere to be found while mat was fiddling with one of his wristbands. you looked around to find alexa, thinking maybe she was in the crowd dancing or perhaps she was in line for the bathroom.

but she popped up at your table, sweaty and smiling.

"you good?" she asked before fixing her eyes on anthony who was sipping on his beer. "who's this?"

"anthony. i know him from work." tito gave her a small wave before taking another sip of his beer.

"alexa," she smiled before her attention focused back on you. "i actually met one of your coworkers, mat right?"

you forced a smile and nodded. "the one and only. what did you think?" though, to be fair, you didn't really want to know her opinion on him. not when you thought the world of him.

alexa shrugged and tossed her perfect hair over her perfect shoulder and gave a perfect smile that was a healthy balance of nonchalant and mildly interested. "he was alright, he knows he's attractive which is rather unattractive if you ask me."

tito choked on his beer while you stared in awe.

of all the words you'd use to describe mat, "alright" was not even close to the top 25.

"something funny?" alexa asked.

"nope," tito supplied, shaking his head. "nothing at all."

alexa looked at him, unconvinced, but didn't let it bother her. "i'm gonna go dance, you coming?" she asked.

you shook your head. "not really my scene."

alexa nodded and pranced off to the dance floor where the rest of your friends were grinding on strangers to the tune of some 2000s pop song.

"she's a delight," tito said.

you sighed. "she's practically miss america." you were too busy staring at her having fun to notice another person walk up to your booth until he was standing right in front of you with a question posed on the tip of his lips.

mat.

your mouth went dry at the sight of him.

"you know her?" he gestured over his shoulder to where alexa was laughing with one of your friends.

you nodded.

"are you two close?"

you shrugged.

mat sighed. "are you capable of speaking?"

tito spoke up. "mat, you just bombarded her without a single hello, chill."

mat pinched the bridge of his nose. "sorry, i just--she rejected me and i don't know why."

"you're too attractive and you know it," you blurted out before you could stop yourself. you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth like that would stop any other bullshit that might come out.

mat tilted his head and leaned in. "huh?"

"her words, not mine," you said like it would absolve you of any guilt.

"what do you mean by being 'too attractive' and 'knowing it'? how does that even make sense?"

you shrugged for what felt like the twelfth time that night. "alexa's not really into guys who are obsessed with their appearances. she just got out of a relationship with a guy like that," you explained.

mat ran a hand down his face before placing both hands on his waist. "so what do you suggest i do?" he groaned.

"i--"

he snapped his fingers and looked at you for what felt like the first time. it sent a chill down your spine that you had a problem suppressing. "can you help me?"

your mouth dropped open. "huh?"

"you're friends, right? can you help me win her over?"

you could list about a thousand other things you'd rather do. you could think of five just off the top of your head.

but he looked so earnest and willing and how could anyone possibly resist him when he looked at you like that--

"of course!" you smiled.

of course?! yes would've sufficed but now you've got him thinking you'd enjoy this. which you most certainly wouldn't.

oh who were you kidding? all attention was good attention when it came to mat barzal and you'd give anything to keep him looking at you.

"thank you!" he smiled before clapping tito on the shoulder. "ready to head out?"

anthony nodded before addressing you. "i had a nice time. see you tomorrow?"

you smiled and nodded, giving them both a small wave as they walked away. the second they were out the door, you thumped your head against the table.

playing wing-woman for mathew barzal.

what the fuck was wrong with you?

how to be a wing-woman: a guide

usually when you went to work, you kept your head down and stayed out of the way. occasionally, you'd run into anders or marty, or maybe even tito, who would say their polite hellos, but for the most part you stayed out of the way during practices.

you were looking at the photos you just took when someone banged on the glass. a quick glance (that turned into a double take) let you figure out it was mat based on the 13 on his jersey and the fact that you could pick him out of a crowd anywhere.

he waved and smiled (and you might've died inside). "can i talk to you after practice?"

you nodded frantically before gaining a semblance of self respect and slowing down.

"great! meet you outside of the locker rooms!" he said before skating away.

"what was that about?" tyler asked. you turned, not even realizing he'd made his way towards you considering you thought he was on the other side of the arena.

"what? can't i talk to the players?"

tyler laughed. actually laughed. "considering barzal has never so much as looked at you, i'd say him approaching you during practice is pretty strange."

your shoulders sunk at the weight of the truth. "if you must know," you started. "he wants to date one of my friends, so i'm helping him out."

tyler laughed again and walked away without saying another word while you scrolled through the photos you took again until practice ended.

you headed towards the locker rooms only when the last player had been off the ice for ten minutes, you didn't want to chance waiting around too long looking like an idiot.

as you waited, you made a mental note of all the editing you'd have to do when you got back to your cubicle. you got a few good shots earlier, but they'd need some tweaking before you sent them to the social media team. in fact--

"hey, what're you doing here?" you glanced up and saw anders, hair wet from whatever brief shower he took.

you shrugged, not sure if it was your place to give away mat's intentions. "just waiting around."

"for?" he pushed.

"barzy needs her to play wing-woman," tito said from over anders' shoulders. "he wants to get with her friend, but her friend isn't interested."

anders threw his head back and laughed. "barzy not getting a girl? that's fucking hilarious."

tito smirked. "tell him what your friend said" he told you.

"she doesn't like that he knows he's attractive," you mumbled.

if it was even possible, anders laughed even louder. "un-fucking-believable."

"what's so funny?" mat walked up, running a hand through his damp hair.

you said "nothing" at the same time anders asked "you got rejected, barzy?"

mat's face dropped before looking at you and tito accusingly. anthony sighed and nudged his best friend. "chill out, barz. she didn't bring it up, i did."

mat's shoulders relaxed before he punched tito in the arm. "dick," he mumbled.

anders looked between the three of you and sighed. "i don't have time for this shit," he said. "i'll see you later." and he was off down the hallway.

"so what's the plan for today?" tito asked.

"you're not included," mat said. his gaze focused on you. "can i have your number?"

you blinked. "what?"

mat laughed a little and you could feel heat and shame running up your spine. he asked you one fucking question and you had to go act like a weirdo. "so i can text you? i think we should sit down and create a strategy."

you nodded and read off your number as he typed it into his phone. "great," he gave you his megawatt smile. "i'll text you."

"okay," you breathed out as he walked away without a thought.

tito kept standing there, smirking to himself. "you're so fucked," he said.

you nodded because there was nothing else to say.

step one: talk him up

you and mat got lunch two days later on a saturday when he didn't have a game. it was rather surreal, sitting across from him in public. the delusional part of you was begging you to imagine this as a date instead of a meeting to set your friend up with mat.

when did your life turn into something so pathetic?

"okay," he started. "tell me about your friend."

you would rather do anything else.

"she just got out of a long term relationship with this guy named jared. he was a bit self absorbed which is probably why she didn't like you knowing how hot you are." you paused as the words left your mouth, ready to set yourself on fire if he reacted. but he didn't, he only leaned in closer to listen. "she uh--she likes daffodils and goes to the farmer's market at union square every saturday."

"but what's she like?" he asked. "what's her personality?"

how would you say she's the trademarked cool girl? the girl every guy wanted, that mat was one man in a long list of men who tried and failed to win her over.

"she's sweet and affectionate," you started. "she pretty girly on the outside but knows her way around a car. she grew up with three older brothers so she knows a fair bit about sports, just not hockey, but if you wanted to talk stats about football or basketball, she's your girl. in college, she held the record for fastest shotgun in her sorority."

you racked your brain for more information about your friend, but it was difficult under pressure to sum up someone you'd known since freshman year of college.

"what else?" mat asked.

"she's a bit of a partier, but knows how to settle down and just chill. she's a really good friend, like last year i dated this guy who was cheating on me the entire duration of our relationship, which i should've known about because he said he had to go on business trips all the time but he worked as a barista, and she held me while i cried for three days straight and even threatened to fuck up his car."

mat stared at you without saying anything in a way that made you want to sink into a hole, never to be seen again. "you dated a barista and thought he needed to go on business trips?"

you blinked. "that's what you got from that? me dating a shitty barista?"

he shrugged. "i heard everything else, but that was definitely the funniest part. how long did you date him?"

"six months," you replied quickly. "but that's not the point! alexa is going to play hard to get because she doesn't want anything too serious right now."

"great! neither do i!"

"but she's not a one night stand kind of girl anymore. so if you want her, you have to prove to her you can be serious enough for a relationship but not serious enough that you get clingy and overbearing and propose within six months."

mat blinked at you. "how the hell does that make sense?"

"believe me, there's a balance."

he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "and you would know this how?"

"well i uh--" you sputtered. your nerves were only encouraged by his light chuckling. "all girls know these things! we don't want overly possessive boyfriends but we also want someone to care. it shouldn't be that hard to comprehend."

"it's not," he defended. "just a little...complicated, don't you think?"

"alexa's a complicated girl!"

he sighed and ran a hand down his face. "okay so how do i show her i mean business but that i'm not looking to settle down and get married?"

"i guess i could talk you up to her in passing conversation?"

"what would you tell her? we don't know each other very well."

"i know more than you think!"

"please, share with the class."

shit.

do you confess that in the two years you'd worked for the islanders that you watched him borderline obsessively?

"well, i know you're good with kids, if your interactions with young fans is anything to go by. you don't like dogs, which is a bit of a red flag in my book, but alexa shouldn't mind. you're a fantastic hockey player, and a great teammate."

"is that enough to convince her?"

you grimaced and shook your head. "she's a bit more personable. she one time broke up with a guy because he was rude to waitstaff. she would want to know how you treat non millionaires and authority figures. for instance, how much do you tip a server?"

"25%," he replied. "but why does that matter?"

"alexa used to be a server throughout college and couldn't stand people who she knew had money but would cheap out on the tip because she didn't greet them fast enough."

mat opened his mouth, presumably to ask another question, when his phone started ringing. "shit," he mumbled. "listen, i gotta go. it was nice talking to you, i'll be in touch." he pulled out a few twenty dollar bills and put them on the table before getting up and walking away.

you waited for the server to come back before paying the bill and told them to keep the change before you got up and walked home.

when you got back to your apartment, alexa was already standing at the door, waiting to be let in.

"finally," she said. "i was wondering when you were gonna come home."

"you could've texted me," you said while unlocking the door.

she followed you inside and shut the door behind her. "i could've, but your phone was on do not disturb for some reason, so i doubt my texts would've gone through in time. where were you anyway?"

"getting lunch with a friend from work," you replied.

alexa groaned as she all but collapsed onto your couch. "please tell me it's not tyler. i hate how he treats you."

you dropped your bag by the door and headed back to your room, but not before calling over your shoulder. "he's not that bad, he's like that to everyone!"

"doesn't make it any better!"

you changed into some comfortable clothing before joining alexa on your couch. "did you have fun the other night when we went out to the bar?"

alexa looked at you weirdly.

shit. you must not have been as subtle as you thought.

"i did," she said. "but what makes you ask."

you shrugged. "i know it's been rough with your breakup lately, but i saw you talking to mat and you looked happy."

alexa groaned and sunk into the couch. "i thought we talked about this already. he knows he's attractive, it's such a turn off. you should've seen the way he was talking, it was like he knew that if he gave me a look, i'd be going home with him."

"well he's really nice, i promise! you should see him with kids at the stadium--"

"you mean the kids who idolize him? yeah i bet he's real nice to them."

okay, switch strategies.

"he tips waitstaff really well!"

"with what he makes? he better." alexa sighed. "listen, i'd be more impressed if he could tell me anything about you, but seeing as you've worked there for two years and he couldn't tell me anything other than your name the other night says all i need to know about him. so can we talk about something else?"

you nodded, ignoring the jutting pain in your chest at her words. you knew well enough that mat knew nothing about you, why would he? but to hear it come from the mouth of someone else stung.

getting them together was gonna be harder than you originally thought.

step two: get them interacting

you were dreading the next time you saw mat for the first time in your life. you were in your cubicle editing photos from the game that night to be posted tomorrow to distract yourself from the inevitable conversation you'd have to have with him. tyler, unfortunately got the shot that was posted immediately to the islanders' instagram account to celebrate their win over the rangers and he had no problem letting you know it. and while it was annoying, it served as a great distraction from your other problem.

"maybe you'll get it next time," he sneered as he packed his bag. most days you hated the fact that you were cubicle neighbors, but neither of you were powerful enough to request moving spaces. and even if you could, you knew it would just make you look hard to work with.

"have a good night, tyler," you replied, not even wanting to give him any ammo to use against you.

the door shut behind him with a click, locking you into sweet sweet silence.

until a minute later when your phone went off with a text message.

mat barzal: where ru?

mat barzal: wanna go to a bar with me and tito and you can bring alexa?

you scoffed. "you can bring alexa," you mocked under your breath. "like that's not the sole reason for you asking me to go out tonight." you packed your bag up and shot a quick text to alexa, asking if she wanted to go out. she replied with an immediate yes, asking where to meet you, which prompted you to reach out to mat who sent you an address in response.

which is how you ended up on a sidewalk in front of an incredibly busy bar with alexa next to you.

"i've never been here," she remarked. "how'd you hear about it?"

"oh, a coworker mentioned it," you said in what was hopefully a nonchalant manner.

she looked at you a moment too long before grabbing your hand and pulling you inside. "you find us a place to sit and i'll grab our drinks!" she shouted over the music.

you quickly looked around for mat and tito, the former who'd texted you the second they arrived. you saw a head of dark hair and immediately knew it was mat. you hurried over, panting when you arrived from having to shove your way towards them.

"you made it!" anthony said. you looked at him and mat, eyes bouncing back and forth between them, when you realized your first problem.

they were sitting on opposite sides of the booth.

which meant you would have to sit with one of them, and alexa would have to sit with the other. if mat had it his way, he'd sit next to alexa, but you knew your friend wouldn't have that. she'd feel manipulated and uncomfortable.

"is there a problem?" tito asked.

you gestured to the booth. "alexa will want to sit by me. she's still not convinced about you, mat."

mat, to his credit, didn't look shocked or offended, he just shrugged and moved to tito's side. "this work?" he asked as you sat down.

you nodded.

"so what's the plan? how should i approach this?" he asked.

"keep the conversation on her, when she tries to turn it on you or about your career, focus on other people, applaud your teammates, your coaches, but whatever you do, don't talk about yourself too much. she already thinks you have a big ego."

"to be fair," tito started. "he does."

mat didn't even dignify that with a response. "so keep the conversation on her and others, got it."

alexa found you a moment later and didn't do a great job covering up her disinterest in sitting with mat and beau.

"i couldn't find anywhere to sit," you explained.

alexa didn't buy it if her eyes bouncing around the bar to find empty tables said anything. but she sat next to you anyway, placing your drink in front of you.

"you remember mat and anthony from the other night, right?" you asked.

she just hummed and took a sip of her drink.

"so, alexa," mat started. "what do you do for a living?"

she stared at him and sighed. "i'm a vet tech," she said, but offered no other information.

"she especially loves the cats," you added.

"cats are great!" mat said a little too enthusiastically.

alexa drained the rest of her glass and got up, leaving the three of you behind.

the second she was gone, beau broke into laughter, slapping his own chest. "that was fucking hilarious," he said.

"yeah yeah yeah, laugh it up," mat grumbled, swirling his cup around instead of making eye contact with anyone.

"i'm serious, i don't think i've ever seen you fail so quickly. it's kind of amazing."

mat focused his eyes on you. "what did i do wrong? i tried asking about her life and she seemed wholly uninterested."

you shrugged. "i don't know! maybe she feels cornered?"

tito took a sip of his beer. "i think you need to workshop this. clearly, neither of you thought this through."

you groaned and rested your head on the table.

this was already harder than you anticipated.

step three: reevaluate and regroup

you met mat in a booth of a coffee shop after you got off work. he was staring at his phone when you walked in, completely unaware that you even existed.

which wasn't abnormal considering you didn't even think he knew who you were a few months ago. but the second the barista called your order out, his head whipped up.

you could've sworn time stopped at that moment.

you made your way towards him and plopped down in the booth opposite of him.

"hi," you smiled. "what's up?"

"i don't know what to do, she doesn't seem interested in me." he groaned into his hands before running one of them through his hair.

god he was so attractive.

you snapped out of your reverie. "listen, you've got what it takes, we just need to reevaluate our strategy. i think the bar thing was a bad idea, she felt ambushed and it probably set us back a little, but i have an idea."

he leaned his forearms on the table. "let's hear it."

"practice dates," you said.

mat blinked once. twice. a third time before he spoke. "practice dates?"

"okay hear me out," you said, pulling a notepad out of the bag you brought. "i have a list of things that alexa likes to do and i was thinking, you and i can do them and work on conversations and how to approach her. so when the time comes, you don't feel out of your element."

"who said i feel out of my element?"

you stared at him. "you said last night 'cats are great!' and expected conversation to flow naturally."

"okay so not my best moment."

"not even close." you sighed. "listen, i wanna help you, and i feel like this is your best bet in winning her over."

mat ran a hand down his face. "okay fine. what's the first date?"

practice date one: pumpkin patch

to be quite frank, you were nervous when proposing the idea, scared that he wouldn't be willing to sit in a car with you for three hours just to get to the pumpkin patch. and maybe he would find it childish.

when in fact, he said nothing about the long car ride, he even offered to pick you up from your apartment, and laughed when you offered to pay for gas. when you finally arrived, you jumped out of mat's car like an excited child. mat stepped out like he knew he was the romantic lead in a movie, suave and collected.

you two could not be more opposite of each other.

it took everything in you to focus on the task at hand, and not fall deeper in love with him. but how could you not? when he looked so boyfriend in a coat and flannel and beanie and jeans that hugged his thighs just right--

you were getting ahead of yourself. you were doing this for mat and alexa, not your own selfish ambition.

"so what's the plan?" he asked after locking his car with the key fob.

you shrugged. "what would you do if you were here with alexa?" the words tasted bitter in your mouth. it was such a painful reminder, knowing that this wasn't real and was in service to hook him up with your friend.

mat looked around and shoved his hands in his pockets. "corn maze?" he pointed. you must've made a face because he spoke up again. "what?"

"alexa hates corn mazes."

he paused. "to the pumpkin patch then?" you nodded and followed his lead. "so how did you meet alexa?"

"she was my first roommate in college, we shared the smallest dorm in history."

"that sounds like an exaggeration."

"says the man who never went to college."

he laughed. "i don't need a college education to identify a hyperbole when i hear one."

you gasped and looked at him with wide eyes. "a hyperbole? what a word."

"laugh it up," he said. "but i'm not a complete idiot, you know."

"never said you were. i just haven't heard anyone use hyperbole in a sentence outside of my english lit classes."

"well, you should know i'm full of surprises."

the two of you approached the pumpkin patch and started weaving between families and the occasional rogue toddler. mat had to tug you out of the way a few times when you about stepped on a child because you were gazing at pumpkins.

"if you don't mind me asking," mat started. "why are you helping me? you don't owe me anything. i feel like i'm taking advantage of your kindness."

you shrugged. "you wouldn't be the first one."

"what's that supposed to mean?" you looked up from the pumpkin patch to see mat's brows furrowed together and his mouth twisted in a cute frown.

"well, i mean, i've been told i have a habit of being a doormat at times."

"who said that?" his tone had changed to a softer one.

"huh?" you asked.

"who called you a doormat?"

you shrugged again, that seemed to be your go to move around him. you squatted down to look at a particularly fat pumpkin, inspecting all sides of it before you responded. "i've heard it all my life, some have said it in meaner ways, others have been nicer about it."

"i'm sorry," he said.

you stood to your full height which was still much shorter than mat's. "why? it's not like it's not true."

"what if i helped you?"

it was your turn to frown. "help me? with what? ice skating?"

mat rolled his eyes. "no, with confidence. maybe even get you a date."

you guffawed, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "what?"

mat pulled you out of the way of yet another child and kept his hand on your elbow until you were clear of the pumpkin roots. and if your heart stopped for a few seconds, that was your business, no one else's. "you heard me. you're young, single, and attractive and you spend all your free time at the office or DDing for your friends. we can work on your confidence and get you out there."

"i don't know..." though your mind was still focused on the fact that he'd called you attractive.

"what about that other photographer guy? tony?"

you cackled. straight up burst into laughter. "tyler? that's fucking hilarious mat."

"what?" the two of you continued down the patch, occasionally gazing at the pumpkins, but mostly just talking. "you two are always talking."

talking or being insulted?

you shook your head. "enough about me, we're here for alexa."

mat nudged you with his elbow. "actually we're here for me to win alexa over."

you kicked a small stone with the toe of your shoe and said nothing. the tragedy of your own personal situation wasn't lost on you, neither was the idiocy of your plan. what were you thinking, spending your free time with mat? to win over your friend?

it was textbook self inflicted torture.

"where'd you go?" mat nudged you again. "i lost you there for a second."

you bent down and picked up a smaller pumpkin. "what do you think about this one?"

"it looks fine. you're ignoring my question."

you juggled the pumpkin back and forth in your hands to determine if you liked it or not. "what question?" you looked up just in time to see mat roll his eyes, but he dropped the topic anyway.

the both of you walked over to the stall to pay for the pumpkin. you reached into your tote bag to grab your wallet, but mat was already holding out a five dollar bill to the vendor.

"you didn't have to--"

"do you wanna get some cider?"

you could've started drooling at the idea of drinking cider. "yes!"

mat chuckled and started walking towards the cider stand where a small family waited in front of you. "does alexa like cider?" he asked.

"what a random question."

"well you're not giving me anything to work with!"

you almost groaned. because he was right. you got caught up in the idea of hanging out with mat outside of work that you forgot the real reason both of you were there in the first place.

"she loves cider, especially when it's spiked. she also loves mulled wine." mat scrunched his face up. "not a fan?" you asked.

"warm wine? no thank you."

mat paid for the cider, going as far as having the cash ready before you could even order.

"you really don't have to keep buying things. i can pay!"

"oh this is all a bribe to get you to go through that corn maze with me."

your face dropped. "alexa doesn't like mazes."

"so i won't go with her next time, but you're here now and i wanna go."

you let him drag you along until you were in the thick of the maze. you let him guide the both of you through it like he knew what he was doing even though you were pretty sure you hit every possible dead end in the maze.

two little kids ran past giggling and smiling. "we found the end, mama!"

you almost laughed at the look of irritation on mat's face.

it took an obscene amount of time to get through the maze, and mat was in a much worse mood when it was all over.

needless to say, the ride home was quiet.

practice date 2: dinner at mat's

you weren't quite sure what mat was planning on making for dinner, but you were willing to bet the smell of smoke wasn't a part of the plan.

the scene when you walked into his apartment could only be described as chaotic. the smoke detector was going off and when you walked into the kitchen, mat was going between waving a towel under the detector and opening every window in his kitchen.

"you weren't supposed to be here yet!" he shouted over the noise before darting past you into the living room to open the windows in there.

you dropped your things on the counter and took over waving the towel under the smoke detector.

"what happened?" you asked.

"i suck at cooking!" he came back in the kitchen and took the towel from you. "i'm taller," he said like that was an explanation.

the beeping ceased and left the two of you in a hazy apartment. when you looked around the kitchen, you saw what had to be charred meat and veggies in a skillet.

"okay so when you cook dinner for alexa, don't. just hire a chef."

mat held up his phone. "or order pizza. you in?"

"do i get to financially contribute?"

he gestured to your belongings on the counter, one of which was a bottle of red wine. "you already did."

"you can't keep buying everything," you said. "it's not fair."

"why not? i'm the millionaire here, i'd look like a dick if i made you pay for anything. besides, when i date alexa, it's not like i'm gonna let my girlfriend pay."

girlfriend.

right.

that was the end goal for him.

you kept forgetting.

you cleared your throat and dusted your hands on your pants despite them being clean.

"you can go pick out a movie or something while i order the pizza?" mat suggested.

you had no choice but to nod and wander into his moderately decorated living room. it definitely still looked like a bachelor pad, but if a bachelor had enough money to hire someone to say he needed artwork, decorative pillows, and a couch that wasn't brown.

you were scrolling through netflix when mat came into the living room and plopped on the sectional beside you, shucking his shoes off. why he was wearing shoes in his own apartment was beyond you, but you weren't one to judge.

"you look nice," he commented, as if just noticing you for the first time that night.

you looked down at your own outfit. it was a pair of jeans and a nice blouse. "this?"

"are you wearing something else that i'm not seeing?" he teased.

before you could die of embarrassment, you switched subjects. "what do you want to watch? i haven't made a decision yet." you handed the remote to him, hating being the one to make the decisions.

he shifted on the couch so he was sitting up instead of lounging on the chaise and took the remote. "what's alexa's favorite movie?"

"birdbox."

mat did a double take. "she likes birdbox?"

you shrugged. "she's into suspense."

mat was about to select birdbox until he took one look on your face. you don't know what you looked like but it made him pause. "but are you?"

"why do you care what i like?"

"because you're here, alexa's not. i don't wanna make you watch something you'd hate." mat shifted on the couch. "why don't we work on those dating tips i talked to you about."

"oh i don't think--"

"why not?" he asked. "you're always so jittery whenever we talk about it."

oh.

was he referring to the other day after practice when he saw tyler tormenting you and mat misinterpreted that as flirty banter? mat had come up to you afterwards to give you pointers but you practically ran away.

"it's not that simple, mat."

"i think it is."

you threw your hands up. "well then, by all means you must be right."

"what's with the attitude?" he asked. "did i say something?"

it was a good question. one that shouldn't make you want to cry, but life felt overwhelming in all the worst ways. between tyler harassing you every second of every day and pretending like you weren't in love with mat so you could set him up with your friend, and taking photos for games and practices, you were exhausted.

"i'm not sober enough for this," you said before getting up and popping the cork on the wine bottle and drinking straight from it.

it was another thirty minutes before the pizza arrived and the both of you were well on your way to wine drunk, you more so than mat. who could blame you though? your life was a sad excuse for a single twenty-something and you were tired of thinking about it.

"truth is," mat started with a mouth full of pizza. "you just need to act like you're the best thing that's ever happened to this city. guys love confident women."

"and that's your biggest issue with alexa right now."

"wanna switch personalities?"

you laughed.

"what?" he asked. "what's so funny?"

"i'm trying to picture you without an ego and i don't think it's possible."

mat rolled his eyes but had a smile on his lips anyway. it shouldn't have made your heart pound the way it did, but you were weak for that man, you had been since day one.

so you switched courses.

"okay," you started. "how do i make get a guy to wanna date me?"

mats eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "you're serious?"

you nodded. "as a heart attack."

mat sat up on the couch and faced you. his eyes scanned your face like he was looking for something but couldn't find it. maybe he was looking for a reason to change the subject.

"alright," he said. "you gotta be confident, even if you don't feel like it. most guys don't mind a little insecurity, they find it kinda cute, but a guy who wants an insecure girl is a red flag."

"should i be taking notes or...?" you took a large sip of your wine and smiled when mat rolled his eyes again.

"secondly, you can't be hiding behind your camera all the time."

you guffawed. "i do not hide behind my camera!"

"oh give me a break, you totally do! you walk around like it's a safety blanket or something."

"because it is!"

"exactly my point! thirdly, chivalry isn't dead. if he's not doing basic things like opening doors, walking on the closest side to the street, and he's only talking about himself? run."

"what? he can't be a good person if he doesn't do those things?"

"if he can't do a basic kind gesture, he's not going to do larger ones. sorry. i don't make the rules."

you blinked. "but you kinda are making the rules for me, right now."

"you're such a smart ass, just like tito."

"is that a good or bad thing?"

mat shrugged and took another bite of pizza. "hard to say, i love tito most days."

love.

don't be an idiot and read into things.

"so," mat leaned back into the couch. "i gave you advice, it's my turn. how do i win over alexa?"

you thought back to the conversation you had with her a few weeks ago about mat. and one comment stuck out the most. "i think the biggest sin you committed was not knowing anything about me despite working together for two years," you admitted shyly.

mat's brows furrowed in that cute way they always did. "what do you mean?"

"she said she's not impressed by you being nice to kid fans or tipping waitstaff. she would be impressed if you knew anything about me because i'm not a hockey player."

mat recoiled as if physically struck by your words. "she thinks that low of you?"

"no she didn't mean to say you were--" you paused. "me? you think she has a low opinion of me?"

mat crossed his arms. "she just insinuated that you weren't important enough for me to know."

"no! that's not what she meant! she was saying that you think you're better than me."

"that's not even remotely true." and he said it so confidently, you almost believed him. "it's not, you know that right?"

you hesitated and you might as well have punched him in the gut.

mat said your name so softly like it was precious. like it was something special. "you have to know, i have never, not once, believed you were beneath me."

you gave him a small smile. "you don't need to explain yourself to me, mat."

he reached over and grabbed your hand, tugging on it lightly. "no. i need you to know, you are important to me."

your heart fluttered at his words, or maybe it was the fact that you were holding hands and you could feel the calluses rub against your own palm.

you could've stayed there forever.

"jesus fucking christ, why does it smell like something burned in here?" the front door opened and slammed sending you and mat sprawling apart like you hadn't been locked in a staring contest and holding hands. tito rounded the corner and crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face. "what do we have here?"

"nothing!" you squeaked out. "i was just leaving!"

"no you weren't," mat started, eyes wide with an emotion you couldn't place. "beau was just leaving."

you looked as confused as tito was. "what? no i'm not." you glanced back at mat who could not have looked more annoyed if he tried. "or i can...?"

"no!" you said. "i need to get going anyway. got work tomorrow, long day."

mat stood up when he realized there was no convincing you. "i can walk you out--"

"don't worry about it! i'm a big girl." you were leaving when you heard whisper shouting. you couldn't fully make out what they were saying, but before you shut the front door behind you, you could've sworn you heard them mention "liking her."

you did your best not to let the talking break your heart even more.

practice date 3: ice skating

you made mat pick out the last date but he hadn't told you what it was, just asked for your shoe size.

aside from that?

radio silence.

maybe you should've seen this coming. you'd talked to alexa a few days ago and she'd suggested that maybe you should put yourself out there more, find a date, find a boyfriend, find some happiness.

after practice, you found yourself scrolling through your camera roll in one of the seats in the arena when a pair of skates came into your peripheral. you looked up expecting to see a mop of black hair and hazel eyes.

but it was tito with a sheepish grin on his face.

"hey," he said.

you put your camera down and smiled. it was always good to see tito, with the exception of the other night. "hey, what can i do for you?"

anthony playfully rolled his eyes. "you don't live to serve us," he said. "i don't need anything, just wanted to say hi."

"hi!" you smiled even brighter.

"i was wondering, what're you doing friday night?"

you jaw dropped. and it must've been funny because tito threw his head back and laughed. "what?"

tito smiled at you and gestured towards you. "i was wondering if you'd want to get dinner with me on friday. i don't know what time you get off work, but i was thinking 6:30?"

you blinked. you blinked again. "are you serious?"

"why wouldn't i be? you're attractive, single, and i like your company. i think we'd have a fun time."

"okay," you smiled again. have you ever smiled this much in your life? you were unsure. "okay yeah, friday at 6:30 is perfect."

"great," tito grinned. "can i have your number?" you handed your phone over rather quickly, watching as he typed his number in and texted himself. "i'll see you," he said.

"bye tito!" you waved until he was out of sight. and even then, you continued to stare at the spot he was once occupying.

"what the hell was that about?"

you jumped about a foot in the air when tyler made his comment from over your shoulder. "jesus fucking christ, tyler." you placed a hand over your heart to feel how rapidly it was beating. "are you some sort of lurker?"

"what did beauvillier want with you?" he condescended.

"it's none of your business." you rolled your eyes when your phone buzzed.

mat barzal: come down to the locker room.

"who is that?" he asked, peering over your shoulder, but you stood up and started walking away.

the both of you headed down to the locker rooms, though you weren't really enjoying the company. tyler kept talking about your lackluster photography skills like the both of you didn't have the exact same job title.

you were rounding the corner when you saw mat leaning up against the wall, still in his hockey gear. tyler, being confronted with an audience, immediately departed. if you had to guess, he probably went back to his office to scheme how else to make your life miserable.

"hey," you said as you approached. "what's up?"

mat reached down and tossed a duffle bag at your feet. "open the bag," he directed.

you squatted and opened the zipper to see a pair of ice skates. you looked up at mat who looked pleased with himself. "what're these for?"

"you ever been ice skating?" he asked.

the short answer? no.

the long answer? once in second grade for a field trip.

"kinda?" you said instead.

mat laughed, like an actual laugh. there was a shiver that went down your spine at the very sound of it. "it's a yes or no question."

"i would say yes, but i was like eight."

"yeah, doesn't really count anymore. grab the bag, let's go." he walked off without a second thought, leaving you scrambling with the bag and rushing after him.

"what's the point of this?" you called after him.

"you told me to pick the last date, this is it!"

you stopped walking immediately. "mat, i don't know if this is a good idea..."

as if sensing your hesitation, mat turned around and walked back towards you. he rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed lightly, ducking his head down towards yours. "i'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, i promise. you have nothing to be afraid of."

"what if my boss sees? what if lou sees? i'm a lot more replaceable than you are."

mat scoffed. "first of all, you're not replaceable. second of all, it's gonna be fine. i'll take all the heat if we get in trouble, which we won't because it's not a big deal." he reached down and grabbed your hand that wasn't holding the duffle bag. "now c'mon."

he led you out to the bench where you sat down and placed your camera on the bench. "take your shoes off and put these socks on." he tossed a pair of socks at your head that you barely caught in time.

"but i'm already wearing socks," you said.

"these are longer, unless you want the boot to cut into your ankle."

safe to say, you put the socks on.

mat knelt in front of you to help put the skates on, tying them up so they were secure on your feet.

you wanted to swoon at the sight of him before you. thankfully, he stood up and helped you to your feet before you could start imagining anything preposterous.

like him proposing.

you watched as mat slid over the top of the bench railing and onto the ice. he turned around and looked at you expectantly.

"oh hell no," you said. "where's the door, i'll use the door."

he cackled as you walked and opened the door, but skated to you anyway to give you some assistance when stepping onto the ice.

"easy does it," he said, chuckling when your grip was practically crushing his fingers. "you're okay, i'm not gonna let you fall."

"it's not you i don't trust, it's me."

mat kept a grip on your hands and led you out to the center of the ice. on the way to the center, you slipped twice, a squeak leaving your lips. you quickly latched onto mat who only laughed at your death grip on his forearms.

"it's not funny," you whined. "i'm terrified."

"you're right, it's not funny. but it is cute." he removed your hands from his arms and skated away from you. "okay, now come to me."

he was easily twenty feet away.

you glanced down at the ice and then back at mat. you would've sat down if you knew how to without eating it. "mat, i'm telling you right now, that's not gonna happen."

"it's not that hard."

"you've been skating since you were a child. i have not." you attempted to take a step forward, but thought differently of it. "besides, how does this help you with alexa?"

"easy," he said. "if i can teach you to skate, i can teach anyone."

"so your idea of a romantic date is a girl busting her ass over and over for an hour?"

"not quite," he said, skating circles around you.

literally.

"you're being an ass,' you whined. "why did the one practice date you pick out have to do with hockey?"

"because it's what i love. and if a girl can't hang with it, our relationship is doomed to fail."

you rolled your eyes. "that's a bit dramatic. you can appreciate and love hockey without having to ice skate. thousands of fans do it all the time."

"but my girlfriend won't be just a fan, now will she?"

your heart sank at the idea of alexa and mat in a similar situation. alexa actually trying to skate and looking beautiful while doing so. you pictured them laughing as she slipped and mat catching her before she could fall.

"you okay? i lost you again." mat skated right up to you, leaving maybe a foot of space between the two of you.

"yeah," you breathed. "just thinking."

mat smirked and skated backwards. "uh oh. that can't be good. less thinking more skating. would it help if i pushed you?"

"no!" you shrieked. "it definitely wouldn't!"

but it was too late. mat was skating up behind you and placing his hands on your waist. "relax," he murmured. "i'm not gonna push you without a little guidance."

relax?

when his hands were on your waist and he was mumbling in your ear?

how the hell was anyone supposed to live, laugh, love in these conditions?

mat added a little pressure to your back. and suddenly you were moving. "that's it," he praised. "now just move your feet."

it was easier with mat's hands on you, the sensation forcing you to focus on the warmth of his palms than the fact that you were skating on sharp knives.

"see? this isn't so bad, right?"

it wasn't too terribly bad, truth be told it was just like roller skating, just ten times scarier.

"yeah," you said. "not too bad."

"so you're ready to go by yourself?" his hands starting slipping away, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

"i--"

but he was already skating away. he stopped about twenty feet away and smiled. "skate to me."

"mat--" your voice shook at the idea. skating with him was one thing, skating to him was another.

"hey," he said quietly. "eyes on me, okay? i'm not gonna let you fall, if i think you're gonna fall, i'll catch you. i was the fastest skater in 2020, remember?"

you nodded. "just like roller skating," you mumbled.

"except better," mat added.

you took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely gliding towards him. you started picking up pace the closer you got to him.

"mat?"

"you're doing great!" he smiled.

"i don't know how to stop!"

mat laughed even as he caught you. his arms gripped your biceps and his smile was a mile wide. "you okay?" he asked.

you couldn't help but smile. "yeah," you breathed.

there was hardly any room between the two of you. your heart was beating wildly in your chest at the proximity, the rush of skating alone, who knew? you surely didn't.

you looked into his eyes and could've sworn his gaze dropped to your chin, but you were known for your hopeless romantic delusions, so maybe--

"hey!" whatever trance you were in ended when you saw a man in coveralls standing at the end of the rink. "time's up, i gotta clean the ice!"

"sorry!" mat called. "we'll get out of your way!" he gently took your hand in his and skated the both of you back to the benches.

mat helped you take off your skates and walked you back up the tunnel towards the locker rooms. the both of you stopped just outside of them, considering mat still had to shower and go home while you had the rest of the day to do your work.

"this was really fun," you said. "terrifying but fun."

"i'm glad you enjoyed it." his smile just about made you collapse into a puddle.

but you got a grip on reality and nodded. "well, i hope this helps with alexa, i'll try to talk to her in the next day or so, see where her head is."

mat's jaw clenched but he nodded. "i'll be seeing you."

"bye, mat."

you might as well have been on cloud nine by the time you got up to your office. you were in a different zone, focused on the way that mat's hands felt on your body, in your own hand. the feeling of euphoria wouldn't leave your body, you were sure of it. nothing could take that feeling away.

until you got to your desk and saw tyler.

who was sitting on your desk and using a paper clip to get the dirt out from under his nails.

"what were you and barzal doing?" tyler asked, moving off your desk, instead choosing to lean up against the cubicle.

you ignored him.

"i asked you a question," he said.

"i heard you, tyler. but i have work to do." you signed into your computer and plugged your camera in, ready to start uploading and editing photos from practice and the game yesterday.

“do you really think sleeping your way through the roster will help you get your pics chosen for the social media accounts?” he sneered.

you froze, your fingers hovered over the keyboard. "what?"

"i said--"

"don't repeat it." another voice joined in and when you turned around to see who came in, you were flabbergasted.

mat.

"barzal i--"

"where do you get off talking to her like that? talking to anyone like that?" he stepped into the room, chest puffed out.

in all of your time working for the isles, mat had never been much of a fighter, but he looked ready to pummel tyler if need be.

"mat, it's fine," you mumbled.

"no, it's not. is this how he normally talks to you?"

you said nothing.

that only seemed to make mat angrier. "you need to go to HR about this. this is workplace harassment. now apologize," he directed at tyler.

"for what? speaking the truth? is this how you think you can get ahead in life?" tyler said to you. "first beauvillier now barzal?"

you and mat both froze. in the corner of your eye you could see his jaw clench before he looked at you.

"can you do your work from home?" he asked.

you nodded. "i just have a shit ton of editing but i can do that on my laptop--"

"great. i'll take you home."

"but my boss-"

"if anyone has a problem with it, they can talk to me. let's go." mat was spinning on his heel and walking out of the room as quickly as he came in. you were unplugging your camera and logging off your computer, packing up your things, before sprinting after him.

"mat! mat, wait up!"

he stopped walking and looked at you, an unfamiliar expression in his eyes. "can you wait for me outside the locker room? i still have to shower and change."

you nodded. "why did you come upstairs anyway?"

"to give you the skates." you glanced down at his empty hands. "i forgot the bag, and by that point, i was too lazy to go down and get them without you."

the both of you continued your walk until you got to the locker room.

"i'll be a few minutes and then i'll take you home."

true to his word, mat was only gone for ten minutes before coming out freshly showered and ready to go home. neither of you spoke until he was pulling the car out of the parking garage.

"what did tyler mean when he mentioned tito?" mat asked after moments of silence. his fists were gripping the wheel tightly, though you didn't know why.

"tito asked me to dinner on friday."

mat's fists tightened their grip on the wheel and his jaw clenched so hard, you were afraid he was going to chip some teeth.

"oh." was all he said.

"something wrong? i just figured for once i wouldn't be hiding behind my camera like you said and i thought it would be fun, you know? we get along fine. why? do you think i shouldn't go?"

"no!" mat said quickly. "no, i just, it just caught me by surprise is all. i'm sure you'll have fun."

"and i can give you alexa's number if you want to ask her out! she's coming over tonight so i can talk you up now that i know more about you, make it seem more genuine."

"yeah," he choked out. "yeah, that would be great."

mat pulled up to your apartment a few minutes later and watched as you got out. "i meant what i said in your office," he said. "you need to tell HR about tyler's behavior."

"i will." you probably wouldn't. "thanks, mat."

he nodded as you shut the door and waited for you to go inside before driving off.

you walked up the stairs to your apartment and unlocked the door. as you shut the door behind you, you felt the weight of today bearing down.

tito asking you out.

the moments with mat.

the slut shaming comment from tyler.

when did your life get so dramatic?

step 4: get her to say yes

you had alexa over that night, armed with a million reasons why she should say yes to mat.

and the one reason why she should say no was locked deep in your chest. your happiness and affection for him shouldn't deter her.

besides, you would eventually get over your silly little crush, right?

right?

"so what's new in your world? i feel like you've been so busy lately. it's kind of strange," alexa said before shoveling a forkful of pasta in her mouth. it should've been disgusting, but she made it look graceful.

"oh you know, just working."

"is that why you were in the middle of nowhere a few weeks ago? work?"

"what?"

"i checked your location, you were on a farm. didn't realize the isles was doing photoshoots that far out of the city."

"oh they're not," you explained. "i was with mat, we were just hanging out."

alexa blinked. "since when do you and mat hang out?"

ouch.

but true.

you couldn't come out and say it could you? that the reason the two of you started interacting was because he wanted to date alexa?

no, you couldn't.

so you lied.

"oh, the social media team wanted me to get some information on mat, like a get to know you segment. they wanted something outside of work, so we were just hanging out so i could write this article on him."

a complete lie. you haven't had to write anything on anyone since your college journalism class. but alexa didn't know that. you never told her what you do all day for work. for all she knew, you could be running the tiktok account.

alexa raised an eyebrow. "and how did that go? was he talking about himself the entire time?"

"no!" you said. but then you paused, realizing that getting defensive would just look suspicious. "he told me a lot about how he doesn't like mulled wine and loves corn mazes despite being absolutely shitty at them. he loves his friends and hockey, obviously. he refuses to let anyone pay for anything while you're with him because he has money and likes to treat people. and he sticks up for the people that are important to him. and once you're in with him, you don't have to worry about your place in his life or how important you are because he will keep reminding you."

alexa stared at you. "are you sure you don't want to go out with him?"

you guffawed and hoped that it covered up your embarrassment. "what? no! he's clearly into you, and i think you should go for it."

"give me one good reason why."

"because he's kind, and nothing like your ex. he cares, legitimately cares about people and their lives." you sighed, not sure if you were convincing her. “it’s just one date, lex. if you don’t like him at least you got a free meal.”

alexa chewed her lip, letting you anguish in silence. "fine. you can give him my number and we'll set up a date. i trust you."

"fantastic!" you were already pulling your phone out. "he'll be so excited--"

"only if you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't have feelings for him."

you opened and closed your mouth. "i don't have feelings for him," you said with as much confidence as you could.

"honey..."

"no! i don't! if i had feelings for him, would i be going out to dinner with his best friend on friday?"

alexa didn't look fully convinced, but your date with tito was a welcomed distraction as she started rattling off questions about what you would wear and where he was taking you.

alexa left two hours later, meaning you could go to bed at a reasonable hour. as you laid in bed, you grabbed your phone and opened mat's contact, drafting a text to him.

here's alexa's number. managed to convince her you were worth a shot. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

you locked your phone and put it on do not disturb before you could see his response.

when you woke up the next morning, you saw mat had simply liked the message and left it at that.

by noon, alexa texted you that her date with mat was on saturday.

step 5: let the dates begin

friday came faster than you were anticipating. you kept your distance from mat, unable to look at him without thinking about how he was taking your friend out the very next day and that your interactions from that point on would probably be through alexa.

tyler kept his distance, must've been the threat of going to HR (that you still hadn't gone through with) that had him treating you like a human being with feelings.

as for tito, you probably should've been more excited for your date that night, but all you could focus on was how mat and alexa would fall in love and get married and have beautiful babies and grow old together.

and you would be the sucker who set them up because you could never tell mat no.

a slam against the boards startled you enough to look up from your camera to see tito standing there with a smile on his face.

"you okay?" he asked over the sounds of his teammates on the ice.

you gave him what you hoped was a convincing smile and nodded. but he rolled his eyes.

"we'll talk later," he said before skating away. you smiled and waved at him before you made eye contact with mat who was clenching his jaw. at what? you weren't sure. you even turned around to see if tyler had entered the arena, but you were standing alone.

like you always were.

you were headed back to your desk to do some editing as practice let out, but your name was called before you could get away.

when you looked over your shoulder, you saw tito doing an awkward half jog half walk towards you with a tired grin on his face. "hey," he said. "how do you think practice went?"

you turned to face him fully. "you're asking me? a professional asking some photographer how practice went?"

tito rolled his eyes. "oh c'mon. you've seen our practices, by now you should be able to determine whether or not it was a good one."

"well, no one fought each other, so i guess that's a win."

tito shook his head. "nah, that's when the best practices happen. when everyone's pissed at each other."

you smiled. "shows what i know."

"i think you know more than you think. you've worked here for awhile now."

"i've just gotten better at motion capture photography and following the puck around the ice. doesn't mean i know shit about hockey."

"don't think we don't notice you getting riled up during games when calls are missed."

you tilted your head and furrowed your brows. "we?"

tito shrugged and laughed to himself. "mat usually points it out before i can." you must've made a face because he added more. "it's usually on the bench, he's focused on the game when he's playing."

the both of you turn your heads at the other players walking down the tunnel. when the both of you caught sight of mat, tito smiled.

"will you send me your address? so i can pick you up?"

your attention snapped back to tito. "yeah! of course!"

he nodded and started his walk towards the locker rooms right when mat walked up to you. "what was that about?" he asked.

you shrugged. "just going over details for tonight. he needs my address to pick me up."

mat clenched his jaw again and looked down the tunnel, nodding his head. "that's tonight?"

"yep. at 6:30."

he wouldn't meet your eyes. instead, he looked at your shoes, your camera, the hallway, his teammates, but would never look at your face.

"you and alexa go out tomorrow, right? where are you taking her?"

he ran a hand through his hair and nodded at anders as he passed by. "yeah, we're going out to this sushi place. did you ever talk to HR?"

"well no but--"

"do i need to talk to HR?"

"he really hasn't been that bad lately--"

"because i threatened to tell HR on his ass. he's gonna get comfortable and start insulting you again. it's just a matter of time."

you nodded, feeling a lump in your throat form at the idea of mat scolding you, in front of his teammates no less.

mat sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. "i'm not trying to fuss or tell you what to do, i just don't like seeing you treated like that."

"thanks, mat," you mumbled.

he still wouldn't meet your eyes, instead looking down the hallway to see most of his team in the locker room. "i gotta go, but um, good luck tonight. beau's a good guy."

with that he turned on his skates and walked away.

you felt every bit of pathetic as you watched him go.

that night, you settled on a pretty dress that wasn't too fancy, seeing as the only details tito had given you were that it was nicer than an olive garden but not a michelin star restaurant. you were strapping yourself into your heels when you heard a knock on the door.

your phone said it was only 6:15, but maybe tito was accounting for traffic. he never did specify when the reservation was.

"coming!" you called as you put your last heel on and made your way to the door. "i wasn't expecting you this early, you never told me when the reservation was--" your voice trailed off when you opened the door and saw who was standing on the other side.

mat.

he looked more disheveled than you'd ever seen him. it was clear he'd been running his hands through his hair repeatedly just by the strands sticking out every which way.

he still looked handsome.

"mat, what're you--"

"i think you're beautiful. and smart. and passionate about a lot of things. and i think anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot, and i'd fight them if you'd let me." your eyes started welling up with tears. "i think you're perfect for me and if you'd let me take you out, i promise i'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

you blinked until the tears disappeared by sheer willpower, not willing to cry in front of him. "that's perfect," you said. "say that to lex and she'll be eating out of the palm of your hand."

you turned around to grab your bag and coat before you could see mat's face drop in confusion. by the time you turned back around, anthony was standing next to his best friend.

"you ready?" he asked, only glancing at mat out of the side of his eye.

you nodded and squeezed mat's arm as you passed; you couldn't help yourself. "get home safe, mat."

neither you or tito spoke until you got into his car. "what was that about?" he asked.

you shrugged. still not fully comprehending why mat showed up at your door in the first place. "he was telling me what he was gonna tell lex tomorrow, i think."

"really." he didn't sound convinced.

"why else would he show up?"

tito mumbled. "i can think of a few reasons."

after he parked the car, tito got out and opened the door for you while you were answering texts from alexa. he offered you a hand to get out that you took.

there were no sparks, no electric sensations going up your arm. just physical contact, just the warmth of his palm in yours.

he led you into the restaurant which was moderately fancy, like he said. the two of you were escorted back to a table in the corner, away from windows and therefore away from prying eyes.

like a gentleman, he pulled your chair out and helped you scooch up to the table.

"i can't remember if i told you this, but you look lovely," he said with a smile.

"thanks," you replied. "you look handsome." and you meant it. if you weren't in love with his best friend, in another life, you could see yourself falling for his blue eyes. and maybe you still could. mat was going on a date with your friend tomorrow so it was better that you just get over him already and--

"so how long have you been in love with mat?"

you choked on your own spit, and for a minute, tito looked apologetic. for his timing, you had to guess, not the question itself.

surely you heard him wrong.

"what?" you asked when you finally got your bearings.

"how long have you loved him?"

nope. you heard him correctly.

"i--"

he leaned forward, arms braced on the table. "you don't have to lie to me, i know. i've known for awhile."

"i--"

but the server came up and asked for drink orders. tito ordered a bottle of red for the table after asking for your thoughts.

you were still reeling from his question, safe to say you didn't have any thoughts.

"sorry," tito started. "i didn't mean to make you feel cornered, i just wanted to be honest."

"it doesn't look like you're the only who needs to be honest, it's me." you fiddled with the ends of your dress.

"why'd you do it? why'd you help set mat up with your friend?"

you shrugged. "i just wanted to see him happy. and i wanted alexa to find a good guy, i knew mat was one. they make sense together."

"even if it makes you unhappy."

"even if it makes me unhappy."

tito nodded, and looked at you like he could see something you couldn't. "let's forget about him for now and just enjoy dinner, eh?"

you gave him your best smile and nodded.

the rest of the night flew by. soon enough, tito was walking you up to your apartment and kissing your cheek before he left. you wished you felt butterflies, or something, but there was no special sensation. nothing to make you weak in the knees.

it was like a kiss from an old friend.

your phone buzzed with a text from alexa.

alexa: how'd your date go?

you typed out a quick response.

it was good. just got home.

you locked your phone and placed it on your nightstand before collapsing into bed. but your phone buzzed again. you thought about ignoring it, but if it was alexa, you didn't want her to think you were upset at her.

mat barzal: did you have fun?

you blinked before typing back.

yeah. tito's great.

not a second later, you got another text.

mat barzal: good. have a good night.

you fell back against your pillows and cursed at the ceiling.

step 6: let them fall in love

you woke up the next morning and stayed in bed until your bladder was about to burst. after the date with tito and the reminder that mat was going out with alexa tonight, it was all enough to put you back in bed as soon as you peed.

and you stayed there, flicking through netflix shows and wallowing in self pity. you usually weren't this pathetic, but the idea of alexa and mat getting cozy on their date that night was enough to warrant your sadness.

you'd pull yourself together by monday when you'd have to go back to work and see how happy she made him.

that's what you kept telling yourself, that at the very least, two of your friends would be happy.

by 7pm, you were sitting on the couch, waiting for takeout to arrive.

when a knock on the door signified your food arrived, you got up with your blanket burrito and walked to the door. you didn't even bother checking before yanking the door open and looking down at your doormat.

only to see a pair of shoes.

"what the hell," you mumbled. "i thought i said leave at the door...' your voice trailed off as your eyes lifted to meet a pair of hazel.

mat barzal.

he had your food in one hand while the other was in his pocket.

"mat?" you whispered. suddenly, you were throwing the blankets off your shoulders and behind you into your apartment where they'd be out of sight.

though it was then you realized you were in sweats and you hadn't done anything with your hair all day so you were probably better off with the blanket burrito instead.

"hi," he breathed. "here's your food." he handed it over, nodding when you murmured your thanks, and shoved his other hand through his hair.

you glanced at the time on the clock on your wall to make sure you weren't hallucinating. "why're you here, mat? shouldn't you be with alexa?"

"that's what i wanted to talk to you about, actually."

"oh no," you started panicking, your eyes widened. "did she not show up?" you turned back into your apartment and went to your phone, searching for texts from alexa to explain her absence. "i swear i thought she'd show. she told me she would and she's usually a woman of her word."

you turned around when your front door shut with mat standing in the middle of your living room, looking out of place and right at home somehow.

your phone was vacant of any text messages from alexa.

"no, she showed. i left early."

that caught your attention.

you set your food on the coffee table and turned around to face him.

"why did you leave early? was she rude? are you sick?"

mat shook his head. "no, i'm fine, she was fine. that's not why i'm here. i mean it is but that's--that's--i want, no i need to tell you something."

"tell me what?"

he rolled his eyes. "i'm getting to that." he started pacing your very small living room. you wondered if he knew how much space he took up in your apartment. you wondered if he cared how messy your place was. "i'm just gonna come right out and say it, and don't interrupt me this time." you nodded.

mat ran both hands through his hair for the twentieth time since he showed up. "when i said all those things last night, i wasn't talking about alexa. i was talking about you."

what.

but he continued.

"i'm not gonna pretend i've loved you this whole time, but i fell in love with you along the way. the way you kept analyzing every fucking pumpkin for the perfect one, or how you bring red wine to dinner unprompted because you can't not contribute to something, or the way you trusted me enough to take you on the ice and show you something i love, or how you laugh like no one has ever said something mean to you in your life even when i know that jackass tyler harasses you on the daily. you're kind to literally every person i've ever seen you interact with.

"but i hate the way you shrink yourself like you're afraid to take up space. i hate the way you act like alexa's better than you, like i couldn't fall in love with you when you're literally the most generous, kindest, passionate, and beautiful person i've ever met in my life. because i do love you. every fiber of my being loves you."

you blinked once. twice. and breathed.

"what?" you whispered as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

"i know you just went out with tito last night, and if you like him, if you love him, i get it. he's a great guy and you'd be great together. but i'm asking you to give me a chance, give us a chance. i've had fun with you the last few weeks and i cannot bear the thought of not calling you mine any longer." his chest was heaving as the words rushed out of his mouth.

you rounded the coffee table to get to him. as soon as you were in arms' reach, mat was pulling you to him. with your hips pressed together, your lips just a breath away, you spoke softly.

"please tell me this isn't a dream."

a small laugh escaped his lips and echoed over your own. "it's not a dream, baby. this is real. i love you so fucking much."

"i love you too, mat."

any words you had left to say were lost as he brought your mouths together.

you weren't sure how much time had passed before you separated from him with your hands pressed on his chest. mat tried to follow your lips, but you kept a firm hand on his sternum so you could speak.

"what about alexa?"

mat pulled back. "what about her?"

"you were on a date with her and just left her there?"

"i more than covered the tab if that's what you're afraid of--"

"what if she hates me?"

he laughed. like threw his head back and laughed before kissing you again. "baby, we were there for fifteen minutes and all i could talk about was you. she told me to come here and tell you the truth."

you smiled. "thank god for alexa."

"thank god for alexa."

mat led the two of you over to the couch where you immediately curled into him. he kissed the top of your head, seemingly addicted to having his lips on your body at all times. "you're fired, you know."

you would've pulled away had mat's grip allowed it. "what? fired from what?"

"the wing woman business. you're absolutely horrible at it."

"yeah, well i think it worked out pretty well."

he pressed his lips into your hair and mumbled. "yeah, i think so too."

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb

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galamalion · 4 months

Text

𐕣. 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary. you attempt to enjoy the peaceful snowfall on your own, but aren't these beautiful moments meant to be shared?

⤷ contents. yandere!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships // wc. 1.6k

⤷ notes. thank you to @ddarker-dreams who inspired me to write something for chrollo, she's written some deplorable things for this man <3 i'm still only writing for one piece, this is something i just really wanted to write!

Snow had been falling for the last hour, painting the city below in a thin sheet of pure white, only the dark speckles of countless heads walking to-and-fro disturbing the peacefulness below. The windowsills and balcony were also beginning to pick up a layer, growing steadily with each tiny flake that joined the pile. A beautiful sight slowly being constructed, irreplaceable and inimitable by mankind.

But what is a beautiful thing, if not to be held and marveled?

You gazed solemnly out the window, fingers splayed against the chilled glass. A similar feeling no doubt to the snow that was just out of reach. God, how long had it been since you’d touched snow? Felt that freezing, yet warming sensation dance across your nerves, sending confusing signals to your brain.

Three years inside a luxury penthouse gave you time to organize your thoughts more poetically.

Well, to say you’d been here for three years would be inaccurate. Two years and five months inside this home. Chrollo must have been anxious for the first seven months he had you, either keeping you by his side or stashing you in rich hotels, if only for a single night.

Perhaps he had become more comfortable, or maybe he was working on a long job, seeing as you’d been here for so long. The fact that you were unsupervised made you lean towards the former, in addition to his unbeatable strength that made resistance futile. But you knew your limits, and slowly you’d been learning Chrollo’s over the course of these three years. Carefully tip-toeing the line between admonishment and punishment; you’d never get the last word but always make a sharp jab, leaving the oh-so generously gifted—and probably stolen—jewelry and makeup untouched, and, perhaps your favorite, ignoring his first call of your name, but always coming on the second.

Pretending to not have heard Chrollo was your favorite pastime after learning that there was little he could do except implore you to open those poor little ears of yours. And it was a joy asking him to repeat himself, enjoying the twinge of annoyance that you could make out in his voice.

However, as was normal in your new life, Chrollo had made himself scarce for an extended period of time. It wasn’t strange, in fact it was a much needed relief of his soul-scathing presence. He was most likely on a job, having found some ancient book or enchanting onyx necklace that he just had to have. Or, more accurately, another rotting memoir of a dead pompous poet that you would have to listen to Chrollo gush about, and another piece of jewelry for you to throw in the box and forget.

Maybe he’d get creative and bring you a fun hat this time.

At the end of the day, Chrollo wasn’t here, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. It was refreshing, not being alert at every waking moment, though that freezing fear had most certainly dulled with time. You had time to read, maybe start on a puzzle before you became too tired—coffee had been upgraded to a privilege in the last month, and something that Chrollo was only allowed to make, leaving you to rely on your own body’s performance to remain awake for longer. But puzzles left a sour taste in your mouth ever since Chrollo exchanged your fun scenic sets for Renaissance paintings.

And so you settled on reading, the only other thing to do in this godforsaken prison. Chrollo never liked it when you called it that, reminding you that ‘prisons didn’t have fresh produce or fireplaces.’ But even a golden cage is a cage, something you’d remind him of. He took away the remote after that spat.

You abandoned your window gazing and skipped over to the imposing bookshelf and the expansive collection of tomes that awaited you. Half were unreadable, written in dead languages you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The other half were plain boring, a collection of classics that Chrollo had most likely stolen over the years. But a handful were bearable, or at least interesting enough to keep you reading. You had offhandedly mentioned to Chrollo that you preferred mysteries, and the very next day a complete vintage series of Sherlock Holmes appeared. You tried to hint at adding more diverse genres, but so far there have been no new additions to the bookshelf.

After peeling the first book from the shelf and giving it a light shake to remove any lingering dust, you fled to the comfort of the window nook. It was a remarkable spot—one you knew Chrollo hated, since he could not sit next to you. You thumbed through the book to the first page, laying eyes upon the old and yellowed paper.

“In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army.”

“Already a far more interesting life,” you muttered, “wish I could be a doctor.”

“Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out.”

“Oh, to travel the world. How I envy you, Watson,” you sighed, bleakly turning towards the window.

The snow hadn’t quit, continuing to stain the buildings in white, a gorgeous scene to behold. It was not to be enjoyed for long, however, as you caught a despicable glimpse in the reflection behind you.

Walking ever-so slightly closer was your captor, Chrollo Lucilfer, in the flesh. Although he seemed to immediately realize he’d been spotted, ceasing his silent movement before you swiveled your head around to face him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your commentary,” he gave an innocent smile, “it’s always a treat to hear your dulcet voice.”

“I’d rather keep my thoughts to myself, thanks,” you spat, sending a glare his way before turning back to your book.

“If you’d like to travel the world, I could certainly take you,” he continued.”

“I’ll pass, Chrollo.”

“What ever happened to our little nicknames, my dove? I seem to recall you had quite the attachment to calling me Mephistopheles,” he noted, resuming his gait towards you.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve since concluded you rather enjoy being compared to the devil, whereas I am not your dove, nor any bird you refer to me as.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear,” he cooed.

“I am not yours.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I have stolen you, therefore you are mine.”

“Ah!” you cried out, “I believe you’re forgetting the special word for stealing another person. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called kidnapping.”

Chrollo smirked at your words, now leaning against the wall beside you, staring down at your piece of literature.

“Believe me, treasure, I am well aware of the crimes I commit.”

“Feel free to list them,” you turned the page of your book, “I assure you, I’m listening.”

He easily plucked the book from your hand.

“Company is meant to be enjoyed, not tolerated,” he teased, returning it back to its place on the shelf. “Besides, the snow outside is stunning, is it not?”

“Of course,” you sneered. “Here, let me put on my cap and scarf, and then we can go frolic in this wonderful weather!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get smart with me.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”

Chrollo went quiet and gave you a look, a sign for you to shut your mouth before you ruined tonight.

“I am more than willing to put on a movie tonight, given that your attitude improves,” he spoke softly, moving back towards you.

There was hidden, unspoken meaning behind his words, something you’d grown to adjust to with your snarky attitude. Behave, or you get nothing.

“...What movie do you have in mind?” you responded, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to cool your soured mood.

“I’ll give you the choice, but I’m feeling partial to a select couple. Perhaps Romeo and Juliett? Or Pride and Prejudice?”

Someone’s in a mood tonight, you thought, folding your arms.

“Pride and Prejudice is fine,” you concluded, not wanting to hear Chrollo wax on about what Shakespeare meant or didn’t mean.

“Wonderful,” he smiled, walking over to the kitchen. “Now, would you like a cup of hot chocolate, my dear? I believe it would be fantastic on such a cold day.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” you answered as politely as you could manage, well aware that a simple ‘sure’ would not be enough to earn you any specialties.

You stood from your window alcove and walked quietly towards the bedroom, attempting to do so casually and without drawing his attention.

But it was impossible to slip anything past Chrollo Lucilfer.

“Dear,” he called out, still focused on his work at the counter.

You wordlessly turned around, staring emptily at the back of his head.

“There should be a dress, a black one, on the far right of your wardrobe,” he instructed, “be a doll and put it on.”

“...Alright.”

A black dress, probably too short to be comfortable in either direction. Chrollo’s favorite pastime, of course, was getting a glimpse of the body you’d refuse to show. But this was Chrollo’s night, not your own. Never your own.

So you’ll put the dress on, just like you’ll watch the movie that Chrollo wanted, right next to him—too close to him—on the sofa. And who knows, maybe you’ll do a puzzle with him at the end of the night.

But wasn't the snow just stunning?

#chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh x reader #mdni

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krypticcafe · 3 months

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How do you feel about CoD boys in a monster au? Whether they’re the monster or their s/o is the monster, I just think it would be neat. I’m partial towards werewolves but honestly I love anything that goes bump in the night. I LOVE the idea of a monster being afraid of hurting their partner but their partner knows that they could never hurt them. If you’re open to monster requests, I have so many ideas. Just… monsters, man

oooo are we spitballing bc I love throwing around ideas!!

I absolutely love monster AUs, one of my faves is @/bluegiragi's and I'm sure you all know that iconic one. I'm totally open to monster/hybrid requests, and a detailed list of what other things I write can be found in the cafe's Customer Service Policy aka rules :]

And monster-related plots? I'm a sucker for that shit, need more of that and monster!reader.

If I were to make a Monster Hybrid AU with my own specific ideas though, hmm...

Powerful and stoic, Price would make a great minotaur (lower half of a bull). Sure, maybe his back isn't what it used to be, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have the strength to send you back to your maker. Every step he takes on base acknowledges his presence, a posture that demands respect from its witnesses. The horns on his head aren't something to mess with either, though it takes him ages to scrape out the dried blood from the cracks and tailor his bucket hats.

On the other hand, the canine hybrid for Soap is oddly charming. Similarly to a werewolf, he would have the senses of one, but as a just hybrid, he's unable to fully transform. Instead, he's equipped with features like ears, tail, fangs, some fur on his arms and legs, and a longer tongue. I can see him being a border collie, the Scottish sheepdog just makes sense. But a kelpie/merfolk would also work with his callsign. Soap, a mischievous water spirit known for "cleaning out" rooms of enemies? A body with slick scales, gills, and a frilled mohawk when in monster form? Yeah, I can definitely see that.

For someone with a Queen's honor, a phoenix feels right for Gaz. Bright and burning wings and tail—a light that feels regal and elegant, yet so youthful and lively at the same time. With him in the sky, you're guaranteed to be safe under his watch. Or maybe a cervitaur with those doe eyes of his, gorgeous as ever. Yet equipped with a kick that's sure to shatter the ribs of those who mock him for being just a faun with a pretty face.

Undeniably, with such a specific callsign, Ghost can't be anything other than a wraith. Maybe mix in a bit of demonic blood, soul-eater tendencies, or even marks of an incubus for a little extra kick. His scars look more like shadowy cracks in his skin, smoke pours from the concerningly realistic skull he wears, he looks more like a reaper than a spirit. Regardless, this man is a shadowy phantom that provokes the fear of gods in whoever he sets his target as.

Roach, sure maybe his energy is fitting of a satyr or something more fitting and urban for our token American, like a roach version of Mothman. Bug wings and scales similar to the structure of an exoskeleton, But Roach came to be for being nearly indestructible, like the bug. In fact, it would be more accurate to call Roach, Roaches, as a bogeyman with a human body that can crumble into a swarm of those insects would explain why gunshots and explosions can hardly stop him.

Like Ghost, we can't deny who Hound is, either. Werewolf. Anything less would be criminal. For fun, mix it in with a bit of hellhound hybrid biology, so that he has to either go as a full hellhound or a human with hellhound features. Eyes that burn like Tartarus and a fanged snarl that even Cerberus would shudder at. Maybe even make him in charge of a hellhound K-9 unit, forced to face the very thing he fears.

As for the Reader? Well, that's up to you. Personally, I'm a little fond of shapeshifters. Might need to draw some of these ideas sometime...

Ah well, just some thoughts I had. Any other spitballs you guys have?

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unreadpoppy · 4 months

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Halsin bear related headcanons

So, bears are a special interest of mine which means I have too much knowledge about this animal than what is allowed and I just...needed to make these involving my favorite druid's preferred wild shape. This is part romantic headcanons, part general hcs and part me using this man as an excuse to talk about bears.

As I said in another post, bears have an extremely accurate sense of smell, and they will leave their mark on their territory by rubbing their backs on trees to leave their scent. With that in mind, I can picture some days where Halsin is constantly hugging Tav, holding their hand, just being in physical contact with them, to sort of leave his smell on them.

Maybe he would do that after noticing how Tav was smelling of others.

On the topic of smells, bears are attracted by smell, so on days that the group is low on supplies, he wildshapes and scavenges for all sorts of fruits and plants, especially the more sweet ones.

Also, Halsin sniffing Tav’s hair, especially after a good bath, and saying that it smells nice.

Many species of bears are omnivourous, I think especially black bears, so Halsin will eat just about anything. If it looks fresh and edible, he will eat it.

It also means that, during the weeks/months leading up to winter, he is going to be eating a LOT.

Bears are not true hibernators and for Halsin, that could translate to him just sleeping more during winter time.

Also, if it’s a particularly cold night, he’s wildshaping into a polar bear and enveloping his partner(s) in a tight and very warm hugs. I say polar bear in specific because they have the fur that is more adapted to handle cold weathers and because polar bear moms will often cuddle with their cubs because their (cubs) fur is still not developed enough to handle the weather, and picturing Halsin in bear form doing that is just so cute.

Black bears in particular are great climbers and I can see Halsin picking up that as well. On a particular night, where the sky is clear, Halsin would transform into a bear, get his partner on his back, climb up the tallest tree around and then show them the stars and the moon.

Also, getting a bit into more animalistic things, Halsin would be a very vocal guy, like grunting and growling when he's upset.

When confronted by someone who could be a threat, he'd use his already large size to his favor and try to intimidate the person away. Puffing up his chest, holding his head higher, just showing he's the bigger guy and he's not to be messed around with.

Getting particularly into more…naughty territory, I want to talk about courtship. On the more tame side, if Halsin has his eyes on someone, he’d follow them around more, get them to be comfortable around him. He’d be more playful, like being more outspoken of his intentions and flirting more, but just like real bears, he'd wait until his partner initiated it.

I don't see Halsin as a possessive man overall, BUT, in specific situations, I can see this side of him coming out, because of bear instintcs. Male bears can get more aggresive towards other males during mating season, and I can see that affexting him.

Maybe he's courting someone and another person gets a bit too close (and his partner makes it clear they're not liking it), Halsin's gonna get into protective mode and scare the guy away.

The last two points are a bit more sexual, so I put them under the cut.

Also, after seeing a video and reading a couple of articles on it, yeah I can see Halsin being into primal play.

His partner gets a good head start before he wildshapes into a bear and runs after them. Fun fact, bears can run up to 35-40 mph, so I can see him also like, stopping from time to time to prolong the hunt even longer. If his partner in a druid who can wild shape into a bear, I think it’d be even more interesting because the speed of both would be equal.

Remember how I said he's a vocal guy? Yeah, he's going to be groaning, and moaning and grunting a lot during sex.

#halsin bg3 #halsin x tav #i needed to DESPERATLY get this off my system #also it's 3 am and i'm barely functioning #so not the best articulate thing ever #anyways someone please let me do aa three hour ted talk on bears #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #halsin headcanons

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haesunflower · 11 months

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zb1 as the "best friend's brother" trope

genre: fluff/comedy

pairing: reader (gn) x all members of zerobaseone

about/tags: zerobaseone as "best friend's brother" but not all are romantic

thank you anon for req, some are not accurate in terms of siblings, mentions of violence but not actually violent, kinda pg for jiwoong, secret relationships for some, yujin is platonic!

⠀⠀ kim jiwoong ⠀⠀

"she's gonna kill me when she finds out, you know"

jiwoong is occupied with tracing small kisses along your neck, too busy showering you with affection to care about what his sister thinks about dating you

"so?" he says. you try to push him away, giggling while you try to explain that older brothers are usually off limits.

he's a full on tease, and he knows exactly the power he holds over you when he says "you'd bend the rules for me though, yeah?"

you kiss him again as confirmation "yeah, yeah i would"

your best friend, does in fact think about ~killing~ you when she finds out

but she sees how much her brother has changed, he's happier now, and decides maybe it is better that you stay together.

⠀⠀ zhang hao ⠀⠀

(i know he's an only child so let's just pretend okay)

one thing about you and hao is that you can both take a secret to your graves

so no one ever finds about you sneaking out of his sister's room during your weekend sleepovers, only to cuddle up to him on his bed. no one finds out about the secret dates you go on in the next town over, so that you don't get caught. and no one finds out about the secret phones you both use to contact each other.

if you have to be in the same room together, he's not even making any eye contact with you. it's better to ignore each other in public, like you always have.

when you guys are 7 months into the relationship, spooning on his bed, he asks "how long do you want to keep us a secret?

to which you reply "not any longer than you want to."

so yeah, you can both keep a secret – until you decide you want to share it to the world

your friend is disgusted, but happy for you. emphasis on disgusted tho.

⠀⠀ sung hanbin ⠀⠀

you like going to ludia cafe because one, food is always free as long as you're with hanareum (hanbin's younger sister) and two, hanbin makes the said food

you have a massive schoolgirl crush on hanbin, and he is aware to some degree that you like him. i mean you ask all sorts of questions like "oppa what do you like doing for fun?" or "oppa are you seeing anyone?" "oppa what are you going to study for university? "

and him being the nice person that he is, he answers all your questions genuinely with a large customer service smile

after he debuted you kept supporting him as a fan, only to show up to girls planet season two a year later to make your debut too.

when he sees you again, hanbin tells you that you grew up really well, and that you can rely on him as a sunbae. your relationship stays like that for a while, platonic hoobae and sunbae. on holidays, you even travel to your hometown together. and you see each other outside work often because you both show up to support hanareum's sporting events.

it takes a while, like YEARS, for hanbin to view you as a potential romantic interest. but seeing you laugh alongside his sister during chuseok, he can't help but think about how you're technically already part of the family.

⠀⠀ seok matthew ⠀⠀

don't get it twisted HE has a crush on YOU

being neighbors and the same age as his older sister yaeby, meant that you practically grew up in the seok household too. but you always viewed matthew as your best friend's dorky little brother.

you and yaeby used to dress him up in girl clothes and make him perform, and as he got older, this evolved to him becoming an errand boy for whenever you guys had parties or friends over. matthew of course he did everything you asked because he finds you so so so pretty, how can he say no?

you're an avid supporter of their entire family, so you also fly to korea to support matthew during the finals, along with his mom and sister. he's a little surprised when he sees you, then a little embarrassed when he realized you also saw him cry like a baby.

you ruffled his hair and said "congrats matthew!!"

now, he actively flirts with you for fun because you'll always be his first crush. you never considered taking his advances seriously up until recently because when the hell did he grow up

woohyun oppa agenda is working....and yae makes fun of you for it

⠀⠀ kim taerae ⠀⠀

he's practicing a song he wrote in the living room when his older sister innocently asks who it's about

"um...yeah it's...it's umm about...umm.." literally cannot give a straight answer because how do you tell your older sister that it's a song for her best friend

her best friend that he secretly makes out with behind the school parking lot, her best friend that drives with him to go get takeout at 2am, and her best friend that he's so painfully in love with but doesn't have the actual guts to ask them out

"is it about y/n?" he's shocked when his sister asks. he finds out that you've already told her, and he's relieved he doesn't have to walk around eggshells anymore.

actually his sister has known all along, you were very open and honest about it when you started catching feelings about your bff's younger brother. taerae had just assumed you were ashamed to be dating someone a year younger, so he thought he ought to keep it a secret unless told otherwise

when he confesses that to you, you can't help but giggle. you proceed to squish his cheeks as you say "why would I ever want to keep you a secret, silly"

⠀⠀ ricky ⠀⠀

ricky thinks it's so cute, how you're constantly paranoid that someone will catch you two doing something remotely couple-y

you guys weren't a secret or anything, but you wanted to remain ~respectful~ and would very much want to avoid being teased by your friend group. therefore keeping pda at a minimum.

when he hugs you in the middle of his kitchen, you attempt to release his grip from you when you say "what if someone sees, ricky?"

"look around, no one's here" and he's right, no one is there. so you let him bury his face into your neck as he hugs you, and he's whispering something about how you smell like warm vanilla cookies.

when his sister, your best friend, enters the room she says something along the lines of "ugh you two are so gross. get a room."

and you're all like -_- "see. i told you this was gonna happen."

⠀⠀ kim gyuvin ⠀⠀

you have the biggest crush on him and you don't even try to hide it

your best friend tells you that you have no chance, after all his brother is a "hot commodity" in the school. but you wanna make yourself known as an option, you're only a year younger after all!

you literally bum around their house every weekend, and flat out flirt in front of everyone. "when's our date, gyuvin oppa ;)" or "how long are you going to keep me waiting for you?"

you remain unbothered at his clumsy and awkward responses, and strongly believe that in the end, he'll fall for you anyways. your best friend calls you extremely delusional and overconfident – but, gyuvin lowkey finds it adorable that you have a little crush on him

you're right tho about him falling for you in the end

once you stopped visiting the house every weekend, gyuvin asks his brother why you haven't been coming over anymore

"oh hyung, they have a boyfriend now"

and he's all like "boyfriend? since when? what? i thought they liked me?"

is slightly offended and highly intrigued that you got a boyfriend w/o him knowing

⠀⠀ park gunwook ⠀⠀

gunwook often wonders why his older brother isn't dating you.

"hyung, are you sure you're just best friends. like sure sure?"

because he thinks you're the perfect person: beautiful, smart, tall, funny, even plays genshin impact. his brother teases him, "if you think she's so great, why don't YOU date her gunwook-ah"

as if on cue, you walk back into the room and ask what everyone's talking about. and gunwook's brother just full on exposes him like "gunwook has a crush on you"

his cheeks turn so red, and he's so defensive when he says "hyung, i do not!"

you think it's adorable, so you pinch gunwook's bready cheeks :D saying something along the lines of "you're too young for me wookie"

⠀⠀ han yujin ⠀⠀

you're really close friends with yujin's older brother

and yujin often goes to you for "girl advice" since you're the only girl he knows that isn't his classmate sjhdbjh

he'd ask questions about what gifts to give when you confess to someone, what to say in a love letter, and he'd even ask for date place recommendations

you're bamboozled as to why yujin is such a sweet kid, meanwhile his brother is a pain in your friend group's ass

one time yujin got rejected, and you found him sulking alone at the dinner table eating the box of cookies he was gonna give his crush. he offers you one, and you both eat in silence before consoling him.

"yujinie, you're still young. you'll meet plenty of other people that are a far better match for you. don't worry." he mumbles something about being single forever and you giggle, telling him he's being a little dramatic lol

A/N: i tried researching on their siblings to find out if y/n would be older or younger lol but again, not all are accurate!!

personally, the jiwoong one got me.

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charcubed · 10 months

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Disneyland's Rogers: The Musical, propaganda that turns Steve Rogers into more myth than man, and revisionist history (possibly) to a purpose

Any of my thoughts in this post could just be me reading too far into things. I'm very aware of that, and please know that this post exists just because this sort of thing is fun for me! This is a thought exercise where we propose "What if we live in a world where the MCU is actually doing a cool and interesting thing as a longcon?" If you have anger at Marvel, that's valid and relatable, but please don't get angry at me or imply I'm an MCU stan who doesn't think critically about the mouse. Thanks!

Breaking news: I'm back on my bullshit!

A quick personal recap: I infamously hated Avengers: Endgame for a long list of reasons (and I even rewrote the movie). One of those reasons is that I've always taken issue with Steve's ending. But in the years since then, and as the MCU's phase 4 has evolved, my frustration at Steve's "ending" has turned into an ongoing and legitimate theory that the MCU could be slowly leading into a loosely adapted Secret Empire plot line. I know we've all been joking about Steve being trapped or about an imposter Steve since 2019, but uhhh, it's kind of not a joke to me anymore? It feels weirdly plausible at this point and so I enjoy discussing the potential.

You can find a full elaboration on that here, where I wrote out my "Steve was snatched by HYDRA" theory in 2021.

In that post, one of the things I mentioned at the time was Rogers: The Musical being in the Hawkeye trailer.

[The musical's] very existence is an example of how in-universe the stories of the lives of the heroes are being commodified, especially (in terms of how they’re framing it) for Steve’s. The heroes are no longer seen as people, if they ever were. They are, as Kate Bishop says to Clint in a recently released clip, more about “branding.” Sam Wilson will be redefining the shield moving forward in a Cap context, but simultaneously, the world is still enamored by Steve Rogers as a symbol in his own right. And that is ripe for manipulation as a Trojan horse to control public opinion… whether in the context of things like this by themselves (is the musical portraying Steve accurately, or is it painting an inaccurate picture of him the world accepts as fact?) or in future (is this propaganda that makes the public see Steve a certain way and continue to love him, to set up a fake or brainwashed Steve coming on the scene later?).

Now a form of the musical exists in full, at Disneyland and all over Youtube. Considering some of its baffling content – which I will break down below – this perspective seems even more strongly worth considering.

I have two main reasons for why I'm defending examining this musical so closely:

1. It is (arguably) an in-universe piece of media that has bearing on the MCU canon. It isn't like any other typical Disneyland attraction; its very existence is meta and it was in canon first. Obviously it's seen in Hawkeye, but there are also posters for it in several different phase 4 properties. It's lurking in the background indefinitely. So what can this musical tell us about what the wider public within the MCU is being told about the life story of Steve Rogers?

2. This Secret Empire graphic – which is animated in the center of the stage of a prolonged period of time – feels like a literal sign to pay attention.

Granted, this is obviously still ancillary material. 99% of the MCU audience will never see this musical, whether in person or on YouTube. But just because it isn't a vital piece doesn't mean it's automatically an entirely irrelevant piece.

They've given me an inch with that sign and I'm taking a mile.

So if you're interested, please join me on this journey :)

For the record, let me just say that I salute the creative team behind this show. It's pretty fun and the songs are catchy, the sets and costuming are cool, and the cast is overall very talented.

It's also fucking maddening. LMAO.

Why? Firstly, because of the seemingly deliberate ahistorical inaccuracies. We all know Ant-Man is wrongly shown in the Battle of New York, which originally "came from [the Hawkeye showrunner] and Marvel, as something to further aggravate Hawkeye as he watched the show, and also as a comment on how movies and articles and people always get something wrong." It seems like they expanded those meta nods, but most inaccuracies are now in service of glorifying Steve and Peggy's "love story." Yes, romance objectively makes for good theater; but again, I feel that this is worth examining considering the full context.

And secondly, Steve's ending is framed as an offer presented to him, convincing him it's the happy ending he deserves because he's tired. In my mind, these two big elements go together, and I'll walk you through the details of what happens in the musical before I tie the thought threads back around into some theorizing.

For your reference, here's a list of the main songs and story beats:

• "U-S-Opening Night" - the Starkettes (who are basically a Greek chorus) frame the show's story, and then it turns into an ensemble that loosely takes place at the Stark Expo. • "I Want You" – Steve's "I want" song about trying to enlist in the army. • "Star-Spangled Man With A Plan" – Steve performing on the USO tour obviously, and then there's a reprise with an added voiceover that (very briefly) covers the Howling Commandos' rescue + the war via comic book imagery. • "What You Missed" – Fury and the Starkettes tell Steve some pop culture things he missed while he was frozen, + they tell him about the Avengers. Then Fury goes down a list of other hero characters, including the Guardians? Doctor Strange? Wanda?? It plays loose and fast with time, because many non-2012 characters are bafflingly mentioned in this nonlinear Avengers list – including the Winter Soldier (???). • "Save the City" – this is the song seen in Hawkeye, with the civilians + the Avengers all involved, but it's slightly different here and expanded to also reference other battles. • "End of the Line" – Old Steve presents main Steve with the time stone as an opportunity for his happy ending, and they reflect on things together. (Yes, this is insane.) • "Just One Dance" – Steve and Peggy reunite and sing about their love. • And then there's basically a reprise of "Save the City," with the Starkettes and the whole cast closing the finale out.

Right out of the gate, let's address this: the main reason you're going to see some fans pissed about this musical is not only that Steve and Peggy's ~epic romance~ is made a pillar of the story... but also that Bucky's importance/involvement in Steve's life is minimized as much as possible.

And they took Bucky-related elements from canon and made them center more around Peggy instead.

• For some weird reason, Peggy is in the Stark Expo scene. When a soldier is hitting on the Starkettes ("hey sweetheart, I wanna dance!"), Steve tells the soldier to show the ladies some respect. The soldier grabs Steve and throws him down, and then Peggy swoops in to yell "Pick on someone your own size!" and punches the guy before walking away. So she's given Bucky's TFA line verbatim, and she is given the role he had of saving Steve from bullies. There is blatantly no reason they couldn't have had Bucky still serve that function and be truer to "history," because he briefly enters this scene in uniform less than a minute later to announce he's shipping out to the 107th – and then he spins off with a date on his arm. (We don't see Bucky on stage again until the full cast comes out for the finale!)

• After the Star-Spangled Man show, Peggy rushes in to talk to Steve. Steve is excited about his USO performance (???) but she urgently tells him to listen as she says that the 107th has been captured. Peggy apparently knows it's Bucky's division, and she knows Steve is going to go, so she tells him that she's already arranged transport for him. This is a subtle twist from the truth of how it went down in TFA, in which Steve recognized 107 as the number of Bucky's division, and his dogged determination inspired Peggy to relent and help his rescue mission. Here, Peggy is given a stronger role in the Cap origin story. And before Steve rushes off, Peggy sings a short untitled ballad hoping for their dance, so Steve pauses before he leaves to ask her to go on a date with her when he returns. • The most egregious Bucky-to-Peggy change of all is the song "End of the Line," in which the infamous Steve and Bucky line/promise (that broke Bucky's brainwashing...) is re-contextualized to be about ???? Peggy waiting for Steve in the past??? Old Man Steve and regular Steve sing it together. But we'll go back to that in a minute.

Again, I get it, yeah? It's for theater. Whatever. But in reality, the obvious logical truth is that Peggy is centered (to the point of taking elements from Bucky's story, and in turn Bucky is downplayed) because they needed to convince the audience that Steve going back in time to be with her makes sense. Steve's time travel ending had to be justified, so the Peggy and Steve "love story" had to be a pillar in this with everything else being given lesser weight.

And the inherent selfishness of him doing something as big as going back in time also had to be justified... which is why they do their best to convince you Steve fought so much he deserved it.

Let me elaborate on that by describing the lead-up to the "End of the Line" song.

So, right before "End of the Line" is "Save the City" – which includes Steve belting "I can do this all day!" repeatedly, of course. It's the 2012 Battle of New York as the Avengers come together to win.

As they begin to disperse, the song then transitions to a voiceover alert mentioning Sokovia being under attack by artificial intelligence (a.k.a. Age of Ultron). The Avengers group rushes back to center stage to say "Save the city! Help us win!" together for battle again.

And then things get fucking weird.

Because the next voiceover threat is "Washington DC. Attack: the Winter Soldier." This is not accurate to the order of events! The Winter Soldier events were before Age of Ultron; the public of the MCU would also know this.

And suddenly on stage Steve is now in the center while everyone else gestures to him. Instead of singing with him, they're telling him "Save the city! Help us win!"

Then, another voiceover: "Wakanda, under attack" (Infinity War) and again, Steve is centered while everyone else points to him. The ensemble says, "Save the city, help us win! Save us all from the state we're in! Got to hear you, got to hear you, got to hear you say..." as Steve is buckling to his knees under their pointing. And as the lights go down to one spotlight on him and everyone else leaves, he says "I can do this all day" one last time, but now it's subdued.

The implication is that Steve has been fighting and fighting, people leave him or he loses them, and he's tired.

And then fucking Old Man Steve arrives.

He says "On your left," because yes, they gave him Sam Wilson's line. BATSHIT.

So now there's two Steves on stage! There has been no mention of Thanos or infinity stones or anything up to this point! (I can only assume that's because in the MCU universe no one would want to be reminded of the trauma of "the Blip" – though it's pretty wild that they're allowed to know about magical time travel?)

Steve is baffled by Old Man Steve's arrival. I, too, was baffled by Old Man Steve's arrival.

As Steve questions how this is possible, Old Man Steve shows him the time stone from his pocket – and only the time stone – which Steve recognizes.

OLD MAN: "You've got to remember where you've been to know where you're going." STEVE: "Where am I going?" OLD MAN: "A date with destiny." STEVE: “Destiny. So we’re the hero till the end?” OLD MAN: “That’s the thing about endings, Steven. They can be rewritten.”

Lmao???????

Steve starts singing about how he hopes this means they "win" and calls himself a "tired hero."

STEVE: "But sometimes I wonder, who will save the savior? Can we really do this all day? So here I am, now and also then. Just a man, looking back at where he's been." OLD MAN: "The road is rough but wounds are healed by a thing called time. You can't forget what's waiting at the end of the line."

Me, watching this: the fact that he says this out of the blue makes absolutely no sense.

There's a bit more singing, including "end of the line" repetition, and then Old Man Steve pulls out the time stone to essentially show visions of... I don't fucking know. Past, present, and future?

That's pre-serum Steve, Steve with Mjolnir, and Sam Wilson as the new Cap. This is the only reference to Sam in the whole thing.

More singing, and then: Peggy's silhouette.

OLD MAN: "Can't forget who's waiting..." STEVE: "I can't forget who's waiting..." BOTH: "Don't forget who's waiting..." STEVE: "At the end of the line."

At this point I'm like, what in the hell?

Did Old Man Steve just brainwash normal Steve into thinking "end of the line" is now about Peggy? Because uhhhh, sorry, that's what it feels like!

Then Steve uses the stone to go back in time, reunites with Peggy, etc. etc. finale.

It's truly some crazy shit.

[drags hands down face]

Look... there's a lot to unpack here, and there's a lot that gets me about it. I know this is dramatized for the stage! I KNOW! But the fact that Old Man Steve shows up to convince Steve he should go back in time makes me want to gnaw on furniture.

Another person essentially uses the lure of a life with Peggy to tempt Steve into doing this, dramatized or not. That is how it's framed.

It's a hell of a way to frame it, and it makes Steve's ending stand in even starker contrast to so many other things in phase 4. Desperately trying to go backwards when you shouldn't or to bring back a lost lover is an evil temptation, and it results in a trap or negative cosmic consequences for basically all of the other characters in the MCU.

• In Shang-Chi, Wenwu is tempted by the Soul Eaters beyond the Dark Gate. They use the voice of his deceased wife to convince him to set them free. • In "What If" episode 4, Doctor Strange becomes evil in a desperate bid to save Christine and he destroys his universe. Along the way, he tries to tempt/trap the good Strange who's fighting him by using visions of Christine, but good Strange knows she isn't real. • Wanda's grief and desire to bring back Vision leads to – well, you know. • In No Way Home, Peter trying to undo things is what causes the multiverse problems.

And the fact that they frame it as Steve being tired, so basically the argument is he deserves that time travel ending (just like MCU fans who defend Endgame say in real life)... Well.

There's no way to make it hold up, especially because in "What If" they explicitly subverted that and had Captain Carter not go back in time despite how she felt she'd "earned" it.

Lastly, in this musical as Steve decides to pursue time travel as his course of action, he basically has the meaning or memory of "end of the line" rewritten for him. I refuse to not think that is some nefarious shit. Yes, it's not out of the realm of possibility that it's just some general Disney erasing Steve and Bucky nonsense.

But... this is on another level to me. I do think that it's a blatant choice that they had to be aware even general MCU fans would call bullshit on. Everyone knows it's inaccurate. "End of the line" is embedded in pop culture consciousness as being connected to Bucky. It just is! Surely that means it's not a stretch to theorize it could be deliberate meta commentary.

How, in the MCU world, would the in-universe playwrights even know the phrase "end of the line"? How the fuck would it be accidentally applied to Steve and Peggy? Not to sound like a crazy person, but who the fuck was rooting around in Steve and/or Bucky's personal business or their brains in order to obtain that knowledge and then remix it, and why? Neither of them would flippantly mention it in the public eye or interviews ever. So where did its inclusion come from?

And in the finale ensemble, this is Bucky's line when he comes out on stage and salutes + points to Steve: "Don't forget who's waiting..." And Old Man Steve completes it with "...at the end of the line."

What on God's green earth am I meant to do with THAT?

Smh.

The vibes are fucked, folks.

The MCU public wouldn't know enough to say the vibes are fucked. The MCU public wouldn't know the origin of "end of the line" as a phrase. But us? The ones who know the "true story" via the movies? We can call bullshit.

Whether the creative team behind this musical did every aspect of this consciously or not, in my opinion the fact that they had to tweak canon "history" to A) make Peggy's involvement in Steve's life more central and B) emphasize Steve as a tired hero all works as commentary on and almost a condemnation of Endgame's frustrating ending. In a way, it's also what Endgame did with the compass and 1973 moment with Peggy as well.

Steve's ending had to be convincing.

It's theater.

And so, maybe the same is true for the in-narrative perspective of this musical in the context of the MCU world. What purpose would it serve to tell the MCU public a feel-good narrative about how all Steve Rogers wanted was to no longer be a tragic man out of time and get to make a life with his best girl? To frame it as being about how he fought so hard for years and so he earned a happy ending? To minimize and nearly erase Bucky's importance in his life?

Who would want to do that sort of propaganda, and why?

The MCU civilians are given this happy explanation and maybe don't widely question it. Who cares about the details or logistics if it makes a good story, I guess. It's a stretch, but maybe they mostly applaud it. Maybe they're happy for "America's favorite son" (not unlike people who uncritically liked Endgame). In a way, it's even a rehabilitation of his image (after the Accords) like putting the shield on the Statue of Liberty. And maybe they'd even be ready and waiting to applaud if Steve ever made a dramatically selfless and de-aged return to the spotlight or a position of authority.

But mostly, the public is being conditioned to not know or to forget that anyone else like Bucky Barnes or Sam Wilson would possibly know Steve Rogers the person well enough in the modern day to call bullshit on any of this – or on his hypothetical miraculous future return.

So. Sure, it's probably nothing.

But what if it's not?

-------

UPDATE: @faeriecap added to this post with some incredible information and further behind-the-scenes context about the MCU/Marvel stuff at Disney parks! Check it out here :)

#rogers the musical #rogers: the musical #steve rogers #captain america #captain america meta #marvel meta #imposter steve #anti-endgame #peggy carter #stevebucky #mcu #marvel #stucky #anti-endgame steve #char writes things #me: is anyone else going to write about this being propaganda? no? fine I'll do it myself #I should not be posting it after midnight but I don't want to be tempted to fucking look at it again tomorrow. be gone you monster

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lopposting · 2 months

Text

Some more Lies of P translation notes!

Some cool translation details that I thought were fun that didn't fit anywhere else.

[long!]

[Spoilers]

In the Korean version, Geppetto is speaking an "old-fashioned"/archaic form of Korean to reflect the time period that the game is set in

Set around the turn of the century (late 1800s), mimicking the Belle Époque of France's industrial revolution, we can guess that the game's events take place during the late 1800s. Given Geppetto's status as "old geezer", we can guess that he's closer to 100 than not, so he would have been born around the early 1800s. I might not be completely accurate - basically, he's speaking as an elderly person might speak in current time to culturally reflect his age; other times I notice he's using some words that are now out of use.

From the game's initial trailer:

깨어나거라, 아들아. 이제 이 아비를 기쁘게 해다오. Wake up, son. Make this father happy/proud.

The word he uses for "father" is "Abi" (아비), which is an archaic word for "father". In current day, korean speakers would generally use "Abeoji" (아버지).

The -gura(거라)/-DaOh(다오) conjugation is also an additional syllable that has since fallen out of use, or is considered archaic, in current korean:

아들아, 네 심장을 다오. Son, give me your heart.

하지만 알아 다오, 나는 너도 사랑했단다. But know this, I loved you too. English VA version: In my own way, I grew to love you.

This is also apparent in Geppetto's final letter at the end:

우릴 방해할 자는 이제 없을 거란다. 너를 위한 크라트를 다시 만들어주마. (-juma, Supposedly, only a "superior" speaker can use -juma) 그때까지 호텔에 조심해서 머물러 다오. 너를 누구보다도 아끼는 아버지가.

He also uses the -Oh ending again. (although he does call himself "Abeoji" 아버지 here and not "abi" like the trailer. He uses "Abi" again in another instance when responding to a guesture)

It's a very cool detail to me. I think it's a bit missed opportunity that, as far as I know, the english version doesn't seem to reflect this! Although to be fair, I'm struggling to imagine how they would. 19th century english/french maybe isn't as different or isn't different in the same ways from "modern" english that 19th century Korean would be from "modern" Korean. [Well, my only education on this stuff is from watching episodes of Dae Jang Geum]. I haven't checked to see if any other character (like Antonia) speaks this way. [Pls message me if Geppetto also speaks like this in your or any other language version!!]

Lies of P, Blood, puns, and the P-Organ

The P-Organ, in Korean, is referred to as the P기관. 기관 (gi-gwan), however, doesn't necessarily correlate directly to the word "Organ": It's quite an interesting word to choose because it can refer to any system of moving parts, both organic or mechanical; and it can mean an organ, a machine, or even a governmental body or institute.

As you may have heard by now, the game's titular pun revolves around the fact that the english character for P sounds the word for "blood" in korean (피), making the title (P의 거짓 P-ie Geojit?) read like Lies of Blood, in a nutshell. The title Lies of Blood then fits into the becoming-real flesh-and-blood themes of the game, perhaps also suggests that the deception in Krat has cost the lives of many - and, of course, references the lying of the titular character, who is inferred to be none other than (P)inocchio! So, in Korean, the P-Organ (P기관) becomes something like the Blood Engine. Which rather sounds like a euphemism for a heart!

[Perhaps: It's also a bit of narrative that Geppetto refuses to refer to it as our heart, unless he refers to it as belonging to Carlo.]

In English, this wordplay no longer exists, and so it's rather awkwardly literally translated (as the P-Organ).

How do you say, "NEOWIZ"?

I've seen a few people ask about the pronunciation of NEOWIZ (Lies' publishing company). Hangul is phonetic, so you could (technically) say the official pronunciation of NEOWIZ (네오위즈) is Nae-Oh Wiz and not Neo (like the Matrix character) -wiz.

However [in my opinion], I don't think this matters, because when something is translated to another language, it often takes the pronunciation of the language it is read in. Kind of like how in english you would read the capital of France correctly as Paris (with an S sound at the end), and not "Pari" (french pronunciation).

Also, Krat is consistently pronounced by in-game characters as "Krot" (Long O, rhymes with "Cot" or "Not") in the english version. In the game korean releases, "Krat" is written as 크라트, which would be pronounced and read as "Krat" (short A, rhymes with "Rat" or "Cat").

[I think the devs also say "Krat" too. The rounder "O" pronunciation of "A" in words seem like more of a European pronunciation in general]

The "Youngest of the Black Rabbit Brotherhood" and Gender

In Korean culture, Age is particularly significant in both Korean social hierarchy and language, and the role/position of being the youngest in a group is a particular role known as being the "maknae" (I mean, I definitely think this also exists in the western world, people definitely would understand being the "youngest" one in your family, but it's slightly different from that).

Despite being a member of the brotherhood, she refers to her brothers as "Oppa", which is when the word "brother" is used by female speakers to an older male subject (Remember Gangnam style?) [A male speaker would use "Hyung". I debated putting this one in, because to me, it seemed kind of obvious, but I did see others asking about this.]

[Given that the developers are from a korean studio, I am choosing to believe that the subtitles provided by the game's "korean" version are the text/script as originally written intended by the developers!]

#lies of p #liesofp #lop #thanks for reading #I hope ppl enjoyed #im not sure how interesting this is to other ppl!! but its neato to me #translation #translations #localization #korean #spoilers #lies of p spoilers #p machine p engine p system... all of it sounds worse lol #neowiz #also... maybe geppetto being the only one speaking in that archaic way shows that he is stuck in the past? idk

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jigujellee · 9 months

Text

NEWJEANS AS JEALOUS GFS HEADCANNONS

a/n: just a fun lil attempt at hcs since i rarely do them,, to whoever requested this, i hope u enjoy my attempt 🥹 i'm sorry if they're not accurate jaldfadlfljdf

a/n 2: pics are not mine!! links to layouts used are listed below w respected @ <33

MINJI (pic/layout creds courtesy of @k1sseo)

so bro™️

i think when minji gets jealous she’s just quiet

and she could get a little snarky sometimes, but just a smidge

minji didn’t expect to come home to you and hyein laughing your asses off at some random tiktok you were showing her

for some reason she was very bothered by it even tho you guys were naturally close

you kinda took awhile to notice her standing there but you once you did, you were quick to wrap your arms around her

she’ll play it off and act normal but she’s def quiet and i think she’d look like she’s deep in thought about something

so when you ask her to do something with you, that’s when light bulbs go off

“hey wanna go grab lunch later” “idk why don’t you go with hyein instead”

then you drag her to lunch anyway and endlessly tease her for being jealous in the first place

you also tease her ab the fact that she got jealous over the YOUNGEST member 😭 like ma’am, you think we’re gonna catch a case????

“i didn’t press you for the jealous type bro” “just shut up and eat”

HANNI (pic/layout creds courtesy of @winuary)

every time i see/think of this girl she’s always smiling

so i think when she gets jealous she’ll still be smiling but like it’s def forced and looks fake

or if she’s not smiling then she 100% looks like this from that one live they did

either way that shit makes her stomach feel weird deep down

she’ll watch you and minji just monitoring your dance practice but you guys are just way too close together and minji’s shoulders brush against yours and-

“hanni, you okay? you’ve been zoning out for a while” and she just smiles again and plays it off

you knew something was up so when you’re back at the dorms that’s when you ask her and she shyly admits that seeing you that close w minji made her feel uneasy

you kiss her forehead softly and tell her she has nothing to worry about before pulling her into bed and cuddling w her for the entire night (even if ur arm goes incredibly numb cuz girlie does not move an inch away from u)

DANIELLE (pic/layout creds courtesy of @i04rei)

dani wears her heart on her sleeve she’s adorable

so yk she’s jealous right away

you and hanni just came back from the mall and you are literally so happy

dani loves it when ur happy!! but it also makes her kind of sad that she’s not the one making u laugh and smile like that :(

she’s pouting while on her phone and u immediately take notice

“are u watching sad edits of cats again?” “naURRRR”

“you just seem awfully happy when you’re w hanni” “well yes bc shes my friend” more pouting and ur just trying not to melt at how cute she is

“how about we go to our fav cafe tmrw after our sched and then we can go watch the barbie movie after?” “but you don’t like barbie” “i don’t like a lot of things but if you like them, then i’d be more than happy to do them with you”

she just melts and forgets all ab what happened earlier

ft. hanni minji and hyein in the background trying not to gag out loud

HAERIN (pic/layout creds courtesy of @venitly)

radio silence.

she’s already naturally quiet as is and she def does not speak her emotions compared to the others

so it takes you a little longer to figure out when she’s jealous vs the other members

after finishing a movie w danielle, she just blankly watches the two of you have deep conversations ab it

and honestly you confuse her jealous silence for her normal silence at first

but you start realizing the difference when she’s less affectionate with you (bc behind closed doors i think haerin is so affectionate like she deadass wont let go of you and is so touchy, needs to be holding you or be in close proximity w you)

“haerin, are you okay?” and she just nods. girl pls give us something to work with

she never really openly admits that she was jealous of you and dani but ur smart genius self put two and two together and connected the dots when u saw she was quiet around dani too but not the others

but bc she never outwardly said it, you don’t outwardly tell her not to worry or not to be jealous. instead you spend more time w her and getting her her fav snacks and whatnot and she appreciates it so much

haerin likes how you don’t need to be told when something bothers her, and when you figure it out, you always knew how to make her feel better without words

actions do speak louder than words and haerin knows how true that is with you

HYEIN (pic/layout creds courtesy of @v-ico)

i’m gonna go for a platonic type of jealousy for hyein

she wanted to show u a new app she downloaded but u told her u were busy learning the new choreo from haerin

and she just whines

not like an annoying child throwing a tantrum kinda whine but just in a “why do u alw have sumn better to do” typa way

when u finish w haerin ur quick to go back to the dorms to see hyein napping

and u lowk feel bad bc all she wanted to do was show u sumn

u decide to let her sleep but ur idiot self banged ur hand on her door while trying to close it and now u feel bad even more bc she woke up

“you’re back alr unnie?” “yeah i came here quickly so you could show me the app”

hyein is super excited even tho she jus woke up, and shes reaching for her phone and is tapping thru w such speed

you both spend hours on the app (i keep saying the app bc idk what kinda app it would be 💀 im thinking either a game or a photo filter app idk) before ur both scolded by minji for being on the phone all day

it’s literally giving when ur little sibling just wants to show u sumn cool but ur too busy and u feel bad

#newjeans #nwjns #newjeans imagines #newjeans scenarios #newjeans headcannons #newjeans hcs #newjeans minji #newjeans hanni #newjeans danielle #newjeans haerin #newjeans hyein #newjeans x reader #kpop headcanons #jigujellee

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pro-mammonologist · 11 months

Note

I've got some headcanons!

Even though Mammon's far from a virgin by the time he and MC get together, he doesn't last very long the first few times they have sex because he's so excited to be with them.

As a dom, I think Mammon would lean more towards being fun and caring than a Hard Strict Daddy Dom™️. He can be firm, but he doesn't want to come across as harsh, and the idea of giving them an Actual Punishment leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He's got a long history of being punished. He also won't be very comfortable with degrading MC. He'll call them stuff like "my slut," but anything relating to their worth or intelligence is a hard limit for him.

Degradation is a hard limit for him as a sub, too. He'll let MC tie him up if they want, under the condition that they don't leave the room until after he's been untied. He's into impact play (specifically caning), electrostimulation, and wax/temperature play. Probably (definitely) more but that's what my mind is fixated on rn lol

He's 100000% got a praise kink (big shocker, I know). If he's subbing, he needs plenty of praise throughout aftercare. If he's domming, he still needs some praise - but that's got more to do with reassuring him that he did well and didn't hurt them, and can wait until the post-scene discussion

He loves giving and receiving overstimulation. He's greedy for his own pleasure as well as MC's. He likes to be edged - well, he likes the payoff - and could be talked into short-term chastity, but I couldn't see him being alright with anything longer than 24 hours (especially if there's a chastity device involved).

He *could*, in theory, edge MC. But he caves almost as soon as they start begging.

I have sooooo many more headcanons about Mammon as both a dom and a sub (and I'm more than happy to share) but I need to go to bed lol

Also, I love your blog! I'm so glad there's someone else who loves Mammon so much!

-- 🐦‍⬛ anon [this is my first time submitting an ask - is this nickname taken?]

I am going to address all of these individually.

1. Yes. Accurate. And I feel like the demons have low expectations for humans sexual prowess since humans have a lower tolerance for everything and also the fact that since they are western demons, they likely have interacted with the western hemisphere the most and anyone who has take a history class can tell you it’s been puritan af up until the 60s.

Also to add on to that. He’s not as embarrassed by the fact that he’s cumming fast but due to the fact he’s cumming insanely fucking hard to the point he can’t do as many rounds.

2. He’s a cocky ass bastard when he doms. He can try to be hard but he’s the kind to immediately melt after Mc does something too cute. He’s mostly cocky and teasy and praisey. And also he’s nervous about degradation too. The only way he’d do it is if you gave him very detailed and precise instructions or if he was like in a random context “damn you’re a real slut for some bacon” and then he gets scared that he offended you but you’re like “I’m a slut for you mammon.” And then he’s just shook to his core.

3. Yeah for real, he’ll be your slut and that’s about it. Mammon won’t do anything to Mc he wouldn’t want done to him. Bondage kinda pisses him off in my opinion like— he’d be for it but then he’d be like 😡😡😡 “let me out I’m losing it” and not in a cute pathetic way but in a damn whys he look so pissed?

Electro. Yes. Wax. Yes. Temperature. Yes. But I gotta know why you think he likes caning I cannot see him liking pain toys that much. I can see the sensational side of his masochism but like something real hard??? Nah he’s a baby. I just can’t see it.

4. Yeah there’s no discussion there. I think people are weird if they don’t have a praise kink. For mammon he goes nuts for it tho.

5. Yes, he’s the greediest most eager bastard out there and I can see him always down for it too. If he’s not down for it, then he really really really needs to rest or relax and maybe sex shouldn’t have been on the table period. Mammon wouldn’t edge for long, he likes the idea, but the actual wait kills him. And yea, chastity might kill him too and he’d have some hard ass limits. I feel like he wouldn’t like a device at all. Shit I can’t even see him going past 24 minutes, let alone a whole day with a device. He likes pressure and pain but he doesn’t like having his greed suppressed that badly. Of course, who knows, if Mc begs he’d do anything.

6. Yeah…. He’d cave so hard. He’d push and push and push himself to edge Mc but fail after making them hold back 2 times.

Mammon also is (in my mind) the most shy about his kinks because he’d face bullying whether he’d dom or sub sooo. Him getting to admit everything would be so hard.

Also no, it’s not taken.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #mammon x mc #mammon #currently under mammons bed #mammon smut #obey me mammon x reader #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons

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trans-cuchulainn · 9 months

Note

you tend to write about irish mythology but at the same time you seem knowledgeable about other myths, so i was wondering if you could answer a question? my question is, would be offensive to create a version of arthurian myths but with most of the christian elements removed? christianity seems heavily baked into each and every arthurian story so i was wondering if it would be wrong, or outright offensive, to remove it?

i don't think it would be OFFENSIVE (christianity being a dominant religion so it's not like erasing a minority culture; the texts being literary rather than for religious purpose themselves means it's not like using canonical religious material – people share a belief system with the stories rather than believing in the stories themselves, barring probably a very few outliers; plus it's definitely been done before, tons of modern retellings don't engage with the christian aspects although frequently this is done in a boring way)

arthurian literature comprises a huge range of stories written over a huge time period for a variety of purposes. some of them are super duper christian. some of them are just kind of culturally christian because they're being written by christians within a christian context and that's what they know. some of them only have a light touch of it and some of them are dripping with it

i think whether it can be done effectively without leaving you with a story that no longer bears any resemblance to the story you started with depends very much on which stories you decide to retell. for example, a lot of the lancelot-grail stuff is extremely bound up in christianity and removing it without patching the holes is probably gonna weaken the story. now, you might want to reimagine them entirely within a new belief system. i would consider that to be patching the holes, as long as it's done carefully and effectively as with all worldbuilding. but just taking the story and excising the christian elements and not doing anything else is probably gonna undermine the story a lot

on the other hand there are other stories, particularly some of the romances (knights getting up to shenanigans in a self-contained story within an arthurian setting) where christianity is just the set dressing, and taking it out isn't going to leave such massive gaps; these would be easier to rework in a new context without needing to develop an entire belief system for the characters to be operating within. although tbh the whole of chivalric literature does rely on some pretty specific assumptions about hierarchies, loyalty, obligations, righteousness etc that are often bound up in, though not synonymous with, medieval christianity, so even there you do need to think about what is going to replace it

i would say if you're trying to keep a medieval western european setting, you can't really take the christianity out (of the setting, and really of the characters too in 90% of cases) without making it completely ahistorical. so it also depends if you're trying to retell it as in "i am reworking this story in a world and context of my choosing" (sure, do whatever you want) versus "I am producing a version of this text to introduce people to this story" (taking the christianity out makes it far less accurate and misrepresents the text, maybe don't do that)

i would also say that medieval christianity is much more exciting and weirder and often very different from modern christianity, and a lot of modern engagement with those aspects overlooks this fact and makes it boring and staid. but actually a lot of it's batshit and adds some fun colour to the stories in a way that can be enjoyable regardless of your personal beliefs about any of it. taking it out as many modern retelling seem to do often just makes the story more boring, so something interesting needs to fill the holes imo

so tl;dr. morally wrong, no, not in my opinion. narratively wrong, depends on the story and your purposes.

#arthurian #answered #anonymous

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be-my-ally · 10 months

Text

The Lisa-Marie

Big Bunny + The Return Flight (in case you want to catch up!)

Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism (public rehearsal, but no-one else is watching/or sees), elvis is a panty thief for no reason other than it’s now totally canon in my head that he continually stole knickers, fingering, mentions of drug use + abuse, oral (v receiving, p mentioned), jealousy, p in v sex, the briefest mention of a gun threat, references to elvis’ ill health. this is somehow the least-bunny fun + plottiest, while also the smuttiest so uhhh enjoy the angst at the end?

Director Elvis is linked where the scene goes in the middle of this, however there have been some minor adjustments to the opening + closing paragraphs to make it fit *just right* and so they’ve been inserted here.

wc: 12k

Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:

I went waaaay too far into attempting to make the timeline totally accurate; to the extent that I was noting down what city each night when i wasn’t even referencing them but honestly it was stressing me out so much that I gave up and removed a lot of the references - so this is *mostly* accurate in the general tour dates and vibes but not entirely because … this isn’t a biography, it’s smut with a lil teeny weeny bit of plot.

Confession time! I was and am super unhappy with The Return Flight, there was so much in it that I was excited to share but I think my writing is off and I’m not super sure why, which affected my motivation for this A LOT so apologies for the fact this took a literal months. But hopefully you’ll all think it was worth it! And hopefully a lesser wait for the fourth and final part.

Anyway, I might return Elvis onto the Big Bunny plane for a little spin-off fun but for now, enjoy bunny still being referred to as Bunny even though, by half-way through this, she is no longer a bunny.

October 1974.

You’re awake before him, gently shaking his shoulder as he groaned into the fur comforter that he didn’t want to wake up yet. He eventually shoves you hard enough that you decide it’s probably safer just to leave him as he is, pulling yourself together and redressing instead - he’s still got his eyes closed when you slip out. Ten minutes later you get a note passed to you with details about where to meet them for the pre-show rehearsal but you don’t actually get the chance to see him again, too distracted with dealing with all the matters of the disembarkation and cleaning. After you’re done you change as quickly as you possibly can, ignoring the questions from the other girls about where you’re going - practically sprinting to catch a cab.

He’s already on the stage when you walk in, pacing about - blocking the show as best they can in preparation to allow for the lights crew to have some idea of where he might be at any moment. He looks marvellous - absolutely gorgeous, his hair back but essentially left to do what it likes, all fluffy and soft looking. Eyes bright underneath his tinted glasses. He’s dressed in a white shirt, cuffs like a pirate, damp see-through sweat patches evident when he raises his arms, filigree studded belt, huge against his stomach, blue stones glinting in the lights. You feel your mouth water and tummy start to flip just at the sight of him. He smiles when he sees you, with your tiny little halter dress on, chilly in the cold air of the auditorium at the venue. The breeze causes you to wrap an arm around yourself a little self-consciously as he waves you closer to the stage. You're practically leaning on the edge when he kneels down in front of you and you get a sudden flash of what it must feel like to be a girl at his concert. Someone who hadn't had the luxury of falling asleep beside him, or the feel of his palms against theirs. The feeling of being forced to look up at him, his head backlit by the lights, a halo like he's the goddamn messiah. That feeling of desperately pining for a single moment of his attention.

“Ah-ha! lil Bun-Bun! C’mon up here,” He puts an arm down before retracting it, looking you over more carefully, a note of stern shock in his tone,

“Good lord! That might be more r’vealing than your lil bunny get-up. Uh - here!” He gropes around the floor for his jacket before he thrusts it at you, and you look at it with amusement, it’s a rainbow. Rainbow fringe. It’s truly one of the most preposterous things you’ve ever seen in your life. He grumbles as he holds it out,

“Don’t need every man in here to be starin’ at you. Got work to do - don’t need ‘em bein’ distracted.” You don’t think you’re particularly scantily clad, you’re certainly showing a fair amount of leg but you’re far more covered up than Playboy enterprises would like you to be had you been on shift. But still, it was chilly, so you shrug it on gratefully. The soft leather caresses your arms, encasing you in his thick scent, it’s heavy on your shoulders and big enough that the fringe tassel tickles your thigh.

“Uh Hi, Where-“ You wonder if you should even ask, “Where’d this come from?” You shake your arms out, making the fringe dance.

“Oh - it was a gift,” He grins at you, lips all crooked in his sheer delight, “You like it?” He clearly loves it. So you lean into the absurdity and realise that what you’re about to say wasn’t even really a lie.

“Uh. You know what, yeah I do,” You giggle as you shimmy a little making the strands swing. “I love it.” He looks at you fondly before he leans over the edge of the stage, tugging you up with a grunt.

“Glad you could make it doll, been waiting for you.” You smile back at him, pleased as anything that he’s laying on the charm but that underneath you can still sense the sincerity in his voice.

“Thank you for inviting me.” He pulls you close to him and you brace yourself with a hand on his belt, feeling the weight of the buckle against your fingertips. He reaches down to grasp your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss against it. It’s intimate and gentlemanly and you feel like you’re in a period drama, feeling your chest heave as your breath catches in your throat at the movement, and you’re helpless to do anything but gaze into his eyes. You glance down, eyes catching on the wide white band on his wrist, just above his diamond encrusted ‘Elvis’ bracelet.

You stroke his wrist gently before looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. He kicks his foot out to show you that beneath his gently flaring trousers there’s a matching white band on each of his ankles.

“It, uh, it mimics the weight of the ‘suit, gets me used to it for the performing.” He flicks a wrist, “And, uh, gotta try and get some of this weight off.” He pats his stomach, gripping the side harshly, “No-one wants to see a big doughy ol’ Elvis.” He shakes his wrists at you, and you’re mortified at the fact that it makes you squeeze your thighs, drool pooling in your mouth forcing you to swallow hard. Something about the way the rings on his fingers glint under the stage lights, the way the buckle makes the tiniest little metallic clang, feels akin to being shown a hidden sliver of skin. Makes you think all sorts of things. Of the weight of them around his wrists, of the possibility of them around yours, weighing you down, wrapped around your ankles too, making you heavy and pliable. Or his belt around your middle, the huge buckle pinning you in whatever position he chose. You don’t realise how low your eyelids have slid at this line of thinking until he laughs,

“God - you got them dirty thoughts written all over your face Bunny, this is a respectable r’hearsal, don’t you go getting any ideas now.” He wags a finger at you, you feel like you’re being hypnotised watching it.

“Go on now - hop over there for me, sit yourself down, just watch the show baby.” He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as he catches your bare thigh, while he grips your upper arm and ‘helps’ to lower you down gently, almost missing his huff of laughter in response. You have to take a second after you're on the ground forcing a deep breath feeling your heartbeat between your thighs.

You take a seat where he’d pointed, content to try and settle down and watch him practice. It’s gorgeous to watch, he struts about the stage, breaking into gospel every now and again, making you smile at the clear little flashes of joy on his face. You’d considered if it was going to be boring, contemplated even bringing a magazine with you but now you were here you can’t imagine being able to concentrate on anything but him. Every now and again he cracks a joke, changing the lyrics to something dirty and tossing you a wink, laughing back at the boys who all join in like a pack of wild hyenas. It’s different to how he is in private, yet shockingly the same - there’s flashes of the insecurity you caught on the last flight, a quietness to him while he waits for a song to be set up or a wire to be fixed. But also an exaggerated boyishness to him, playing the jester for men who don’t seem to be aware he’s putting it on.

He calls a break after you’ve been there about an hour, and he slides himself off the stage to walk over to you. You were going to try and play it cool but you can’t stop yourself from gushing at him;

“You sound wonderful. I can’t wait to see the show tonight.” He smiles, a little bashfully,

“Yeah? I can see you wigglin’ your yittle hips from all the way over there,” He narrows his eyes at you, crinkles forming as his high cheekbones move, “ ‘just wonderful’, ‘s that all I am?”

“Well you’re not - ” You squirm a little under his line of questioning and consistent stare, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in his jacket, “- not bad to look at. You’re so different out here than on the plane.”

“In a good way?” You hum back a non-committal noise and though his brow wrinkles a little he lets it go. Instead leaning back on the chair in front of you, feet crossing between your legs. He folds his arms across his chest, your eyes track the bands on his wrists again and when you look up he’s smirking at you watching him. You can’t take it any longer and his smile grows wider watching you shrug his jacket back off, letting it hang over the back of the chair, fringe tickling your arms as it falls,

“Let’s make this more interesting for you huh, must be boring having to wait for all this - ‘n I can see you’re all fired up for me doll.” You look around, but he’s blocking your view forcing you to focus on him even more, as if he wasn’t already the only thing you could see.

“Oh no, it’s plenty fascinating enough El honestly,” He shakes his head, magnanimously as if he’s doing you a favour,

“No, no, must be boring for an exciting lil girl like you.” He taps his chin almost pantomime-esque in its overdramatic nature.

“Hmm… what shall we do to keep it entertaining.” You squirm silently begging him to stop drawing your attention to his wrists. He bends down, unstrapping the weights from his ankles,

“They’re gonna be a bit big on you. But still,” He kneels down, like he’s the prince and you’re Cinderella, tapping your foot to make you lift it up for him. He slips it onto your ankle, letting it fall down over the top of your foot as the weight drags it down. You wiggle your foot - it’s not particularly heavy, you could definitely still walk and run in them - as was probably their intended use. But they made you feel very … aware, made you notice whenever you wanted to move your leg. He grabs your right leg now, doing the same, placing it back down when he was finished, your legs wide. You glance down at him, realising that your dress was certainly too short for this. You try to close your legs but he stops you with a hand to your knee.

“No, no, darlin’, leave ‘em where they are. That’s gonna be your job ok baby? You’re gonna keep these yittle legs spread, and when you try to wiggle around again these-“ He taps one of the weights “ ‘ll remind you to keep still.” You hiss back at him,

“Elvis - someone’s gonna, you gotta get up - they’re all gonna think we’re up to no good, don’t want - I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” He grins up from between your legs, spreading them further. You cringe a little, feeling the air now brush against your uncovered underwear, feel your wetness start to drool onto the fabric despite the embarrassment.

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble ‘round here little one. ‘Member I’m in charge.” He takes a second to leer at you, and your thighs twitch at him staring straight up your skirt. Finally, he stands up, using your thighs for balance, clutching at them on his way up, you gasp at the firm grip. He leans down over you, one arm bracketed on the back of your chair, and the sudden scent of him, stronger than what was lingering on his jacket almost overpowers you - his cologne almost too much, like walking past a men’s locker room. He leans down to murmur in your ear, his other hand going down to brush against your hip, feeling through your dress for the waistband of your panties.

“C’mon Bunny slip ‘em off, let me have ‘em as a good luck charm. I haven’t got any of yours yet.” Your legs slip a little closer together and while he looks down and smirks he allows it,

“You got a collection?” You ask shocked, tilting your chin up at him, he grins back at you, boyishly and amused ignoring the question.

“C’mon! Hurry up, gotta get back to work in a second baby, want you all bare - so its nice and easy for you to slip a lil hand up there, want you to rub yerself every time you like what ‘m doin, ‘till you’re all silly with it. Okay doll?” He says it like its a totally sane request, and you have to wonder if he’s of completely sound mind. You glance around, double checking that the building is practically empty, and where there are people that they’re all preoccupied with the stage rather than glancing back at you sat in the middle of the row a few lines behind the mafia. You roll your eyes, heart going almost a little too fast, but still obediently lift your hips up to tug your panties down and off, they catch on the weight on the way down,

“No need to be shy doll, I’ve seen it all before.” He winks, as he bends down to pick them up, glancing straight up your skirt as he does. You flinch a little at the sight of them in his hand, if you’d known Elvis was gonna be taking them home you’d have put on something a little sexier, but you can’t imagine that any change could have made his face more gleeful, as he stares down at the wet spot on them before slipping them straight into his pocket.

“You ‘member what you’re meant to be doin’ now.” He whispers in your ear, pressing what would look like an otherwise fairly chaste kiss to your cheek, before sauntering back up to the stage.

You nervously fumble the hem of your dress, delicately sliding a hand up, trying not to noticeably flinch as your fingers brush over yourself. You wonder if it wouldn’t have made more sense to slip your arm down the side of the wide arm-hole of the dress, more subtle perhaps? But all you can hope is that the the way the chairs are placed in front of you obscures your actions should anyone look back. From anyone that wasn’t up high on the stage. You can practically feel his laser focus up your skirt, you’re far enough away that you’re sure he can’t see anything in detail, perhaps not even the way your slickness glistens against your skin, but just the gentle motion of your fingers teasing yourself. There’s a clang as the metal inside the cuff on your ankle knocks against the chair leg and you freeze, anxiously glancing around to check no one had heard. Elvis’ head had whirled around at the noise from where he’s been talking to someone at the side of the stage and you can see the way his face contorts into a knowing smirk.

You didn’t think you’d be into this level of wanton exhibitionism, but the sudden fear that had jumped through you had translated straight into excitement, and you could feel the pulse of arousal swirling with the butterflies in your stomach. You brush your fingers more confidently, rolling your hips with the motion, not even really aware of how much your body was moving, but simply going with it. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you rub a singular finger down your self, trying to build the anticipation, but you can’t resist moving your hand to play with your clit when your vision clears and you witness him moving about the stage - dancing, thrusting. He pauses while they reset something - the mic perhaps, or the lights, and you can feel the thrum of your climax growing; the fear of being spotted, the sheer desire for him, the feel of your feet firmly planted on the floor, weights holding them down, enough to bring you closer and closer.

He starts singing again but if someone had had a gun to your head though you wouldn’t have been able to tell them what, and as you start to move your fingers again you make eye contact with him, swallowing a moan as you watch him attempt to surreptitiously adjust himself. You should feel embarrassed, you think, but instead a sudden boldness creeps over you at the evidence of his undivided attention, and you instead spread your legs wider, your skirt riding into the little roll of your stomach, completely exposing yourself. You run your fingers against yourself, feeling them slip as you gather wetness and drag it up, reducing the friction on your clit when you finally let your finger brush over it again.

Elvis is stood still now, ostensibly staying put so they could manually hold the lights for him to sing a ballad, but in reality in the perfect position to watch you. You watch his face flush as he misses a note, watching you finally dip your finger into your practically dripping entrance. You’re made away of the weight on your feet when your legs try to jerk and your body compensates by crunching in on yourself a little. Making it startlingly obvious to anyone watching, hopefully just Elvis, what you’ve just done.

You let his voice wash over you, and your eyes close as you go to add a second finger, thumb moving to tease your clit with little circling touches. Your climax comes over you suddenly and unexpectedly, a slightly unplanned harder touch directly over your clitoris and the combination of your fingers curling inside yourself sending shockwaves down your spine and belly. You continue to touch yourself through it - dragging it out for a moment. Until you just know that if you push yourself any further you’re going to scream and you have to slow the pace, gently stroking yourself as you slowly come down from the high. Your head had fallen back and with a little effort you manage to bring it back around, shifting yourself upright as you do.

When you make eye contact he winks, mimics licking his fingers, and you look down at your own sticky pair, before following his mimed instruction. You meet his eyes again and watch him trail off mid-sentence as his chest heaves taking you in, squinting under his glasses to try and focus on your fingers leaving your mouth. You make sure for a second that you let your tongue peek out, watching him gulp in response. Before hastily rubbing your hand against your dress, thankful for the colourful pattern that hides all sin. He sets the microphone back onto its stand, slowly, deliberately. Then, he motions you to the stage, and when you make no attempt to move, fear shooting through you that you’re going to be leaving a wet patch behind, he makes the request vocal.

“C’mere Bunny, can’t see you all the way over there.” You rapidly close your legs, weights knocking against each other, and sit stock straight as several of the boy’s heads spin to look at you. Elvis breaks into song, “C’mon and be my little good luck charm.” While pointing to a spot in the front row. You swallow hard, trying to make your limbs cooperate again, but it just looks like pure defiance, and he’s frowning at you when you try to plead with your eyes.

His tone changes, “Ain’t gonna ask again honey,” You flinch as several other heads in front of you turn around to stare. You trip a little as you stand, forgetting about the extra weight on your ankles and when you look up Elvis’ smirking straight at you.

“Can take them off now baby, leave ‘em on the chair, someone’ll clean it up later.” He winks and you suck in a gasp as you do as he directed, the implication of someone having to clean up both the weights and the seat of the chair. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at the complete lack of secrecy, with your mind all muddled you don’t have the capacity to consider that the other people in the room wouldn’t understand the double entendre.

“There we are, right there Bunny,” He points at the same spot again and you gratefully stumble down there, collapsing into it. You can feel your cheeks blazing and you clasp your thighs together, trying to tell yourself to just watch Elvis and not pay any attention to how wet you still are, or the embarrassment of being ordered around in front of everyone.

You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know how those innocuous little white bands feel. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although shouting back at them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.

“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you -

“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling arms to yank you up with him, clearly overcompensating without the weight, causing you to stumble with the force of it. His arm comes around to steady your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear.

“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could, could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting.

(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)

But still, after some consideration you agree, and before long you’re relaxing on the bed with him, taking in the moments of quiet before he’s got to head out into the screaming crowds, performing for the pleasure of the girls and women. He’s magnificent in the flesh, masterful in his ability to command the ultimate attention of the audience. But still, as wonderful as it is to watch him, rhinestones glinting in the stage lights, you have to admit to yourself that you much preferred him in the somewhat faux intimacy of the rehearsal.

By the time you’re all filing up the steps to the plane once more it’s night again, looking forward to a short day-break for you all after the busy past couple of days. Elvis is exhausted, and though he’s gentle with you still you can tell he’s had enough. He wearily waves to the other girls, calling you over to ask for some food before disappearing. You push the cart into where he’s ensconced himself in the bedroom to discover him in the bathroom - door open, and you can’t help but take a peek. Your eyes catch on the little pill bottles lined up on the side, the man himself shaking seemingly every bottle possible into his palm until there was a little cocktail of medication contained in his hand. He takes them with a swig of water and jumps when he makes eye contact with you in the mirror.

“Jeez honey, make a noise next time.” His tone isn’t harsh, it’s not annoyed - but it is solid, serious. You frown, the floor was carpeted but the rickety wheels of the cart still made some noise.

“Oh, uh, sorry - didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh a little bit in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t respond. “Uh, I’ve got, there’s hamburgers, and sandwiches and uh-“ He’s wiping his hands on a hand towel when he comes out of the bathroom, throwing it back onto the floor behind him when they’re dry.

“S’ok Bunny, that’s good. Just-just leave it over here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a spot within arm’s reach. He’s in the tracksuit again, out of the jumpsuit from the show, out of the the sharp outfits you were now used to seeing him in. But he still looks appealing, if not moreso now. Soft, approachable and above all else - cuddly. He’s evidently exhausted, face pale after removing the stage makeup, and he shuffles back on the bed. He’s starting to slur his words a little as he reaches for a sandwich,

“Come. Come sit here baby… come sit here with me.” He pats the side of the bed next to him as he shuffles further up. You do so and he tucks a hand into the crease of your stomach and thigh, thumb brushing in circles, a gently squeezing grip.

“Here.” He holds out a sandwich for you and you take it gratefully, “Gotta…feed you up while I got the chance.” His head is starting to slip forward as his eyes fall closed. You pat his arm, leaning over to take the parchment out of his hand. He grips your wrist, forcing you to put your sandwich down too as he slides down the bed to lie down, tugging you into him.

“S’ok El, just, just close your eyes. You did so good today.” He hums, a little pleased noise like he’s somehow not used to being praised still. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping under and around you, pulling you tight to him.

“That’s it Bunny, that’s it, just - just gonna rest my eyes for a moment, doll. Be…be ready for action in a mo’ - just, ju-“ You shush him, his eyes were fluttering closed, arm clenching around you and you felt it relax a second later as he drops off into sleep.

There’s a few more flights scheduled, but they’re busy ones - short flights with barely enough time to get the men fed and watered, let alone enjoy any other kind of extracurricular activities - there’s a hasty blowjob and an attempt for the world’s quickest round of intercourse and that’s it.

There’s a break for a little while before he cancels the next flight on Big Bunny so you only see him once more, and that time he barely acknowledges you; exhausted from a show he locks himself in the bedroom and doesn’t appear until the plane is touching down. You wave goodbye to him, a little melancholy and hating yourself for wishing that he make some grand gesture to prove it had all meant something, instead he winks at you as he leaves down the steps, whispering a

“Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Bunny.” As he went.

That’s the last you hear from him. For little over six months you hear nothing else. You’re almost immediately thrust back into the reality of the normal world and you’re kept busy enough that he doesn’t pass through your mind too often.

Occasionally, when you see a tour announcement pop up in the tabloids, or from a fan-club membership that you totally didn’t take out in a pitiful attempt to keep up-to-date with his life, you wonder about him. About whether you were a bit of fun to flirt with, to tease, to sleep with for a couple of days - a distraction from the real life, like all the bunnies were intended to be, or if he’d meant any of what he’d said. The thing is, even if you were curious, you could never know - despite being so intimate, so close to him; had he lied? Did he help every girl through a panic attack with meditation? There no longer felt like six degrees of separation between you, no longer like you were travelling in similar circles, there now felt more like a hundred degrees; what were you supposed to do; ring the operator in Memphis and ask for Elvis’ number? Pull Hef aside on the next flight and ask him? Don’t be so ridiculous, so clingy you tell yourself, disgusted at your inability to let it go.

Time passes, as it does, and though you somehow feel like you can’t escape him, ultimately you have. Months have passed and you’re busy - being promised a promotion, training a couple of new girls and it means that you don’t get to go home for what feels like weeks.

You finally get back to your apartment, relieved to be there for at least a week, with a stack of mail waiting as tall as your arm. You take your time enjoying the peace and by the evening it feels like you can relax for the first time in a long while, glass of wine poured, comfortable little short pyjama set instead of the bunny-approved corset or dress. You’re just starting to open the first of what looks like several catalogues of clothes you’ll never get a chance to wear when the phone rings.

You glance over at the clock, surprised that anyone would be calling you at half eleven at night, when as far as you’re aware none of your friends or family even know you’re home yet. You consider not answering, too content with your night, but it rings insistently so you drag the handset closer, accepting the call.

“Fuckin’ finally,” You’re immediately taken aback by the annoyed exasperation of the voice on the other end of the line,

“Where’ve you been?” You start to protest, to question who on earth is questioning you and explain that you’ve been working but the voice doesn’t give you the chance.

“Listen, Boss’ got a new plane, he’s uh, calling it the Lisa-Marie,” he shouts to someone on his end, “I don’t know man, thought it would sweeten the deal if she knew he’d already named it! Like - ain’t that what you’re supposed to do if you’re negotiatin’ - let ‘em know you have a name?” Right. So, Elvis. Someone is calling about Elvis’ plane. You’re trying to comprehend that when he continues,

“Sorry. Anyway, he wants you on it. He won’t hear otherwise.” He pauses, “Permanently. On call whenever and wherever he needs to fly,” As if he can sense this isn’t the most attractive prospect, “but you’ll uh, all expenses paid for, apartment in Memphis, the whole shebang, you’ll be well taken care of.” You take a second to process that,

“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say - do, do you need to know right away?” He chuckles down the phone at you,

“Well - uh, no, but, he’s goin’ on tour soon and we need the flights staffed by then so….” He trails off, and you know from your limited experience with Elvis and his methods that this means, actually yes, we do need to know right now, and we’re not actually giving you a choice. You take a deep breath, still confused as to why you’re getting this call out of the blue, thinking that you’re going to regret it if you do, regret it if you don’t.

“Oh, uh, ok fine - look I’ll be at one of the offices tomorrow; I’ll give you a call and you can fax me over the information for the dates and things?”

“No need, we need you by July.” You pause, that’s… barely a month away,

“Ok, I’ve got a three week notice period though, I can’t just -”

“We’ll take care of it with Hugh direct.” You laugh incredulously - is that how they think it works?

“Hugh Hefner isn’t my boss - how high up do you think I am? I’m a jet bunny for god's sake.” There’s silence on the other end of the line as if they'd expected you to feel cowed, or awed by their famous friend. You can hear them whispering before the voice returns, just as confident as before;

“Well, we’ll take care of it.” You frown but you’re not sure what else to do but agree - at least this way of something falls through you can claim you had no clue about any of this.

“Ok, but you’ll have to ask for Ellen at the office and I’ve got a notice of -“ You’re cut off by him,

“We’ll make it happen.” Well, you couldn’t say more than what you’d said - you’ll just have to hope they do enough that it all gets sorted somehow, and without totally burning all your bridges.

“Right, well then, -”

“Tickets for your flight on the 26th June to Memphis will be waiting at the airport. Someone’ll pick you up there.”

“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -”

“Thanks again, you’re a doll, bye!” The phone hangs up and you’re left holding the receiver wondering what on earth you’ve just agreed to.

——

It turns out you’ve agreed to a stewardess job pretty similar to any other. You’ve got a cute new little uniform, and it was indeed little, sleeveless and hem skimming the middle of your thighs but Elvis had indeed fulfilled his promise - it was stretchy. With a scarf around your neck and tall boots it almost didn’t feel much different to your bunny outfits. In fact it all would have felt quite similar if it weren’t for the sudden increase in responsibility you were facing. There was another girl who worked on board here and there, but whether as a cost-saving measure (although you couldn’t fathom the necessity considering the gold sinks on the plane) or simply the knowledge that one stewardess and the pilots were enough for a plane of this size you weren’t often put on the plane together. It meant that you were often working alone and solely responsible for the cabin. It was certainly an adjustment, you’d been safety trained before - of course - but you’d never really had to use it; the focus of your jet bunny role had pretty much been to cater to the whims of the people on board. Like a Barbie doll you’d had too many jobs to count, and the responsibility to look good while doing so. On the plane you’d had to be waitresses, dancers, chefs and bartenders but less so a safety officer.

And it’s so strange, you’d not been expecting much but you had been anticipating at least an acknowledgement, or something? But instead on the first flight Elvis collapses in a seat, clearly out of his mind and ignores you completely, There’s this, somewhat odd, hierarchy evident and you somehow just know that you shouldn’t approach him like this - trusting that his needs are being catered for by his entourage. But you can’t help but glance over at him, inspecting that he looks paler than before - almost sallow-like in comparison to the fit tan of the first time you’d seen him in the flesh. So you do your job, and see them on and off the plane with nary a word exchanged between the two of you.

You fall into this habit pretty quickly, flight after flight. When he’s awake his eyes skim over you, unfocused and never stopping for long. You hate yourself for how upset it makes you, he hadn’t owed you anything and yet you still feel like you’d signed up for something under false pretences. It keeps you up at night, wondering how you could have been so stupid - you’d given up a stable salary, a life and an exciting one at that, for this - for him. With every month that passes you’re more and more aware that you’re creeping towards your next birthday and the chance to return to Playboy in any capacity is dwindling. They aren’t shy about declaring there’s an age limit. You feel like you’re trapped, in a never-ending cycle - flight, sort the plane while they’re at a concert, flight, fitful sleep in a hotel, flight, flight, flight.

But then, like magic, two weeks before your birthday - two weeks before the deadline you’d come up with in your head to quit he notices you. He’d been looking better for a few days, on an upward swing or so it would seem, and seems significantly more aware than he had been. He almost does a double-take, as if seeing you for the first time. It’s then that, suddenly, Georgia - the other girl, starts to come on board with you a lot more frequently - taking care of the other guys while Elvis not so surreptitiously pulls you into his excessively decorated bedroom.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in there, you clean the damn place after all, but it’s the first time that you’re able to look at it with fresh eyes, through the lens of the awe of a girl being invited back there as a guest. You feel the bend of the fibres of the plush carpet underfoot, against the smooth sole of your boot.

He sits down, patting his thigh, “Give me your lil footsie baby, them little footsie sooties, put ‘em up here.” You look at him slightly askance, fondly, but still do as he asks, putting first one foot up on his lap, letting him unzip your boot, tugging it off and then your other one when he taps your ankle. He looks up at you, as he holds onto your foot, and you know you’re both getting flashbacks to that first flight, when he’d tugged your heels off, got caught in your pantyhose, the joy of that first time. He grips your wrist, forcing you to kneel onto and then shuffle across the bed as he tugs you while sliding back himself. Pulling you're both placed far enough to the headboard that he sinks down into a lying position and drags you down with him.

“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“

“Shhh baby, don’t worry about anything, just, just feel it with me - you feel that?” He shifts to hold your hand, “Feel that energy? ‘S right between us darlin’ girl, right there.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, but you had been feeling the thrum of a connection, willing him to pick up on your silent desires, so you can’t deny a strength of feeling there.

“I feel it.” He hums at you, happily, still holding onto your hand, threading his fingers through yours and pressing his nose against your cheek. He nuzzles at you for a moment, starting off gentle and slow, before rolling you into him and catching your mouth with his. He’s sure of himself, pressing himself skilfully against you - you’re more than aware that this is a skill he’s nurtured, learnt - been judged upon, almost as much as his singing and it shows, it feels no different to the first time you’d kissed. A masterclass in the right moves, just the right amount of bite, just the right amount of tongue, and it makes you buck into him. You’re suddenly desperate for him to break out of the cultured practiced mould, feel him lose control and slip. You gasp, trying to provoke it in him, biting down on his lip a fraction too hard. He shifts his grip to your neck, clutching it to pull you back a little,

“Careful, honey, careful.” You can feel his lips move against your skin as he murmurs and it makes you shiver a little at the tickle of his breath. He kisses across your jaw, little sucking presses, before he returns once again to your mouth.

It’s hard not to assign more feeling or meaning to it than what it is, when he seems to do everything with such feeling. Not for the first time you wonder how it would be possible to be kissed at a concert and then have to continue to go about your life, acting as if nothing huge had happened, as if something totally earth-shattering hadn’t taken place. But then, you imagine, it’s probably not that different to what you have to do.

He pulls back a little, pushing himself up to be more on his knees than lying back, before he slips a hand down between you, pushing underneath your dress to pull at your panties, rubbing a finger on the outside. He pushes them against your folds, circling with his finger until a little damp patch is forming where he’s touching. He pulls them to one side, shimmying his hand underneath, a ring knocking against your thigh and catching on the fabric and your hair as he cups your mound. You reach a hand down yourself, brushing it over his trousers, but you’re slightly surprised to feel him still soft inside. He jerks his hand off of you, gripping your leg instead, shoving your hand away with his other.

You pat his face as it peers over the top of you, the creases in the corners of his eyes a little scrunched up in disappointment and his lips in a slight pout; as if he were trying to stop himself being upset.

“‘S ok El, You’ve still gotta perform tonight too -“ You go to tug your dress back down assuming there was no need for you to remain bare but his hand flies out, gripping your forearm and pushing it against your stomach.

“Take it all the way off,” You look nervously over at the unlocked bedroom door but obediently wiggle down a little, as best you can with his arm still locked over top of you to slither out of the dress. He shifts back down into a horizontal position, sliding himself further down, shirt crumpling with the motion, before gripping you with one hand on an arm and one on a leg, to hint at where he wants you to move to, tugging you until you’re in position, straddling him.

“El - seriously, I don’t think, it’s fine, it happens all the time it’s noth-“ He cuts you off by sharply pulling, with hands gripping right on your hipbones, you closer to him - forcing you to stumble on your knees even further up his body.

“‘Nough of that.” In that wonderful growly voice only he seems able to achieve, he lifts his chin up to press a kiss against your inner thigh. “Can still, still make you feel good Bunny, baby. Still make that pretty yittle cunt o’ yours feel good.” He yanks you so you’re perfectly placed, hands gripping the navy velvet headboard to hold yourself steady. “Just gonna have a lil taste, ok darling? Just needta give me a little more time. Let, let it kick in.” You nod frantically, although you’re not 100% certain what you’ve got to let ‘kick in’.

“Yes, god, yes. Sure.” The kiss, and his brief touches had been enough to turn you on, and you jerk as he holds your thighs to press a kiss against your now bare cunt,

“Oh, fuck.” Elvis laughs against you, and you can feel the vibration up your spine, thetickle sending sparks straight into your stomach. The sheer level of arousal makes you feel almost a little nauseous but you’re distracted by the feel of his tongue moving again, holding you tight to him with his grip on your thigh when the feeling makes you try to thrust out of his hold. You can feel twin bruises form from the thick bands of the ring on each of his hands and the twinge of pain when he lifts the pressure makes you gasp,

“Oh, Christ - Elvis, need, need you to,” You’re not sure if you were planning on asking him to let go, or hold you tighter - but you’re distracted by him shifting to suck down directly on your clit, briefly, just enough to make you choke on your own spit, before he releases, flattening his tongue and moving it down. Every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in and you can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth and against his tongue. He pulls away, and you shift your hips slightly so you can look down at him, and your head tips back with a moan as he quirks a little grin at you. It’s utterly filthy the way his chin and mouth is glisteningly sticky and wet.

“You like that honey?” You nod, and he returns, surging forward to renew his efforts, your hips circling in response.

“Oh god, yes, don’t, oh, holy fuck, - don’t stop,” You can’t stop moving your hips, and part of you is briefly concerned that you might be suffocating him, but the larger part is more concerned with making sure he keeps licking right there until your building climax hits. His tongue is flicks between lapping at your vagina and your inner folds. Your hips are constantly moving and you grip the headboard even harder, feeling the fabric pile shift and flatten under your hold as he finally captures your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard, reaching up to slip a finger inside you as he does.

Your lower back is starting to ache, thighs beginning to cramp but you can’t think about that, reaching down with one hand to comb through his hair, clutching at it as you thrust up and back, finally your climax rocking through you. He licks you through it, holding you open still, feeling you shudder around him, until you finally insistently tug on his hair enough to make him come away.

You dread to think what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door, the wet smacking having been all you could hear past the blood rushing through your own ears and you’re sure you couldn’t possibly have stayed silent. You watch him wipe his mouth with a sleeve, blushing the whole while before he slips out of the shirt. Fully exposing his bare chest and, finally, reaching down to unzip himself.

You’re sticky and soft when he reaches down, running a finger against you, opening you up to bump against you with his now, hard, cock. You’re not quite sure when it had happened, if it was a delayed reaction to a pill he took earlier, or if he simply was that turned on just by licking you to completion, but you’re not about to complain feeling how his head slips against your wetness, nudging at your clit before he angles himself down, bumping against your entrance.

“There he is, Bunny, got Lil’ Elvie here just for you baby, for my sweet lil - ah, bunny bun,”

Elvis pushes into you, a hand straying to stroke your labia on its way up to clutch at your waist, feeling the way you open up around him - for him. You groan at the sensation - it’s been a while, actually it’s been a long while; the last man you’d been with was the one currently pressing inside of you. He takes a moment to allow you to adjust, although you suspect it also allowed him a moment or two, either to calm himself down or encourage himself up.

“That’s it, honey, there we are, there we go, Oh Lord, here we are, I got you, gonna, gonna do such a good job, you just lie back. I got you, got -“

He’s fucking into you now, slowly, sweetly, accompanying each thrust with his mouth joining onto yours, and sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck. He’s trying to get the angle right, you can tell, but he’s decidedly less sure than he ever used to be, or least how you remember him. Taking longer to hit the right spot, and then almost immediately slipping away and losing it.

“Ah, that’s - that’s it, right there,” You almost cry out as he moves again, begging him in your mind to return to where he was.

Still, he’s not totally unskilled, and the motion of his body against yours, of the feel of his hand reaching down to play with clit, combined with the growling curses and praises falling from his lips, southern accent coming out harder as he loses himself in it, is enough for you to feel yourself start to shudder your way towards a second orgasm, clenching down onto him. That is, apparently, enough to set him off and he takes some time firmly rocking his hips into you, before, with a hand splayed on your tummy for balance, withdrawing fast to shoot across your stomach. He collapses there for a moment, lips in a pout and eyes closed from the sheer pleasure of the minute before.

He rolls off of where he’s pressed against you, where you’d welcomed being crushed under his weight, tummy pushed against yours, hairs tickling your own bare skin to flop onto his back. You watch his chest heave, eyes drawn to his tight little nipples, as he catches his breath back. You take a moment to swipe the cum off your belly with the edge of the bedspread, noting in your head to send it to the laundry later. You know you should be getting up to pee sooner rather than later but he’s holding out an arm to you, and you can’t bear the thought of refusing his offer. Instead curling into him with a sigh. He smells the same as you remember now, that same heady mix of sweat and sex, woodsy heavy cologne combined with the tint of smoke, and you hate how it sends flutters down your tummy again at how you feel a sense of familiarity from it. He murmurs into the top of your head, lips catching on your hair,

“You been here all along Bunny? Hopping around my plane?” You nod and you feel him grimace, “Didn’t recognise you without your ears, or your yittle tail.” You don’t mention that you very rarely wore ears on Big Bunny, and that he had in fact seen you both on and off the plane without them too. He tips your chin up to look at you and you make eye contact with his pair of guilt tinged blue eyes. Your nose wrinkles and he taps it with a finger, “Twitchy lil thing though still ain’t ya?” He pats your cheek, “Still gonna be my bunny? Ain’t got another bunny, got, got,” He stumbles over his words as he takes a breath in, clearly struggling to stay lucid enough to have the conversation, “got other girls, not got ‘Cilla no more, but got, got Linda … and, and - I got a whole list, baby, but no - you’re my only bunny.”

The thing is though, it’s never for long. You prefer the flights after a show to the ones before, he’s more awake before but he’s panicked like a tiger in a cage. It’s still difficult to tell what kind of Elvis you’ll be dealing with on any given night. There’ll be one flight where he’s perfect, drowsy from a show but awake and alert, flirty and fun, and then another where he sleeps for so long and so deeply that you worry he’ll never wake up. The worst are the ones where him and Dr Nick, his father or one of the other boys with that damned black bag disappear into the bedroom for the flight. He stumbles down the stairs after in a daze, clearly half out of his mind. The alternative - that you have to listen to his whimpering cries, that his body aches, that sleep won’t come to him - why won’t anyone listen to him? That he wants his mama, that everyone leaves him, “even my yittle yisa.” Is worse, it makes you wish for when he’s sedated or so over the top in his exuberance that you know his ‘vitamins’ have a lot to do with it. You don’t know how much longer you can silently pick up the pieces - cleaning up when he’s trashed the room in a rage, or left pill bottles littering the floor. Going in to him when he calls for you, acting as his waitress, nurse and on-call girlfriend all at once.

Linda accompanied him often, and you’re shooed out of the way of her keen eyes as they watch you a little too knowingly. She’s sophisticated and classy though, more than you would be in the situation. More than you are. You take the opportunity to swap with Georgia as often as you possibly can when you know she’s coming with him.

You’d avoided her too at first, often being the only one working on the little plane, not usually that many people on board - maybe ten at most, well within the capabilities of a single girl and the pilots. You hated that you felt the sting of jealousy, of worry that he was fooling around with her too, to the extent that when she, unprompted, had reassured you that she had not slept with him and nor would she ever sleep with him you had laughed it off. Pretending you had no idea what she was suggesting.

Linda though proved difficult to ignore. She was a presence - even when she wasn’t physically there - he was swearing to the boys they were through, broken up, done, and then would spend hours on the phone to her. He’d swear he didn’t give a shit about her anymore; just had to keep his promises to take care of her - but then a week later she’d appear on the plane with him. They’d sit cuddled together half the time, shouting and screaming for the other half. You had no idea how to react when she called you in to the bedroom, Elvis’ head pillowed on her thighs, dead asleep. She doesn’t ask you for much, a coffee and some water to be brought to them. You do so, still slightly surprised to be invited to intrude on what seemed like an overwhelmingly private moment. But then, a large part of your job is being invisible when necessary. You don’t expect to her acknowledge you when you return, but she does - she’s polite and courteous, but quiet, eyes never leaving his relaxed forehead. A cynical part of your brain wonders if it wasn’t intentional, if she didn’t purposefully call you in at that moment to prove she was different, but that line of thinking gets you nowhere. It’s not your place to be jealous.

Occasionally there’s other girls with him, you burn when Sheila comes aboard - you’d given up your cover dreams for this, and it feels like she’s the new kid in town - replacing you in every way. Better than you in every way, she’s pretty and lithe and young; you’re young and pretty too but you’re feeling it less and less. She’s above you - in the privileged position to sit at the side of the King while you have to settle for serving him and her. She had the cover, you had gotten pouring the drinks into branded glasses.

Elvis didn’t help how you felt - the first time she came on board he took it upon himself to personally introduce the two of you. He was sat with his legs spread wide, Sheila’s own legs over the top of his, an arm tucking her tight against his side out in the lounge area, the public display of affection almost too much for you to witness.

“Here she is!” He called out when you came around the corner of the half-dividing wall, and you balk a little before steeling yourself to walk over,

“Here I am.” You respond, flatly. He’d been particularly difficult recently, and your patience was wearing thin.

“Looksies - this here is my Sheila,” He raises her arm, she nods politely, “She’s - she’s a bunny too, she was on the cover.” You smile, what else can you do?

“Oh - wow, congratulations.” You nod at her, she’s silent.

“Two bunnies on the plane! My two bunnies together!” He laughs, and the tone and words immediately make you smart. There’s a cruel edge to it that you don’t quite understand, it’s not like you’ve ever turned him down or refused him, not like you’ve done anything to be treated second best - to have her paraded in front of you.

It makes your skin crawl, furious with every decision that led to this point, cursing those pretty blue eyes that you couldn’t refuse. Makes your skin crawl that he’d sworn you were his only bunny; and as ridiculous as it might seem, the evidence that that wasn’t true at all, that it was an empty promise makes you cry yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row. The first time you’d found a notelet, tucked under the bed having perhaps fallen out of a pocket or book,

“To Sheila,

Love you allways,

E.P.”

You take two weeks off, and debate whether you should even return, if it’s worth how it makes you feel. You don’t have time to see anyone else, and you’re not dating him. But then in some ways it makes sense all your emotions would be put onto him, you weren’t physically seeing anyone else, in general, exclusively cocooned in the Elvis Presley Show bubble. There is, you think after three glasses of red wine at home in your fancy new Memphis apartment, nothing else in your life. There is only Elvis. You wonder if you can use that as the excuse on your notice. You make yourself go back though, determined to get a grip of yourself, of your feelings, give it one last try.

It’s short-lived with Sheila, at least from your perspective up in the air above the reality of the ground below. Ultimately, you feel you somehow won. And although he may, every now and again, bring some pretty young thing up into the air with him or have Linda come on board during some of the tour he’s fundamentally alone again - the same group of men his only constant companions. You form your own opinion of them, watching two of them cringe at the sight of the little black bag of pills and needles and two others writing his signature out on blank cheques.

You’re horrified, making eye contact with Charlie, you think, you know their names now you need to start to use them. You open your mouth to say something, but uncertain about what, but he catches your eye, shaking his head and you wonder if there’s anyone on this plane willing to stick up for him. You’re forced ot consider if it’s something you can do too - turning a blind eye to all of this or if you’re going to be forced to leave because you were unwilling to do so.

But then, there’s a few months where he behaves differently, and he looks different - his face brightens up, and though you don’t dislike how he looked before you can appreciate that he’s slimmed down a little, looking less bloated than he had before. A renewed interest in the happenings of the group. Suddenly, he’s interested in you again - ensconcing you in his bedroom, telling the boys to stop telling you what to do or asking you for things,

“It’s not her job - her job is looking after me.” And you do, distracting him as best you can when that’s what he’s after - reassuring him when it’s not. You have to talk him down from a panic at one point and you’re thankful to have the memory of him calming you down to use as your guideline, even if you find irony in being the one trusted to provide the measured breaths.

The sex though, is still almost non-existent; he apologises constantly, and at one point you try to have a conversation about it, lying with him in the bed, cuddled together.

“I’m not your girlfriend, E, you don’t needta explain yourself to me,” He hushes you,

“You’re my girl as much as any of ‘em.” It’s your turn to stroke his cheek,

“I don’t need to be, you don’t hafta say that to me.” He just hums at you, tucking you further under his arm and cupping your face to his chest. That’s when the gifts start rolling in, before you’d even arrived back at your apartment for a few days off, finding on the doorstep a gift bag filled with lingerie. You smile when you see it, but you’re a little puzzled - he’s not even seen you in your underwear in months. Was this a hint? Were you meant to be the one putting out? You took it as you thought he intended it, picking out and wearing the little white set you found in there, but you were unsurprised when nothing came to fruition on the flight. You tentatively bring it up the next time you’re curled up next to him - the flight not really long enough to justify a nap but happy to be tucked up in his chest. You’re drawing circles with a fingertip through the gaping neckline of his shirt, absentmindedly thinking of how best to bring it up.

“El, what’s -, not that I’m not appreciative but you don’t needta buy me things - especially, especially if you’re not gonna get anything out of it.” You refuse to look at him, anxious for his response.

“Wasn’t that what you told me before? That you don’t dress for me?” You can feel him already grinning at you in anticipation of your reaction and you laugh, surprised he’d even remember that conversation from a year and a half ago.

“Well, You weren’t really my boss then.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around you,

“Oh-ho, so I can have my wicked way with you now huh?” He squeezes you hard against his side. You giggle, and he continues - his tone turning more serious; “Honey… - Bunny,” he laughs when you squirm at being called bunny still, “I’m just, I can’t, can’t do more at the moment but I uh, I do still - I like thinking about you all pretty for me unner that tiny little scrap of a dress.” He flicks the hem, leaving his hand grasping the back of your thigh and your respond in playful outrage.

“Scrap! You picked out this dress!” You smile into his chest as you feel his tummy move with his laugh, “Elvis - you don’t owe me anything, I don’t need to be bought things, you don’t need to feel like we have to do anything. I just, just want you to take care of yourself.” He hums at you, as non-committal as one can be.

He shifts a little so he’s lying on his side, brushing his hand down your body, fingers fumbling as they graze over your core, he seems remarkably less sure of himself than the last time he’d touched you, and you have to wonder if, despite all these girlfriends hanging around, he hadn’t actually been doing it with them either. Whether it’s because his fingers are a little thicker than before, or his skills are simply rusty, or maybe this is all some new technique he’d thought he’d try, he seems to take a while to do anything. He slips a finger between your folds, gathering the wetness you’d started to feel drip as a pavlovian response to his fingers anywhere near you, and rubbing it up your pussy but when he reaches the apex he seems to struggle, fingertip roving around, rubbing down but not quite finding your clit. You squirm as he continues to rub around just a bit too low, his finger making you pant simply from the virtue of it being Elvis’ finger, but not because of success with his ministrations. You panic, eyes flying open, wondering if you’re gonna have to fake it with Elvis beforehe pulls his hand away with a grunt.

“Ain’t no good little, my hands are hurtin’ too much tonight, got them, got them shakes again.” You nod even though you know it’s at least partially untrue - his fingers not in the least bit unsteady, if anything they’d been a little too solid.

“Just, it’s fine to just cuddle El.” He’s silent beside you for a few moments,

“One sec doll, lemme just -“ He shakes his arms out, staring at the curvature of the plane ceiling as if he’s trying to talk himself up. “Ok, ok Bunny, lets, lets give this another go.” He captures your mouth in his, sucking gentle little bruises across the bottom of your jaw, and lowering himself down to your neck. He concentrates there for a moment as he dances his hand back down your body, shifting your dress up again. His touch this time is more sure, more similar to how he’d always felt, the confidence appeared to be back.

He circles your clit just right, the two fingers curving inside you hitting just the right spot, and he moans with you,

“C’mon darling that’s it, oh that’s your lil button isn’t it - let me, just relax into me baby, relax, I’ve got you.” He crooks a finger, and your hips jerk, his other hand reaching over to pin you firmly against the bed while he takes the opportunity to brush directly over your clit once again. You squeal, panting, as he whispers into your neck,

“Such a good girl, good little baby Bunny, c’mon now,” He croons into your ear, voice unmistakable, “C’mon - for me.” His words, the sight of his face, the feeling of his fingers, it all combines so that in mere moments your back is arching off the bed, clutching at his arm as you tip over the edge.

When you’re back into the land of the living, and your breathing is starting to ease up a little, you’re able to sit up. You get onto your knees for him, expecting to reciprocate but he shakes his head at you, “Just, just lie with me, mama, let me cuddle, ‘s that alright? No-one lets - everyone wants somethin’ offa me.” You frown, standing up, his words manipulating you into believing you’d even asked him for something,

“Sorry El- there isn’t, there’s no pressure from me, I just thought because -“ You gesture to his still clearly wet and sticky fingers, “Just wanted to give it back to you.” He huffs, lying down again, and looking over his shoulder at you. Betrayal written on his face. It softens when you clamber back under the covers with him, and he tugs you closer.

It goes downhill fast, the tours just keep coming, and the random, sudden desires for trips here and there. You’ll be home for a scheduled three, four week break and get maybe 60 hours before a call comes in - he wants to be taken to Colorado, California, to Vegas. Before you know it you’re careening into 1976. He swings like a pendulum from happy to angry - the emotions impossible to keep up with. He wasn’t ever wholly staid before but everything seems suddenly emphasised and the erratic nature of his personality is making you wonder if you can do this job much longer. It’s worse without a girl on board. Linda and he may have argued but he was almost always easily soothed. But she’s coming on less and less, and he’s telling tales about her more and more with the boys. Expressing how he hates her shopping now, how she deserves it but doesn’t earn it, how he can’t stand her nagging. He seems to have more girls than ever before, one or two picked up for him in every city, but they never seem to make it onto the plane.

Without the settling presence of a girlfriend that role falls to you, and although you’ve now spent countless hours with him it’s different; the fits and starts with which you get to see him is completely different to being a girl who’s able to be with him in his home - you find him almost overwhelmingly difficult to manage. The first time he’s brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot you for attempting to put him to bed, you laugh - not expecting to be essentially thrown off of the plane for weeks for such an indiscretion. It doesn’t get mentioned again - not until a while later; simply brushed over, forgotten about. There’s no apology, just suddenly one day, a bashful joke gets made with Elvis tucking his chin to his chest to look at you shamefacedly but almost immediately he cracks a laugh, and you’re forced to laugh it off with him.

His health swings like his moods, it seems to be entirely dependent on a number of factors that all seem to change within a minute’s notice. It’s a combination of his mental health, the exact cocktail of medication at any given time, the number of shows he was doing, how often he was getting to see Lisa, whether he’d been home recently, the financial situation or whether he’d recently liked how he’d looked in the mirror. As soon as any one of these changed it would either send him crashing into lengthy highs or a period of lucidity.

You didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid - it wasn’t the role you were expecting to fill but as time goes on it seems the only form of relationship you can have with him. You don’t truly mind, although you do wish for more, if he’s going to let you have this part of him - the part of him that’s sad and lonely, the part of him that he’s ashamed of - even if just for a few hours on a plane where he can pretend to be distinct from real life, then you think you deserve the same relationship back on the ground. But you would never broach that with him, not even when he’s alone, or when he brings a girl on board who doesn’t even make it to the next city. All you can do is stay.

The last part of the year is particularly hard. He looks awful, you only really get to see him directly after a show, the schedule doesn't allow for more spare days in each spot, and the sweat pores off of him. You can’t say he doesn’t look appealing in some ways, you wouldn’t mind licking him clean, or crawling onto his sweaty chest. But in other ways, his face growing paler and yellower, it makes you cringe away from him. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with him, or that you’re disgusted - a fear he’d mumbled into your stomach one night recently, it’s that it’s so difficult. Difficult to watch a man, so otherwordly virile to succumb to earthly decay. It’s almost painful - and it’s made all the worse by the fact that you’re only given the choice to witness it in fits and starts - over a tour you watch him, keeping a close eye, spending hours alone with him. But then, as you land back in Memphis, or Vegas, or California you lose him again - with no idea of how he’s getting on physically or mentally, no idea of how he’s feeling. He grows distant - and all you want is to make his journey easier, although the destination at this point is unclear.

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TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last two chapters - there’s one last chapter to this ‘verse coming soon(ish) so lmk if you wanted to be added or taken off the list before then :))

@ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1

#elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #be-my-ally #elvis x you #big bunny #big bunny vibes #be my ally

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dopamineeymineymoo · 11 months

Text

suspension bridges || ghost x f!medic!reader

synopsis: you are an army doctor, callsign salvi, who had been on the field for even before you'd gotten that title. you'd been reassigned into task force 1-4-1 after your own taskforce had dissolved when it'd fulfilled its duty. you're a familiar face to multiple operators within the taskforce. one of them knows you for far longer than the rest.

warnings: medical inaccuracies, army inaccuracies, some medical jargon, some gore, implied medical procedures, inexperienced writer, more tags to be added as we go

author's note before we begin: I’m writing this to destress from the gruelling pressure of academics– i'm not a professional, but i do study some of the stuff i mention, specifically on the health-allied colleges; there is also the fact that I’m not from the west side of the world so I know jack shit on the actual mode of operations (except in theory, because that’s what I’m learning ATM). This isn’t meant to be accurate, these are just dumbed-down versions of stuff I already know– i might learn more stuff later on so I might add it onto the thing later on]

[this is part 1], [part 2], [part 3 to be posted]

2022

When your Task Force dissolved, with multiple members having dispersed to different tasks and duties, the different offices within the old base had been dispersed into various different locations. You had been given privilege. It wasn’t really within the higher-up’s control to assign you to a different base.

Overall, it had been awfully easy to convince you. Price knew his cards, knew the people he was pulling. It made sense that the task force he’d organized would have good chemistry.

It was amusing. Familiar faces are always a fun thing.

There's no rest for the wicked, is what you often hear. It always applies to people in your line of work, being both a savior of lives and its taker.

Of course, there's no better ice-breaker or introduction into the field than an emergency evac. The first time you'd been called into your new base had been when duty calls. There were some familiar faces on the team of medics you'd been assigned with, brief introductions and ranks were exchanged, and it's off to work.

Squeaks is one. A familiar face, one you'd worked with before albeit very briefly.

"Give 'em hell, doc." she'd said when you'd stepped into the ramp of the aircraft.

And hell you did give. It wasn’t an infrequent occurrence with your line of work where you had to be pulled out of your station to hop onto an aircraft to retrieve injured soldiers.

It’s been less than a week, about three days since you’d been reunited with some of your old patients, until your new patients ended up becoming recent.

“Reports as of ten minutes ago state that seven alert out of twelve, four obtunded, one is stuporous.” You take note, knowing that the rest of your team are listening in. Transcriptions of comms had been sent to you with data having already been filtered out appropriately. Need-to-know, is what it meant.

You eye two people, and in order call them out by their surnames. “Squeaks and Trinity, you’re on triage.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Reyes, Smith, Aisling, you deal with the seven. Make sure they don’t bleed out and add to the less pleasant numbers.” You move past them as they move to their station on the aircraft. “Body transfers to the cots are on Jones and Brown. Take them off the soldiers’ hands– keep them off too if there are any with cold feet.”

“The rest of us– two people require immediate intervention. One of them is in shock.” She hums, looking down at transcripts. “There were originally sixteen soldiers.” They knew what that meant. Two were KIA.

When the aircraft arrives in the landing zone, you and your team get into motion immediately. You help Jones and Brown in transferring the soldiers who can’t walk. Two soldiers that you don’t know personally help with setting the rest of the ones who need help walking inside the cot.

The one who was stuporous had fallen into a coma, but with a working pulse, and the four had varying levels of prognosis at the current assessment.

You’re used to this. The speed, the quickness in thinking and the steadiness while you work under these less-than-favorable circumstances. You’ve worked through worse, but that’s not a mindset you should get used to. Makes you complacent. There’s no room for complacency in this place.

“Captain Salvi!” Squeaks calls, “Five out of sixteen aren’t on the vehicle.” You hear.

You curse under your breath, “Squeaks, take over.” You wait for them to shuffle over and take over with keeping the soldier alive, before pulling back to walk towards the seven who were sat at the sides. From Squeaks, you take the tablet and swipe through the updated charts.

They’d reported the four missing names, reported well but unable to make it to exfil for whatever reason.

They all stand in attention– all who can, that is. “At ease.” You tell them. “Where are your superiors.”

One steps forward, “Ma’am, they’ve told us to head to exfil ahead of them.” He tells you. “They’re moving to another base, picked up by allies in Mexico.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“That’s all we’re aware of as of now, ma’am.”

You breathe. Something's up, then. Your attention is called by the pilot in front. "Laswell's on comms." He'd said.

"Patch me in?"

“Watcher 1 to Echo 1-6, do you copy?”

“Solid copy, Watcher-1.” You retort, and look back at the soldiers before you. “Heal well, boys.” You say before backing off and walking back to the front of the plane.

There’s a crackle on Laswell’s end, before she proceeds. “Price needs you ASAP, but there’s no time for RTB. You clear for an impromptu mission?”

You curse under your breath. Not so much as an introduction. Is this how it's going to be? “Always.” You tell her. You're no stranger to these emergencies. “Not as much as a debrief, huh?”

“I’d say sorry, but you know how it is.”

“No rest for the wicked.” You say. “Think I can join them before they get picked up by Mexican Special Forces?”

“I’ll tell the pilot in advance to drop you off for RV.” Laswell tells you. “Watcher-1 out.”

You walk over to the cockpit, placing a hand on the seat. The other hand reaches for your ear piece to switch channels so you can speak with the pilot. “You got the coordinates?” You ask, and with the confirmation, you continue. “Don’t land. I’ll prep for HALO.” You tell him. “Three of them need immediate attention. I don’t want them dead on arrival.”

“Copy.” The pilot replies. You back away, and head towards the hamper where you check your kit twice for anything you’d need. While you were in charge of MedEvac, you knew the risks. As long as you were beyond the line of fire, there’s still always that chance of attack.

In this case, you were the attacker.

“Approaching RV point.” You hear in your ear. “Prepare for HALO.” High Altitude, Low Opening. You’re hoping that it’s dark enough that no one will notice the parachute– then again, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.

Trinity walks over to you. “Captain–”

“Report to Brown. I’m headed off.” You shrug on the pack, and head towards the ramp. Before that, though, you turn to your team. Most of which are paying attention to you as you walk.

“Scott, Hudson, support with transfers.” You call, and the two of them nod. Their physique will help Brown and Jones with transferring the patients into gurneys with both haste and cautiousness.

Squeaks and Trinity approach you as you all move out of the aircraft, handing you their digitally inputted evaluations. You read through them as you move, swiping through the tablet as you read through the list. “That’s about it. Are we clear?” They all affirm.

You get a signal from the pilots. That’s all you need before you approach the ramp and drop in.

***

2001

It was a Saturday when Sergeant Simon Riley had first been forced on Medical Leave of Absence. This was on the insistence of the base’s, refusing to give him clearance until he’s deemed better, where he’d been assigned to a rehabilitation clinic not too far from his current place of stay– fortunately not too far from base.

The previous mission was bad– certainly not the worst that has happened, especially not the worst to come, but it was bad.

When the paperwork for the leave was undergoing process and Simon had been forced to confine himself to med within base, the perpetrator as to why he’d gotten hurt had been very accommodating to his whims– not that Simon had many of them, but the one who was supposed to receive the bullets (plural) that took Simon down. Doesn’t matter anymore– no man left behind, and all that.

You know what they say about people torn into bad situations– you should have seen the other guy is what he would have said if he had been in a lighter mood.

Except he’d damaged his peroneal nerve in the process.

Fortunately it’s something easy to get back from, but that’s with rehabilitation. Hence, where he’d first met you.

“Hello, Sergeant Riley.” You say, eyes twinkling with mirth and without that jaded look that he’d grown so used to witnessing in people within this line of work. You introduce yourself, first with your name. “I’m the one assigned to looking after your progression with your injuries– ultimately, medical clearance isn’t up to me, but anything I report goes into consideration. Anything you want to ask?”

“How long ‘til I’d get this off?”

“According to your chart–” you look through his charts. “Some weeks.” You hum, impressed at the prognosis. “Medical will clear you then– higher ups seem insistent in getting you back, huh?”

“I’m a good shot.” He tells you. “Some weeks, then– you any good in cuttin’ it down, Lieutenant?”

You laugh, waving in front of him. “Well, if you don’t fuck up your own injuries. Sure. Got a good prognosis anyway, considering the shit you’ve been through.” Then you remind him again to call you by your name. “And fortunately for you, your ass landed in my expert care.” There was a grin on your face as you told him that.

Overwhelming confidence in this. Infallible.

He’d been told that his injury hadn’t been so severe that it’d take him out of commission any time soon, but he’d been uncertain about that. It had been near damned frustrating to be so vulnerable. The injury is no scratch–that’s a huge chunk of his lateral knee fractured by the bullet, taking the nerve with it. While the medics had said otherwise, he just didn’t think someone could just regain proper function out of it again.

So when that stubborn pessimism is met with that near-blinding optimism–

It was hard not to believe in your confidence, and that was considering that Simon knew not to believe in good things.

The first day was for initial evaluation. You’d told him that you wouldn’t begin with all the exercises and stretching just yet. He’d been compliant.

For the first day, that is.

***

2022

Upon landing, you waste no time in moving towards RV. You made sure that there’d be no one following you, putting on the nightvision equipment you’d taken from the team that was pulled out for medevac. With a rifle in your hand, you traverse to the agreed upon location.

Only, you don’t exactly find them there.

“Bravo 0-6, this is Salvi, how copy?” You say into your comm, listening for the radio for any response. “Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, how copy?” You wait about two seconds before your mouth opens to ask again, once more before you radio Laswell.

“Bravo-06 to Salvi, solid copy.” Price’s voice cracks on the radio, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. “Just got… held back a bit.”

“Give me a sitrep, Price.” You question, continuing to move around so that you aren’t a sitting duck at the RV point. “There’s no one in RV.”

There’s a chuckle on the other line. “We’re on the way, got held back for first aid. Someone decided to be stubborn and skip on the medevac.”

“Damn.” You hiss under your breath, word caught by the comm. “Based on the data I’ve got, there’s only the four of you– Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Mactavish and Sergeant Garrick. Is that correct?”

“Affirmative.”

“Price, you aren’t injured are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I have a lot of choice words, then.” You say into the comms, knowing that the rest of them are listening. You were of a higher rank than the rest of them, which means that you can easily berate whoever got himself hurt and didn’t jump on medevac.

“Hell Runneth Loose.” Gaz utters under his breath, joining on the comms.

“That’s what I’m here for, Garrick.” You say. “Give me a location, set the RV at a midpoint so I can get a look at it.”

“Exfil would be further out.” Price points out.

“I have two working legs, Captain. I can use them.” You retort. “Details.” It was less of a request and more of a demand.

He tells you, and you move quick and silently towards the agreed upon location. It’s an abandoned building with a lot of debris, but standing strong enough for it to serve as a good and safe temporary camp.

You arrive first, so you scout the area for any hostiles that might be at site. There are none, fortunately, so it seems that whatever they had to deal with further West of the area hasn’t reached this place. Has to be one hell of a trip, if that’s the case.

“Echo 1-6 to Bravo Team, no sign of hostiles in the area.” You say with finality into the comm. “We’re clear.”

“Copy that Echo 1-6.”

You keep watch, keeping an eye on the perimeter in case the situation changes. Fortunately, it doesn’t, and it remains to be clear. “Approaching RV.” You hear a familiar voice on the comms.

But there’s the distinct sound of something that whizzes fast, piercing through air. You immediately duck, lowering yourself so that the wall could hide you from wherever the attack comes from. “Bravo Team coming in hot!”

“Couldn’t fucking warn me you’d had tangos comin’ over?” You hiss, raising your gun towards the perimeter, at the general direction from where you know they’d be coming from.

“A very recent development, in my defense.” Price hisses. “There’s not many, it’s manageable. You in a position to snipe, lass?”

“Affirm.” You tell him. “Get in the building, Cap, I’ve got overwatch.” You set up quick, shooting from the top of the building. You pray to whatever’s still left up there that they’ve got no RPGs– this building is doomed to fall in on itself and that’s just with the bullets encasing on already fragile wall.

And it wasn't likely, anyway. On foot, having gear like that is unlikely.

You take down as many assailants as you can, registering in your head who are friendlies by attire alone. Not usual protocol, given that you can’t be certain how positive your i.d. is of the people trailing so close to one group, but you can be certain at least that the one with the bucket hat is price and the rest that he’s allowing within his proximity are friendlies.

They come up the building, taking position and securing the area.

A hulking figure is placed beside you, heavy with a thump against the wall. You look up, seeing that it was Sergeant Mactavish who’d placed the patient on your side.

You turn your head towards Sergeant Mactavish, whose eyes shift between yourself, Ghost, and the battlefield. “Sergeant Mactavish-- pleasure to meet ya." You smile. "Hell of a first meeting, huh?"

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.”

You didn’t need to look twice to be certain who it was that he’d dropped into your hands.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure seeing you again, Ghost,” You start with a smile. “But I believe that these are less than pleasant circumstances.”

The man leaned against the wall, debris falling between you both. He eyes you for a moment, before looking away and back to the battlefield. He huffs, not that you can hear it, and tilts his head forward in a nod. “Gotta stop meetin’ like this, y’reckon?”

You nod, “Line of fire seems to love you out there.” There’s a joke in there, a reference to a mission together once before. “Where are you hit, Lieutenant?”

“Left lumbar– just a graze.”

“Nice of you to be specific this time.” You quip, opening your pack to get the materials you need.

“Learned my lesson.”

“Whoever taught you must have ripped you a new one, huh?” There's amusement in your voice. "Hold still."

"I'd say." Soap grins. "Need any help?"

"You take overwatch while I patch him up.”

Soap nods, shifting to take your position. “Roger that, Doc Sal.”

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