#lives rent free in my head? i fucking meant it

[razzle-zazzle]

wait, what's eye for an eye about?

Okay, okay, so, I know I've talked about it before, but do you recall how, in Tournament of Elements, when Garmadon was describing how Chen turned allies against the Elemental Alliance in the Serpentine War, the EM we're shown attacking the Elemental Alliance is an Earth Master? Because that detail lives rent-free in my head all the time.

So Eye for an Eye is based off of that; assuming the Earth Master we're shown is Lily's father and not a pre-transition Lily, then I can assume a lot of things from that scene. Like, say, that Shane (what I've been calling Lily's father since before Lily had her own canon name) was disgraced by it, or regretted it deeply. So then Eye for an Eye is about a cycle that that manipulation starts. Shane turns against the alliance during the war, so Lily starts cracking down on Chen's noodle mafia vigilante-style in retaliation, to which Chen retaliates by having her son abducted onto his island.

So Cole grows up on Chen's island, working in the factory, and because Chen is. well. awful Cole's not gonna have a good time. And so as Cole grows and the canon plot of ToE progresses, he finds himself with the ability to continue the cycle of revenge between his family and Chen, or to end it entirely. And since he grew up in the abrasive and distrusting environment that Chen constructed to keep the cult and factory workers in line, Cole could very well end up taking his own revenge instead of breaking the cycle.

tl;dr Chen had Cole kidnapped and brought to his island as a child and Cole does not have a good time there

[iaus]

prompt for a mini fic: jace and porter at elmville pride

crying i did my best but i will admit..... i haven't been to pride because....... the pride scene in my local area is.......... uh. well. i would share the tiktok my friend shared with me about this year's pride but it will absolutely doxx me.

anyway. unrelated. do you think porter would wear something like this.

T / 475 words

The idea originates with Lucilla.

The problem with Lucilla is that even Jace has trouble being cruel to her at times. It doesn’t help that he was her mentor for her first two years at the academy. He’s become indulgent with her as apology for his hands off approach with mentoring. He’d said to her, once, when he was a few too many drinks in that he wishes she had more backbone.

He’s his own worst enemy it seems.

Lucilla is peering at him, already smiling. She knows. She knows she’s already won.

“I think it’d be a fun bonding experience,” she says sweetly. He hates that he knows she truly means no malice from it. “We’ve put so much work into the Pride features this year and it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

He hates good alignments. He hates them for their propensity for kindness.

“We’ll be sure to drop by,” Porter drawls, answering for him before Jace can even attempt an excuse.

Jace hates him too.

Lucilla smiles—all sunshine and not knowing what she’s done.

“I told you—”

“You said you wouldn’t go Bastion City. Never said anything about Elmville.”

He’s infuriating. “I will not go if you wear cargo shorts.”

Porter winks at him—Jace cannot believe this is the man he is sleeping with.

-

He almost slams the door in Porter’s face when he comes to pick him up.

“It’s not cargo shorts,” Porter says, as if he’s completely unaware of what he’s doing. Jace knows better. “Not my first rodeo, y’know, but I figured it still fit—”

He’s going to have an attack.

He should have known, but now he’s here. Standing on the stoop of his townhouse in linen shorts and an unbuttoned silk, pink shirt and Porter is in leather. He has to not pull Porter back in and—

Lucilla asked him to show up. She’s performing. He’s going to do this. He will ignore the fact that Porter is in a tiny white shirt and leather pants and jacket, and he will stink by the end of the day. Jace feels warm.

“You good, sweetheart?” Porter’s grinning. He puts a hand on Jace’s cheek. “Seem a little flushed.”

“You realize it’s June. It’s summer.”

Porter laughs, he throws an arm around Jace’s shoulder. “C’mon, you’ll have fun. Promise.”

-

The worst thing is Porter’s right. Lucilla’s right. It’s fun. If a bit too loud, a bit too warm.

He might end up tipsy—clinging to Porter like he’s a lifeline in the surge of more people than he would have ever anticipated. Porter wraps a rainbow scarf around his neck at some point and he’s so heat exhausted and fuzzy from the drinks that he accepts it.

Doesn’t even mind it when Porter kisses him at the end of Lucilla’s set.

[altruistic-meme]

im so incapable of being normal about this photo.

not only are they walking from the shadows and the darkness and into the light. not only are they doing it together. but they are doing it holding hands. so, so lightly. because despite it all, this is still new. holding hands like this is so new to them, and we know this has to be RIGHT after Wilhelm's speech. it's out there now, "Okay, everybody, I'm queer. This is my boyfriend, I'm in love with this guy. Ta-ta."

and it's scary. but they're together. their entire relationship has had to be behind closed doors, but those doors are open now, leading to a brighter place. and for once they're stepping through those doors together. in s1, Wilhelm tried to cross the threshold alone: denying the video allowed him to escape from that public scrutiny, but it denied him Simon too. in s2, Simon tried to go alone: moving on with Marcus gave him the option of normalcy he would never be able to have with Wilhelm, but he learned that he could lose Wilhelm entirely. now, finally, s3 they are going together: same foot, same time, holding on to each other because they can't, they won't deny their feelings for each other any more. they've both made it clear now, "Jag älskar dig", they want to be together.

and they finally are. they're together, in the open, in the light, in love.

[ssaalexblake]

the missy saying to Clara in that dalek cave that a hopeless doctor would burn them all to dhawan!master mentally torturing thirteen and dragging her down further and further into her own trauma that she’d deliberately burn them all out of hopelessness pipeline 

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I talk about the medical neglect and ableism I've encountered as a victim of the healthcare system, there's always some cockwaffle who feels entitled to come into my inbox and make the argument of "not all doctors" while talking about how "people like them" (because it's always someone in a field of medicine who does this) are doing their best and it's really hard because so many people fake being ill to get on welfare (Yikes), but like, yeah, obviously #not all doctors, because if all doctors were negligent, bullying scum bags, I'd be dead.

But here's the thing: while I truly believe that the majority of doctors are doing their best in a system stacked against them and their patients, their presence does not negate the mass harm caused by the bad ones. And there are far more bad ones than you realize.

Fuck, John Oliver literally did a segment on this last week:

Yes, the truly bad, malicious doctors are in the minority. Most are just horrifically burned out and fighting a losing battle against a system, killing both them and their patients through a lack of funding and resources and profound overwork.

But the malicious ones do exist, and they will go out of their way to harm patients who don't kowtow to them.

I almost lost my life because when I was in my early twenties, I told a doctor I didn't think she was listening to me, and I disagreed with her assessment of my mental health (she was not a mental health doctor, and I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain). She retaliated by putting "non-compliant" in my file.

There was also a fun little "doesn't show respect" note too that lives rent-free in my head because I know I wasn't rude. I was polite. I just didn't agree with her, and my refusal to accept her off-handed comment that "you probably have bipolar or BPD" (again, I was there for heart palpitations and chronic pain) meant I was "refusing care."

I wasn't. I just refused to be slapped with a mood/personality disorder when I was there because I kept fucking fainting when I stood up.

(Spoiler alert: it was dysautonomia)

That "non-compliant" marker followed me around for years. It followed me across an ocean and effectively ensured that any doctor I saw was going to treat me like absolute dogshit because no one wants to help Difficult Patients. It wasn't until I was so undeniably ill, literally on the brink of death, that anyone helped me.

I'm alive because of a good doctor. And all the good ones that came after him because of him.

So, I know they exist. You don't have to tell me that.

But I really fucking need you to acknowledge the bad ones and that you're part of a system with a long, long history of abusing minorities and vulnerable people. I need you to acknowledge that because it's the only way we're going to survive this godforsaken nightmare and make things better.

So yeah, #notalldoctors, but if you feel the need to say that because someone talking about being literally left to die by the medical system hurts your feelings, I'm going to have to ask you to take a step back and ask yourself if you're going into medicine for the right reasons.

Namely: do you want to help people, even the "difficult" ones?

Even the ones who might disagree with you?

Even if they're on welfare?

Even if they'll never get "better" in a way that means "cured"?

Just a thought. But hey, what do I know. I'm just someone who experienced hemolytic anemia because doctors kept telling me I was anxious and needed to exercise more 🤷‍♀️.

[fully-caulked-wagon]

I think about this sometimes.

[svtiddiess]

Louder Baby

Synopsis: You're with Seungcheol again, but this time, you're putting on a show for someone.

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!stylist!reader ft. Jeonghan

Genre: smut, mini-series, fwb to lovers?

Rating: mature

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), mentions of body fluids, exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral (fem receiving), breast play, creampie, mean dom!Cheol, sub!reader, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This is part of a three part series, reading part 1 and part 2 will help a lot with the context!

@tomodachiii she's here, I hope the ending is to your satisfaction. I'll miss this couple ngl.

@brownsugarbaybee wasn't expecting a part 3 were you baby?

Click here to join my taglist!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Why am I even here?

Was the first thought that rang through your mind as you stood outside, waiting for him to open the door. You tugged your hat lower and pulled your mask higher, paranoid that someone might recognise you. You shouldn't be here; you're not standing in front of some random person's apartment; you're standing in front of Choi Seungcheol's apartment. You shift from side to side, getting antsy.

This is a bad idea. I shoul-

Before you can finish your thought, the door swings open, and your heart skips a beat. There he is, the man who lives in your mind rent-free, Choi Seungcheol. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black fitted T-shirt, which makes your knees go weak. You almost moan at the sight.

"Hey baby, sorry to keep you waiting. C'mon in," he says as he steps to the side, flashing you a lazy smirk. You quickly shuffle in, keeping your head down. You look around his apartment and are pleasantly surprised to find everything so neat. You jump when you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders from behind.

"Calm down baby, no need to be so tense," he softly says as he rubs your arms in an attempt to calm you down. "I don't bite," he whispers as he shifts to move in front of you. He leans in close, his lips next to your ear. "Unless you want me to," he purrs, then leans back with a lopsided grin painting his face. You blush furiously and look away from him.

"You can ditch the hat and the mask. It's safe in here, promise," he says as he steps back, giving you room to catch your breath and remove the clothing items. You nod and slowly remove your hat and mask; you don't notice how Seungcheol's breath slightly hitches at the sight of you.

"Beautiful as always," he says as his eyes rake your figure, making you blush. "I'm glad you came. I didn't want our guest to be disappointed."

Wait, guest?

Before you could ask what he meant by that he leads you to what you assume is his bedroom. As you enter, your heart stills at the sight of the so-called 'guest' Seungcheol mentioned.

Yoon Jeonghan.

He's sitting on a sofa placed in the corner of the room, legs spread and a smirk on his face. You look towards Seungcheol for answers.

"Jeonghan said ever since he saw you that day he couldn't stop thinking about you," Seungcheol states as he gets closer to you and cups your face. "He said he wanted to watch you get fucked by me, so let's put on a show for him, shall we, baby?"

He waits for your reply, but when he doesn't get one, his smirk turns into a frown. "Hey, if you don't wanna do this, you can go back home. No one's forcing you to be here," he reassures you, gently caressing your cheek. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head. "N-No! I want…this," you shyly state, blush dusting your cheeks. Seungcheol smiles and gently guides your lips to his. His lips capture yours into a gentle kiss, different from last time.

The kiss slowly got rougher as you allowed Seungcheol to take control. His hands roam your body as he sucks on your bottom lip. You moan as you relax into his hold. He takes his time in savouring the kiss as, unlike the last time, he has all the time in the world to relish you. He separates his lips from yours and then attaches them to your neck, leaving marks as he starts guiding you to the bed. You couldn't help but let out soft whimpers when his teeth started digging into your skin, marking you as his.

He guides you to lie down on the bed with your legs hanging off. He grins as he shifts to kneel in front of you. Your breath hitches, and you instinctively close your legs together. Seungcheol stops you and pries your legs wide open with ease. "Uh-uh, I wanna taste you baby," he says, then starts undoing the button of your pants. You sit up, resting on your elbows, and bite your bottom lip as Seungcheol undresses your pants. You make brief eye contact with Jeonghan and couldn't help but blush and quickly look away which makes Jeonghan chuckle softly.

You let out a soft yelp and look back down at Seungcheol, who looks at you whilst biting your inner thigh whilst pouting, if that was even possible. He furrows his eyebrows as if to say, 'Pay attention to me,' and goes back to placing more marks on your inner thighs. You let out soft whimpers of his name and plead with him not to tease. You feel him smirk against your thigh, then shift to move towards your core. He hovers right infront of it but doesn't do anything; he just looks at you with a cocky expression. You let out a whine of frustration and buck your hips up, but he holds you down with a single hand on your lower stomach.

"Seungcheol, please," you whine, getting frustrated with his teasing. "Please, what, baby?" He cocks his head and pulls away even more frustrating you even further. "Please. I…I need your tongue," you mumble the last part.

"Hm? What was that? I couldn't hear you baby," he teases with a shit-eating grin on his face. "I need your tongue, please!" You almost yell, which makes Seungcheol chuckle.

He dives in and licks a stripe up your panty-clad core, moaning at the taste. You let out a moan at the feeling of some sort of relief. He continues to lick you through your panties, making your already wet panties even wetter. "Seungcheol, please," you whine.

"What is it baby? You asked for my tongue, and I'm giving it to you," he teases. You throw your head back and let out a frustrated whine, which only makes him laugh. "Maybe if you beg nicely…" he murmurs with a grin.

You start begging with tears of frustration pricking your eyes. You can hear him and Jeonghan laugh, which makes you blush hard but also makes you wetter. He then peels off your panties, making you squirm. "Make sure to scream my name out loud, baby," he says with a wink before diving in. You gasp and moan as you feel him suck on your clit. You grab onto Seungcheol's hair and tug, which makes him growl, sending vibrations through you. You moan his name out loud when his tongue starts prodding into you, lapping up all your juices. You make eye contact with Jeonghan and can't help but moan even louder; somehow, him watching you brings you closer to the edge.

Seungcheol noses your clit, and you cum, hard, legs closing around him, but he holds it open and continues to lap you up, driving your body into overstimulation. You whine at him to stop, and after a few more licks, he sits up; you almost cum a second time just looking at him, hair dishevelled and your juices dripping down his chin. He shifts to move on top of you and kisses you messily, making you taste yourself.

He separates from you and quickly discards any remaining clothing items separating the both of you. Your breath hitches at the sight of him fully naked. You run your hand down his well-built torso, almost drooling at the sight, making him smirk. "Like what you see, baby?" He asks cockily, causing you to blush.

He dives in, savouring your breasts, kneading and marking them, causing you to arch your back and moan his name. You moan and roll your eyes back when he slowly enters you. He gives you a moment to adjust to his huge size before starting to pound into you. You moan his name and grab onto his shoulders, digging into his skin and earning a hiss from him.

"Go on baby, tell Jeonghan how good I'm making you feel," he purrs in between thrusts. "So good, feel so full," you manage to whimper out, fuelling Seungcheol's ego.

"I'm the only one who can make you feel this way, right baby?" He asks, to which you attempt to answer but can only respond with broken moans.

Your eyes drift to where Jeonghan is sitting, and you can see his hard-on straining against his pants. You moan at the thought of the lewd scene taking place in the room, you getting ruthlessly fucked by Seungcheol as Jeonghan watches, the sounds of wet squelching and the smell of sex filling the room; it all brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm close," you pant out. Seungcheol sneaks his hand down to your clit and rubs it in circles, tipping you over the edge. You squeeze around him, and your juices drip onto the bed. He continues to pound into you, chasing after his own high. He cums with a growl filling you up to the brim, your mixed fluids soaking the sheets below you.

You both take a minute to catch your breath. He looks into your eyes and gently caresses your cheek before leaning in to capture your lips into a tender kiss. You melt into the kiss, savouring the feeling of his soft lips against yours. He separates from the kiss and stares into your eyes, searching for something. Silence drapes the room; it feels as if the world has come to a pause to allow you to admire the man on top of you for just a little bit longer. You don't want to let go; you don't want this to end; you want to stay in his arms forever. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"Go out with me?"

[idolomantises]

I haven't drawn Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss redesigns since last year and the fandom still regularly tags me/picks fights with me over them. I did not think a couple drawings would live in people's heads so rent free.

Like you can go find my redesigns on twitter, they're still very public. I just label them as "Angel Dust redesign" or "Alastor redesign". The only time I think I explicitly called a design bad was when I said I found Beelzebub's design atrocious. Which it is. It's an overdesigned mess that doesn't convey the sin at all, I'm allowed to say I don't like it. And even still, when I posted the art, I still labeled it as "Beelzebub redesign".

I'm not going to forget when you fans regularly stalked my account and PATREON just to figure out when I would upload the redesigns. You think I forgot about when I posted my Angel Dust redesign which was just meant to improve my old design and you people harassed me for days? You accused me of "baiting" fans because you are so self-obsessed you think everything I do is explicitly to upset you. You people misgendered me, told me to kill myself, called me a fucking cockroach and flat out threatened to assault me multiple times. Sure I was harsh about my critiques, but I didn't resort to homophobic and transphobic comments like you people did with my Angel Dust redesign because for some unexplained reason you diehard fans who have been following this project for 10 years didn't know that he's meant to be a drag queen. When I did a quick redesign of Katie Killjoy on my personal tumblr, guess what? You people flipped the fuck out, AGAIN.

I can't even talk about my own religion without you sad, paranoid losers thinking I'm trashtalking hazbin hotel. You made up some rumor that I block all Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss fans (despite being mutuals/friends with people who are fans of the shows or actually work on them) just so you could justify harassing me even more. You told me for years that I should wait until the Hazbin series dropped to get my full thoughts out and when it did you people still freaked out and berated me.

Even when I talked about my situation after posting my Angel Dust redesign, instead of apologizing, fans claimed I planned this hostile reaction to begin with to make the fandom look bad. That I was "pulling a transphobia card" for sympathy. I didn't do shit. You people have gotten more aggressive about your hate towards me because people finally saw how incredibly inappropriate and vile you people act over a midtier cartoon written by someone who has so many allegations of bullying, transphobia, racism and workplace abuse that it's become harder and harder for you to deny, so you take out your unrepressed anger on me.

I know the only reason you people target me is because I'm a big artist who doesn't kiss Viv's ass. You want me to be a diehard fan of hers like every other big artist you people bully into worshipping Viv and her show and I won't do it. So you just obsessively stalk and monitor my account and accuse every little thing I do as a spiteful attack so you can justify your little harassment campaigns again. It's pathetic.

Seek help, find a hobby, stop obsessing over people who don't like the same thing as you. It's getting sad.

[bananami]

STFUATTDLAGG

character/s: choso kamo x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: meangirl!reader x loser!choso is a pairing that lives in my head rent free so when you all voted for choso to be the next hot man i wrote for i knew this was what would come out of it so let’s get into it whores

WARNINGS: this is college based bc u know why. 18+, nsfw, mdni, the whole shebang, kiddos avert ur eyes IT'S ALL SMUT / also just be aware i did use fem language for reader. as always, i did not proof read xxx

A/N: delusion is like drugs for simps, and i am the crackhead

Choso isn't like a nerdy loser, more like he’s just an emo boy, he’s got that alternative look going on and in a school full of preppy rich kids he stands out like a sore thumb. Of course this leads to some not so nice kids being not so nice to him, to which like he literally could not care less. He pays no mind to what anyone thinks of him beyond of course what his brothers think of him.

And as much as people aren’t nice to him, they do not fuck with him directly, lowkey scared of his reactions. Especially following a specfic incident in which someone tried to pick a fight with him. At first he was going to just let it slide but then they said something rude about Yuuji and this man laid them out. People were sent to urgent care and everything. Choso was put on suspension and almost kicked out, but their family friend is a lawyer and threatened to sue the school and anyways (if you know who you know who) so he was allowed back at school and everyone’s a little weary of him. This doesn’t stop the mean comments from coming.

And you. You’re no exception. You made fun of him every chance you got. The way he always did his hair in that weird double bun updo, or how he had his nails painted black, his various piercings and tattoos, the way he dressed so much different, was so much different, than any of the other guys you knew at school.

And you were so disgustingly attracted to him. While everyone would sneer and make fun of him and you played along, in reality you were internally berating yourself.

Choso did his best to ignore you but to be honest in the end you were just too fun to mess with. He thought it was cute how you thought you could hurt his feelings, how you really tried, and didn’t realize that he had a thing for brats and that’s just what you were. Everyone else was too afraid to say it straight to his face ever since the fight except for you.

One time he caught you staring at him and he couldn’t help himself, leaning over with a careless smirk. "If you spent less time staring at me and more time paying attention to the lecture maybe you wouldn’t be failing the class."

"Fuck you, Choso.”

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hoped he’d mistake your embarrassment for anger. He didn’t. You snapped back, as usual. "Maybe if you didn’t dress like such a freak, you’d actually have some friends.”

"Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch your boyfriends would actually stick around for longer than a few months."

The one stung, and you tried not to let it show. Thrown off your game, all you could bring yourself to reply back was: “don’t call me a bitch.”

He shrugged, as though he were bored with the conversation already. "I never said it was a bad thing, just that you keep dating dudes who can’t handle you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn't answer though, and you spend way too much time thinking about what he could've meant. Was he implying that he could handle you? Was that why he constantly found ways to poke at you? Did he like when you were a brat? Did it matter if he liked it? It led your fantasies down a deep and dark rabbit hole that you spent weeks harping on.

Things get even worse after you realize that Choso might’ve been right about your grades slipping and staring at him in class and whatnot. And (for plot reasons of course) that would mean your professor paired you up with him for the final project so that you’d stand a better chance at passing the class.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside of his apartment door, debating how much you need to actually pass the course for your degree. You kept coming to the same conclusion. You definitely needed to.

"You just gonna stand at my door like a creep or can you move so i can let you inside?” He stood at the top of the staircase up to his apartment, watching you with another bored expression.

You're reaction is second nature. "I’m the creep? How long were you just standing there watching me? Maybe I’d already knocked and you didn’t answer so I was waiting. Let’s get on with it, I don’t need anyone seeing me hanging around-”

"Alright relax, princess. No one’s around to hear you act like you hate me. Come inside and I’ll grab us something to drink.” He opened the door to let you both inside, holding it open for you to enter first.

"First off, I do hate you. And second, how do I know you’re not going to poison me?”

"Don’t worry, I wouldn’t poison you. The plan was going more in the direction of choking.”

"Choked to death? Good to know.”

"You implied killing. All i said was choking.”

"Oh, gross.” You groaned. You pushed away the images that were brought to your mind. Choso's hand around your throat, fingers in your mouth, his breathy whispers telling you what else he'd have you choking on by the end of the night.

It's not too bad for the first few hours. You start out working on the project in the living room, but Choso’s neighbors are loud as all hell and you eventually ask if you guys can move into a room away from that shared wall. And (of course for plot purposes) that would be his bedroom.

"Your bedroom is exactly as I pictured it would be."

"This is the part where I make fun of you for picturing what my bedroom looks like."

"Yeah weird and creepy, just like you.”

"Your insults are getting less and less creative.”

"Yeah well….shut up.”

He’s surprised at that, usually you’d come back at him with something witty and clever and he actually enjoyed it.

It’s quiet and he’s sitting at his desk while you lay casually on his bed when he decides now’s as good a time as ever, and he might never actually get you alone again to say it.

"You ever gonna admit that you find me attractive or keep lying to the both of us?"

You wince. "I don't find you attractive. Stop flattering yourself."

"You flatter me enough with all the staring and drooling you do over me in class."

"You're obsessive," you snap at him.

"At least i can admit it."

You're caught off guard, stuck between wanting to ask what he means and not wanting to give in to the obvious baiting he's doing. When he throws the study material down on to his desk and plops down in front of you on his bed, it seems like he's resigned to not giving you that choice.

"Tell you what, I'll tell you all of the dirty and depraved things I think about on a daily basis, and you can decide after whether you'd like to share those same thoughts of yours with me or not."

"Why would I want to hear any of the thoughts in your head?"

"Because a lot of them revolve directly around you." He's leaned so close you're almost touching one another. Your silence is enough to spur him on. "I think you've never been fucked properly before."

You can't contain the look that falls on your face. "Seriously? This what you think about? My sex life is none of your business, but I'm doing just fine in that department, thank you very much."

He ignores you. "I don't think you've ever been told to shut the fuck up and take it like the good girl I know you can be." That shut you up real quick. Choso is on his knees in front of you, hands cupping around your neck, his thumbs running across your cheeks. "You're whiney little fucking attitude not do it for your boyfriends?" He teased. "They not know how to deal with you when you're being a brat, huh?"

You're head moves without conscious effort, nodding to agree with him.

"You just want some attention, don't you?"

Another nod.

"You want my attention, don't you?"

Hesitation. But you can't help yourself, his presence looming heavy over you, pushing you to admit what you'd kept in the dark for so long.

One of his hands slithers from your throat, down your chest, under the sweats you threw on in a rush to get to his apartment. You're so distracted by his fingers that you don't notice his face moving closer until his mouth is prying yours open. That's all it takes from him to have you stroking your fingers through his hair, pulling it out of the buns they typically are held in.

"Such a little brat." He's hovering over you, pushing your hips into the soft cushion of his bed with his. "Feel how hard it makes me?" He teases as he grinds his hips down, his clothed cock sliding against your center. Your eyes flutter and he grips onto your face with one hand, squeezing firmly. "You're gonna fuck me tonight. Nod if you understand."

You can't believe how quick your head moves up and down. "You're gonna take off those pretty little panties you wore hoping I'd get to see and slide up and down my dick until I tell you to stop. I don't want you cumming until I feel you've begged enough."

It takes no time at all for him to flip the two of you and prop himself up on his forearms. His pants are shimmied off and thrown to his bedroom floor alongside yours.

Your hands are desperate to line him up, anticipation building to have him deep inside of you, but his shoot out to pull them up and place them against his chest. "No, no, no. You don't get me inside you yet, not until you prove to me you deserve it." He urges you along his shaft, flat against his stomach. "That's right, be a good little slut for me and let me feel that pussy slide against my dick."

You watch him from above, his face contorting from concentration to pleasure to near desperation. You've never felt as powerful as you did riding him. Not a single one of your boyfriends ever turning you on as much as Choso was right now. He made you work for it, praising you when you did what he asked, and you chased that praise.

"Shit, look at that baby," he grabbed your hair and yanked your face down to watch yourself slide against him. "Need to feel you squeeze that pussy around me. Fuck, slide me in, slide me in-" his loud groans matched your high pitched sound of relief at having him seated inside you. "Fuck this."

He flipped the two of you back over, gripping each of your legs and forcing them up. "Hold right under your knees for me. Good girl, keep yourself open for me, let me just use you." He fell to his forearms as he plowed into you, giving you no time to get used to any sort of pace.

You tried your best to hold your legs, but you wanted so badly to touch him. One of your hands wandered back up into his lose hair.

He could barely keep his eyes open, mumbling all kinds of truths you were sure he would've kept locked inside had he not been so drunk on the feel of being inside you. "So fucking pretty," he kissed you sloppily, "such a stupid fucking brat, just needed my cock inside you. Feel like heaven, baby. Gonna let me cum inside your little cunt, right? Made me wait so fucking long to have you, I deserve it. Don't I deserve it?"

You can barely form any coherent words, setting for nodding and breathy uh huhs.

"So fucking mean to me, and look how good I'm being to you, huh?" You feel the light slap of his head against your cheek. "Say your sorry, beg me to cum inside your pussy."

You do beg, your apology comes out in between the stuttering and slurring of your words, but you beg and plead with him until he concedes. It his own orgasm that pushes you over, his groans and relentlessness that follow, pushing himself passed the point of no return. You can see the beginning of what looks like tears in his eyes, and he has to force himself to stop, his hips jerking from the overstimulation.

He kisses you ruthlessly, letting his tongue claim your mouth in a manner more harsh than it is anything else. And when he pulls away and his eyes settle back on yours they're equally as harsh.

"No more shitty little boyfriends that can't handle you. I'll handle you. You want my cock, you ask nicely. Understand?"

"Yes," you let your lips peck his, surprising him, "what if I don't wanna be nice about it?"

He smirks, "try it and find out. Now get on your knees and suck my cock like the good girl I know you can be."

[jnnul]

falling in love at first sight (x3)

a/n: so i woke up in cold sweat and i had to write this. there's like 30k i could've written about this but tbh, i needed to get this out lol. also taesan has been living in my head rent free so this is his eviction notice. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

word count: 6.3k

tags: college au!, basketballplayer!taesan x nurse!y/n, honestly it's just a fluff piece, idiots in love, dongmin is DOWN BAD and falls in love with the same girl 3 times, uhh y/n is a feisty nurse warnings: taesan is called dongmin, uhh alcohol + memory loss involved with getting shitfaced lol

HAN DONGMIN DIDN'T REALLY BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITIONS. to him, things like 'knocking on wood' or 'not opening an umbrella inside' were just old wives' tales that didn't have much substance to them.

but after dongmin had shattered his bedroom mirror this morning (he'd accidentally launched his alarm clock across the room after sleeping too late last night), nearly every single thing in his life had gone wrong.

he'd put expired milk in his cereal because kim donghyun (his roommate) hadn't switched out the milk like he'd promised to the day before. then he went to take a shower, only to be burned by scalding hot water since the landlord refused to change the heating system, even though they'd been suffering through the sticky heat of august for fifteen days already. as if all of that wasn't enough, he'd accidentally torn his favorite hoodie trying to clean up the fragments that'd fallen on the floor. and when he was trying to salvage his hoodie, he scraped his forearm against the fragments, meaning he had a nasty gash along the long side of it.

which meant he'd have to go to the hospital to take care of this stupid bloody mess instead of going to class.

that was how han dongmin found himself sitting in the waiting room of the urgent care center of the hospital, a shoddy rag wrapped around his forearm, his essentials hoodie covered in blood, expired milk, and mirror dust.

needless to say, dongmin had gotten more than a few strange looks from the other people in the waiting room in the last four minutes he'd been there.

"han dongmin!" the receptionist calls out, and dongmin launches himself out of his chair, impatient to get this over with as soon as possible.

something about hospitals just gave dongmin the heebie jeebies. the fluorescent lighting, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the tangible feeling of sickness that wafted through the air.

ugh. dongmin hated hospitals. in fact, he was so sure that he would never even step foot in a hospital after this. if he needed to wrap himself in bubble wrap to do so, then so be it because he hated hospitals and he would never come ba -

dongmin stops dead in his tracks, right next to the recovery bed that the receptionist had led him to. standing in front of him was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen in his life.

you were smiling at something the patient in front of you was saying, leaning over to bandage the patient's scrape with a little bandaid that had cartoon ryans all over it.

fuck that.

dongmin was ready to break his leg if it meant that he got to stay in the hospital and stare at your beautiful face all day. before he could find something big and heavy to knock his leg into, however, you make your way over to dongmin, clipboard and first aid kit in hand.

"hello," you say with a soft smile. "my name is y/n l/n and i'll be taking care of you today. is there anything i can help you with?"

"will you go out with me?" the words escape dongmin's mouth before he can even process what he's saying and you immediately lean backwards, a disproving wrinkle between your eyebrows.

"excuse me?" you say, and it's clear that dongmin's not gonna be in your good graces if he hits on you. he really hoped you were like this with everyone and not that you just found him super unattractive or anything (donghyun swore up and down that dongmin was not ugly - especially now that he'd dyed his hair! but donghyun also never had to chase after a girl in his life so...). or worse, if you already had a boyfriend.

but before he can ruminate about your affronted stance too deeply, dongmin rushes to fix his mistake. "i mean, hospitals really freak me out. the ethanol smell and the lighting and everything kinda gets in my head, you know what i mean? do you think you could just slap some gauze on outside?"

the tension in your shoulders immediately relaxes and you take a step forward once more, setting the first aid kit down next to dongmin.

"oh yeah, that makes sense," you say, sounding relieved. "unfortunately, i can only provide care while inside the hospital to make sure that the instruments and gauze are sterile to prevent any contamination. i promise i'll be as quick as possible so i can get you out of here!" you explain, a slight pout tugging your lips down in the most adorable way as you seem genuinely sorry for dongmin.

it was official: han dongmin was in love.

"no, don't worry. take your time. i mean, the cut is pretty bad and i don't wanna leave any mirror guts in it," dongmin says. as quick as possible, my ass, he thinks to himself. i gotta find a way to make this last for as long as i can.

"of course!" you assure, before looking down at the clipboard. "so i assume you cut yourself on a broken mirror? does it hurt when you apply pressure?"

what was the answer that would keep you here longer?

"yes?"

"are you asking me or telling me?"

"telling?"

"very convincing. i'm gonna need to apply pressure and confirm for myself then, if that's alright with you?" you look at him in a way that seems to be somewhat apprehensive and dongmin has never wanted to reverse time more than in this very instant.

until he doesn't because your hands are on his forearm, examining the wound gently and applying pressure around the open gash.

"does it hurt when i do this?" you ask, eyes trained on the way that his forearm muscles ripple and move as you apply pressure in different places.

dongmin's not the most buff guy on the planet, and you checking out his muscles was definitely not for your own pleasure, but at least all of his time on the court and in the gym has paid off in some way.

"uh...no. not unless you're super close to the cut," dongmin says and you nod with a gentle smile. it's in that moment that dongmin decides that he would kill anyone and anything just to see you smile like that again,

"that's good to hear. well, i guess that all we need to do is 'slap some gauze on' after disinfecting the wound and making sure we don't have any 'mirror guts' in it," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your tone. dongmin doesn't know what it is about it but it makes him blush, regardless.

"yeah. that sounds good," he says dreamily, trying hard to compose himself once more when you flash him a questioning look.

you work carefully on his arm, making sure to give a tiny little stress ball to dongmin to use when you descend upon his wound with some antibacterial medicine and rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball.

"so, uh, you look pretty young for a doctor...?" dongmin says, trying very hard to focus his attention on you instead of the stinging pain that came with every touch of the cotton ball on his wound. the more he looked at you, the more he began to wonder if he'd seen you somewhere before.

dongmin wasn't the superstitious type, and didn't exactly believe in 'love at first sight', but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't place you anywhere in his memory.

"that might be because 'm not a doctor," you say somewhat distractedly. "i'm a nursing student."

"oh. oh! you're a nursing student?" he asks. student. that means that you were either his age or just a few years older than him. and it also probably meant that you were a student at a university near by - maybe his?

"yep. a second year. although, don't worry, i've completed all of my first aid clinicals last year itself," you explain, leaning back in satisfaction when you finish cleaning up the wound.

"my school has a pretty famous nursing program, you know. maybe you've heard of yonsei's nursing program?" dongmin asks, eyes shining with hope.

it's only then that you look up at dongmin with an excited look in your eyes, turning to throw away the used cotton balls.

"i go to yonsei as well! i'm just starting my second year. it's a little strange because the nursing program runs through the summer, which is why i'm working clinicals right now. i'm almost done though, so i'll be switching into a field i'm more interested in," you say and dongmin swears he hears wedding bells in his mind. beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the same age as him? it was like god was basically handing his soulmate to him on a platter. maybe love at first sight was real after all.

"me too! well, i'm not a nursing major, but i'm a second year electrical engineering major," dongmin says, watching you turn back towards him with a clipboard.

"mhm, well, i've gotta tell you to be careful for the next week or so. no heavy lifting, sports, and definitely no cutting things. we don't want to make the wound worse, now do we?" you say chidingly, scribbling instructions on the clipboard of how to clean the wound with rubbing alcohol and how many pills of ibuprofen to take per day.

"of course," dongmin says half-heartedly. as much as dongmin hated the feeling of pain, the was the only way that he could think of to get to see you again was to somehow hurt himself again.

"how about you come back in a week to just make sure that it closed up well? make sure it didn't get infected or anything?" you ask, handing him the sheet of paper.

god was real.

dongmin swore he was going to go to church and donate at least 10,000 won for the blessing after blessing he was receiving today.

"oh sure," he says, a mischievous thought popping into his head. "but is it ok if i find you on campus? i have a lot of labs over the next week and i can't miss them if i can't even participate in them, so i can at least get the information. i won't really have time to stop by the hospital," dongmin says carefully, watching your expression to ensure that it wasn't changing with every word that escaped your lips.

technically, it wasn't a lie. dongmin did have a lot of labs next week but that's definitely not why he wouldn't have time to stop by the hospital.

"i don't see why not. i don't need any sterile instruments to just check quickly, so that shouldn't be an issue," you say slowly, nodding to yourself as you look around the little station to make sure you wouldn't need any of the equipment.

"perfect," dongmin says, shuffling out of the bed that he was sitting in to leave before turning around nonchalantly. "do you think i could get your number? so i know where to find you?"

you look up at him, and dongmin tries his best to seem sincere and genuine rather than as calculating as he felt, trying every tactic possible to see you again.

"yeah. yeah, here let me type it into your phone."

he hands his phone over to you, and it takes every single fiber of his being to keep himself from looking excited about any part of this transaction. you were already suspicious enough of him; you definitely didn't need more reasons to add to the list.

you're frowning slightly when you hand the phone back to him so dongmin pockets it without a second thought, to prove that he wasn't trying to be weird.

"thank you so much again." dongmin waves as he leaves, flashing the award-winning smile that he usually reserves for aunties and restaurant owners for free sides. oh, and for his fans.

you don't blush and trip over yourself when he does like his fans do - although you offer him a soft smile in return.

although, dongmin muses, i guess it would be weird if a nurse who met me for the first time would be anything like a college basketball star's fan though. maybe.

he shakes his head, opening the door to the hospital, looking down at his arm wrapped in gauze. yeah. there was no way that dongmin was taking a break from basketball. season started in less than three weeks and as yonsei's point guard, he had no choice but to just power through the injury.

it might work out in his favor after all. at least it would give him more chances to see you.

+++

turns out, the universe gives him a chance less than two days after he sees you for the first time. and in any other case, dongmin would be incredibly excited to see you again. he'd probably be ready, waiting with freshly showered hair and clean clothes and nice smelling cologne.

instead, when he sees you again, he's wearing raggedy shorts, a stained shirt, and holding a basketball that he definitely should not be holding.

dongmin knew he was fucked the moment you walked in through the double doors that opened up to the indoor basketball court of yonsei, light spilling in from the outdoors, along with the chatter and excitement of students returning to university.

you walk in wearing white, along with six other people dressed similarly, the basketball team's physician (dr. moon taeil) at the head of them all. dongmin hopes that you don't recognize him - or at least don't see him actively playing but of course, you manage to turn your head to see dongmin throw the ball out of his hands in a random direction in panic.

the ball, then of course, managed to fall neatly through the hoop, as though dongmin had intentionally thrown it there, causing him to want to die on the spot.

so he couldn't do that during a game with korea university, but now that he was doing everything in his power to keep you from seeing him play basketball, now he manages to throw it in the one place it shouldn't go.

your eyes narrow when dongmin turns to face you, your gaze falling to his (poorly) wrapped forearm. he offers you a trembling grin, which slowly turns into a frown when you look away, shaking your head as you start talking to the girl next to you.

at least you wouldn't say anything to coach about how he wasn't supposed to be playing right now, dongmin thinks to himself. even if i've effectively ruined my chances of her ever believing me about anything ever again. uh. not that i've had more than one conversation with her. or might have more in the future.

dongmin shivers, jogging over to where the basketball had fallen to pick it up and return to his place at the three-point line and continue shooting practice.

he returns to where he's supposed to be practicing, so that his back is facing the group of people who'd entered - namely, you.

"i forgot coach mentioned that we've got new on-site medical staff," dongmin mutters to himself, dribbling the ball before lining up his shot. "i didn't know that she'd be a part of that though - she can't be the sporty type if she didn't recognize me from the hospital."

dongmin is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even feel the dark presence looming over him until the ball is released from his hand.

"HAN DONGMIN!" someone yells, right next to his ear, and dongmin scrambles to attention, wincing when the basketball bounces off the rim and into the cart of basketballs he was practicing with with a resounding clang!

he turns slowly, eyes closed, as if that would make you go away.

"i cannot believe that i bandaged you up so carefully just for you to start playing again! how could you be so careless? do you not want to be able to play during the season? you're yonsei's ace and you're being this irresponsible!" you're heaving by the end of your rant and dongmin blinks, trying to come up with a response.

you definitely didn't know him well enough to yell at him like this - much less in front of all of his teammates - but for some reason, that's not what stuck out to dongmin.

(much to his chagrin, you being angry was hot. like really hot. especially since he'd thought you'd be the soft and cozy type, not the impulsive and quick to anger type. he really liked this side of you.)

"you know who i am?" he asks slowly.

"OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! OH, YOU ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES. YOU ASS, I DIDN'T BANDAGE YOU UP THAT NEATLY FOR YOU TO BE WALKING AROUND SHOOTING THREES!"

you're yelling at him, and for some reason, dongmin has never wanted to kiss someone more in his life. he'd never though he'd be this attracted to someone that he's just met yelling at him, much less in front of his entire team and her own entire team. but for some reason, as dongmin looks at you waving your hands all crazy and annoyed, all he can think about it how much he likes you.

it wasn't just physical. of course, he thought you were beautiful - possibly the most beautiful person he'd ever seen in his life and he would die on that hill - but it was more than that. it was as though he'd genuinely fallen in love at first sight.

you could tell him that you were a serial killer and at this point, dongmin would just admire your bloodlust.

"uh. dongmin?" coach jung says behind him, hands crossed over his chest. "do you guys need a moment to step out and come back?"

even coach jung seems a little bit intimidated by your livid state of being and dongmin has to cough to cover up his life.

"no coach. we're done here," you say, turning dramatically on your heel to turn back to your friends. but dongmin moves quicker than even his own mind can process what happens.

before he can think, his hand is wrapped around your wrist, spinning you closer to him, almost as if the two of you were ballroom dancing.

you look up at him, shocked, but dongmin is slow to let go of your wrist, not wanting to lose contact with you.

"no, we need just a moment," dongmin says, his eyes never leaving your own. it's clear that you neither expected this nor were used to this kind of behavior from anyone and before the fight that's building inside of you bubbles out, dongmin tilts his head toward the door that leads to a hallway extending to the equipment room, practically begging you with his eyes.

you aqcuiesce - or at least, dongmin thinks you do - from the way that your shoulder melt just the slightest and you let him pull you into the hallway.

"what?" you snap the second the door shuts behind the two of you. "okay, maybe i didn't let on that i knew you from our encounter, but that's irrelevant. i didn't need to tell you that i knew you. and besides, as your healthcare provider, it would have been extremely irresponsible on my end for me to let slip that i'm a fan - or that i know you personally at all."

dongmin can't help but let a small smile slip. "personally? we know each other personally?"

you fluster in that moment, looking anywhere but at dongmin, bringing a large smile to his face. he'd never thought that the feisty, quick to temper and quick to lose it, loud type was his type but he was starting to enjoy it very much.

"alright, well i know you personally enough, alright?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "we've met before."

now it's dongmin's turn to look flustered, as he wracks his brain, trying to come up when or where the two of you have met before. he wasn't the one-night-stand type, so that couldn't be it. he also didn't have an insane amount of friends outside of the basketball team and donghyun's friends, so that wasn't it either.

"i'm really sorry - and i'm definitely trying to hit on you, just not right now - but i don't remember. i'd definitely remember someone like you," dongmin says, and he's well aware of the fact that his tone does not sound any level of displeased, and rather dreamy.

you roll your eyes, looking down at the ground. "we kissed once. twice actually. but um. that's not my point."

you clear your throat, as if you hadn't just dropped the biggest bomb of the century on dongmin, shaking your head. "why the hell are you playing basketball on an injured arm anyway? i specifically said no sports!"

dongmin raises an eyebrow. "you say you're my fan and yet you're still asking me why i'm playing when we have our first game in a week. and hold on. i'm not letting go of that first part; we've kissed? twice?"

you shrug, but it's clear that you don't think of it as nonchalantly as you're trying to make it sound when you speak. "yeah. in freshman year. once in spring semester and then once in fall. it's not a big deal. to you at least. clearly you kiss a lot of girls, if you don't even remember us kissing at all."

"now that's not fair," dongmin pouts, but he's well aware that he's not conveying this well at all. suddenly, a flash of a girl wearing a red dress, looking up at him with big eyes and a pouty lips crosses his mind.

good god. were - were you dongmin's mystery girl?

+++

"what do you mean dongmin finally found his mystery girl? the one he's been crushing on for a full year?" myung jaehyun says incredulously, instantly pulling out his phone to look you up on instagram.

dongmin sits in the middle of his friends, all sitting at the same table as they were supposed to be eating lunch, his head resting in his hands.

"you mean the one that he swore was the love of his life? god, he wouldn't shut up about that for at least six months," lee sanghyuk says, shoveling noodles in his mouth.

"try a year," donghyun groans, rubbing his forehead in pain. "do you remember the state of this kid when he woke up the next day?"

"good god, it was horrible. all he could say for a full week was that he wanted to jump out of the window because he'd lost her number and that he was never going to find true love because he couldn't remember her name, number, or even what she looked like," sanghyuck adds.

park sungho, the newest addition to their friend group, blinks, looking at dongmin, who's head is still in his hands.

"you were down bad, man," he muses and jaehyun on the side of him snorts.

"down bad doesn't even begin to describe it. it got to the point where we had 'girl in the red dress' and 'true love' jars because he would talk about her." jaehyun sighed, looking at dongmin pointedly. "he'd put enough money that we'd bought alc for the rest of freshman year. just in spring semester."

"that's what you get for trying to prove that you could drink a 4lokos without getting shitfaced," donghyun says, nose crinkling as he recalled the hours he had to spend making sure that dongmin wasn't going to die by choking on his own spit. "and he went and did it twice. it took us months to get to the point where we could invite this guy anywhere so as long as he swore not to bring her up again."

dongmin looks up, almost excitedly. "do you think that if i drink another 4lokos, we'll kiss at another party?"

sungho leans over, smacking him upside the head. "you're so fucking dumb. and i can tell just by these stories. you're not allowed to drink until season's over, idiot. and she's on your medical team. why don't you start by making a good impression while you're not so drunk you're going to start insisting that spongebob is hydrophobic."

("you were there when that happened?")

("you idiot, you thought i was spongebob. you kept throwing my drinks away because you thought i was going to disappear into them if i drank them. which makes no sense because that's not what hydrophobic means.")

("oh. sorry man.")

"yeah. just go to the med clinic tomorrow, apologize to her, and bring her flowers or something. women eat that shit up!" sanghyuk says with a mouthful of noodles and jaehyun nods, pointing his chopsticks at him excitedly.

"they do! my girlfriend always feels better with food and flowers," he says, cheeks stuffed to the brim with carbonara.

dongmin's mind races with all of the implications of doing so, but every single one of his thoughts fade away in light of the fact that he could redeem himself in your eyes. he slams his hands down on the table, swinging his legs over the bench to run to the nearest flower shop.

"i'll be back before practice!" dongmin calls out over his shoulder, waving a quick goodbye as he sprints towards the florists.

he makes it to the edge of the courtyard before he hears the yelling of his friends behind him, turning to see them waving at him (and waving some very rude fingers at him).

"YOU FORGOT YOUR WALLET, YOU IDIOT!"

+++

dongmin's friends were useless. absolutely useless.

he'd went and bought the prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find, a nice meal from his favorite bento place, and had even bought three different types of ice cream bars because he didn't know which one you'd like.

he'd walked right into the medical clinic office, his apology gifts all in hand, ready to apologize to you, redeem his honor, and become your own true love.

the last part probably wasn't going to work anyway, but the first two should've been foolproof.

instead, he manages to prove that he was a fool.

as it turns out, he wasn't the only person who thought that the flowers were beautiful; dongmin had managed to bring the queen bee as a secret surprise in the bouquet, which meant that the rest of her hive was NOT very happy that he'd committed royal kidnap, as far as the bees were concerned.

"HAN DONGMIN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" you yell from underneath your desk, where you were hiding from the sudden swarm of bees that had followed dongmin in.

he doesn't respond, too busy opening the window to drop the flowers out of, hesitating when he sees the number of people that were lounging around the courtyard that the medical office looked out of.

dongmin lines up the bouquet, sending a prayer to god (any one that would listen) as he shoots the best three he's ever shot in his life, so that the bouquet (and all of the bees that accompanied it) landed far away enough from people to prevent them from getting hurt.

of course, a few brave souls had stayed behind to exact revenge for their queen on dongmin, resulting in upwards of five bee stings, before dongmin finally evaded the great medical bee disaster once and for all.

he turns sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"i don't suppose i could find medical care in this clinic, could i?" he says, and he's well aware of the fact that he's flushed bright red, as he always seems to when he's made a fool of himself.

thankfully, there are only four or five people, including you, in the office to witness this disaster - although, dongmin can see the girl you were talking to yesterday surpressing a smile.

"yeah, of course you could. but we're all headed on break so unfortunately, y/n is the only person who's gonna be able to give you medical care. you know, since you've already brought lunch for her," your friend says with a knowing grin. she ushers the rest of the medical staff out of the office, closing the door behind her with a telltale click.

"you can come out from under the desk now," dongmin says, and despite the situation, he finds it adorable that in the case of a bee swarm, your first instinct had been to hide underneath a desk.

"i was going to," you grumble, slinking out from your hiding spot and dusting off invisible dust from your pants. "what were you thinking, bringing flowers with bees in them?"

dongmin blushes, tilting his head as he tries to look anywhere but where you were. "i wanted to apologize to you. in my defense, i kinda always thought bees were made up. i mean, they're so fat! there's no way they should be able to fly. that directly violates like every law of aviation in the world."

your eyebrow quirks upward as you look at the ice cream and lunch he had set down on your desk in his bee-induced panic. "i can't believe you're quoting the bee movie at me right now."

"i can't believe you know i'm quoting the bee movie. i should've known the love of my life was an internet connoiseur," dongmin says with a sigh, examining the bee stings on his arm. how did these bees even manage to crawl underneath the sleeves of his shirt?

"excuse me?" you bark, hands on your hips. "did you just call me the love of your life? when you couldn't even remember who i was like yesterday?"

"okay, wait. you don't understand. first, i need you to help me out by getting some ointment on these stings because they're starting to burn and i don't know if that's so normal. and then, i'll explain everything, trust me."

you reluctantly reach back into a cabinet that reads 'insect stings' and grab the kit for bee stings, pulling a cream out of it, beckoning dongmin to come closer so that you could treat it.

"do you remember what happened that night? or those two nights, i guess?" you ask softly, eyes trained on dongmin's arm so that you don't have to look him in the eyes and he nods.

"i remember. well, as much as i can, anyway. i was blackout drunk both times. and from what i remember, you weren't exactly sober either, so i don't know how you remember me but trust me, whatever you think about me is not true. i was - i was so down bad that my friends had to make a 'no y/n' jar!" dongmin yelps the last part when your hand on his arm presses a little too hard.

"i'm sorry! sorry!" you gasp, immediately leaning over to blow cool air on the place you'd accidentally put too much pressure. "what do you mean by a no 'no y/n' jar though? i thought you didn't remember my name."

"i didn't! and it killed me! i don't remember exactly what happened those nights but i remember how much i liked you. i remember thinking that i'd never meet a girl like you in my life. it still frustrates me that i lost your number - although, i do remember the part where you smacked me over the head the second time that we met. i think i suffered permanent brain damage from that.

"but i remember glimpses of that night. like that red dress you were wearing and how much you were rambling about stars. you were giving me an in-depth explanation about how black holes work and something about how rockets look like they're stuck in time in black holes. not the point. but the point is that i genuinely fell in love with you that first night we met.

"i've got this horrid habit though, when i get drunk - i become either super scared of water, or super infatuated with it. it's honestly a coin-toss. so imagine my feeling the next morning when i wake up with a dissolved piece of paper in my pocket that's supposed to have your number on it, semi-wet clothes, and a raging migraine.

"i thought i met the love of my life and i couldn't even remember her name, number, or even her face. it drove me and my friends absolutely nuts. me because i didn't know how to find you when i couldn't remember anything. my friends went insane because i would talk about you so much that they bought me those swear jars for every time i mentioned you.

"of course, i didn't know your name so you were just 'the love of my life' or 'girl in the red dress' but i think i dumped at least 300,000 won in those jars by the end of the semester. and then as if the universe was out to make my life living hell, we met again and i was shitfaced again. i swore to never touch a 4lokos after that, if that's any level of redemption.

"anyway. i brought you flowers and all this stuff because i wanted to tell you that - that i've liked you for a lot longer than even i've known! i remember most of the conversations that we had, even if i couldn't remember exactly who you were. when i saw you at the hospital, i genuinely thought i was falling in love at first sight. but i guess, that's kinda not true. cause that would be my third time falling in love at first sight."

"why, though? three times? i mean, i don't think i'm ugly or anything but three times? yeah, i mean i guess i kinda also had a thing for you after those two nights. god. i wish i remembered what we talked about for us to get this attached," you say, mumbling the last part. dongmin turns to you somewhat confused, watching you as you open up the bento box he'd bought you.

"you don't remember what we talked about? besides the black holes and stuff?"

"nope. but i've also got a horrible reputation amongst my friends for how much i talked about you. the worst part is that i remembered you but not what we talked about. it was so stupid because no one believed me that han dongmin, yonsei's point guard was the guy i'd had my heart for the past year." you instinctively smile the moment you take a bite of the food and even though it's so small, dongmin's heart swells with pride.

"why didn't you ever come up to me? i mean, this whole year of pining could've been avoided if you'd talked to me," dongmin says, accepting the ice cream bar you handed him. how the hell did you know that was his favorite ice cream?

"i gave you my number once, and i kissed you twice. i figured you were just ghosting me at some point if you weren't going to reach out to me. and besides, nursing really picked up right after basketball season so...i kinda just ended up torturing my friends for the past year," you say, somewhat sheepishly, but dongmin is barely even listening anymore.

after all, how many people can say that they fell in love at first sight with the same person three times?

"well. we're here now. will you go out with me? i promise i won't even touch a 4lokos!"

"deal. as long as you promise to tell me everything we talked about that night. i still can't tell why i fell so hard for you that i chased you down a basketball court in front of your whole team."

"my stellar looks? my killer smile? my stupidly handsome personality? my superb basketball skills?"

"try your stupid attraction to water molecules."

"i have a feeling i shouldn't have told you about that."

+++

freshman year, spring semester.

"really? you've never fallen in love before?" you ask incredulously. you and dongmin are sitting on the balcony of some random friend who decided to throw a party, feet dangling over the edges in between the bars.

"nah. i don't think so," dongmin says, leaning backwards on his palms. "i don't think i've ever met someone who's ever made me feel like my entire heart is their's to do whatever they want to do with."

"then let's play this game," you say, clumsily pulling out your phone. "that one thing on new york times, where you fall in love with someone within 36 questions."

"why? you want me to fall in love with you?" dongmin says, leaning over with a cheeky smile. you push him playfully, focused on trying to pull up the questions list.

"you'd do that whether i told you to or not," you fire back. "and besides, i think i'm a fantastic kisser. so you're probably already in love."

"you're right," dongmin says with a sigh. "i think i am."

freshman year, fall semester.

"question 36. i can't believe we never finished all the questions last time," you say. this time the two of you are sitting so close, dongmin can still taste the watermelon chapstick you're wearing. at this point though, dongmin might as well be the one wearing it.

"to be fair, last time i think we were otherwise preoccupied."

"get your mind out of the gutter!"

"i was talking about how many times you kept getting distracted by the dog."

"anyway. we're on question 36; are you in love with me yet?"

"i should be asking you that. i've been in love."

"han dongmin! i thought you weren't the superstitious type?"

"i'll be whatever you want me to be."

[pugh-bug]

Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

——————————————————————

‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

[nyoomerr]

Maybe some Omega Bingge for the drabble requests if you'd like? The ficlet you did of him making the nest lives rent free in my head

i'm glad you enjoyed it! i'd honestly love to do a longer omega!bingge thing some time, i love him so much... for now, here's something that's.. kind of the opposite of the one i wrote last time.

cw for omegaverse and Gender Stuff and mentions of female genitalia on a male character!

---

Proud Immortal Demon Way had many flaws, but top of the list had been that it had been an omegaverse - one of the few tropes in literature literally made for bad porn. It was a sellout’s last resort, and a reader’s most shameful pleasure, and -

“If you hate it so much, why are you still reading it?” Shen Yuan’s sister had asked him years ago, back when Shen Yuan had still bothered to complain to her about it.

Frustratingly, Shen Yuan hadn’t had much to say in response. He had reasons, but they were - not shameful, exactly, but the thought of speaking them aloud made Shen Yuan’s gut roil.

Luo Binghe was the picture perfect image of a stallion protagonist. Women fell to his feet with hardly a breath of effort, and his stamina in bed was unheard of, and he was naturally the best looking character Shen Yuan had ever laid eyes on. 

He was also, shockingly, an omega. 

An omega, someone born with instincts that would thematically tend towards feminine behavior, someone born with the bits meant for being bred, someone - someone altogether unfit to be a stallion protagonist, really. It was a massive subversion of the genres. 

Of course, Airplane never wrote it in such an interesting way. There were some interesting character arcs back in the disciple era chapters, but once Luo Binghe fell to the Abyss, they all fell apart. 

The very mention of secondary genders all but vanished. Sex scenes were as rampant as they were vague, enforcing the idea that Luo Binghe was a perfect stallion protagonist - always on top! - without giving any details about how the hell that worked. 

Useless! A waste of a perfectly fascinating subversion of genre and gender alike! Why bother even establishing an omegaverse world if you weren’t going to use the protagonist’s secondary gender at all?!

…Or so Shen Yuan had thought, until Luo Binghe himself had fallen straight into his bedroom out of a crack in reality. Because in person, Luo Binghe as an omega is - 

Shen Yuan swallows thickly, staring up at Luo Binghe with wide eyes. Luo Binghe meets his gaze evenly, his eyes half shut with a lazy sort of pride. His body is pressed close to Shen Yuan’s but not touching, and the mere inch between the lines of their bodies somehow feels more intimate than if Luo Binghe had outright plastered himself against Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan can’t back up; his back is already against a wall. He can’t escape from the sides, either, because Luo Binghe’s arms are bracketing Shen Yuan in an honest-to-fuck kabedon, and - 

“Yuan-er,” Luo Binghe croons, jolting Shen Yuan’s attention back to him. “This Lord found your… notes.”

Shen Yuan’s mouth goes dry. “Ah… my… college notes?” He tries.

“Your notes about me,” Luo Binghe purrs. 

“O-oh,” Shen Yuan says, helplessly. He wrote… a truly horrifying number of things about Luo Binghe, before he ever thought he might meet him.

“It seems,” Luo Binghe says, leaning in so that Shen Yuan can feel his breath against his lips, “like Yuan-er has some questions.”

“Um,” Shen Yuan says, very intelligently. “Questions, uh, yeah, sure, right, like - uh, like I was wondering how you escaped the Crystal Bloodmoon Cave in chapter 347, because it just faded to black and -”

“Yuan-er doesn’t want to know how I might use an omega’s clit to fuck someone else?” Luo Binghe asks, voice low and dangerous. 

Shen Yuan’s mouth falls slack. What - what do you even say in response to that, ah!! Shen Yuan doesn’t swing that way!!

…Or, if Luo Binghe is an omega, that’s - it’s a bit different from just being a man, right? So maybe -

“I’d show you,” Luo Binghe whispers into the shell of Shen Yuan’s ear. “Anything Yuan-er wants to know about me, I’ll show you.”

Luo Binghe pulls back slightly, just enough to meet Shen Yuan’s eyes again. His expression is dark and intense and hungry.

“I’ll show you,” he says again, licking his lips, “so don’t you dare look away from me.”

Shen Yuan shudders, an electric shock running up his spine. Luo Binghe shifts, one of his arms moving away from the wall to curl around Shen Yuan’s shoulders, the claws of  his hand scratching lightly against the nape of Shen Yuan’s neck.

The touch is enough to shock some sense back into Shen Yuan.

“I’m not - I don’t have a scent gland, there!” Shen Yuan yelps, jolting away.

He doesn’t get very far. Luo Binghe’s feather-light touch turns sharp, a forceful grip on the back of Shen Yuan’s neck that keeps him in place. Luo Binghe’s other hand comes up to take Shen Yuan’s chin between his fingers, tilting it up to force eye contact.

“You don’t,” Luo Binghe agrees, his eyes glinting red. “But as Yuan-er has… so thoroughly written about, I’m an omega. I shouldn’t be scruffing anyone to begin with, regardless of what sort of scent gland they have. What difference does it make, if there’s no scent gland at all?”

Shen Yuan’s pulse is loud in his ears. He knows Luo Binghe must feel it under his hands, jumping like a startled rabbit.

“I - um, I don’t mean to imply you shouldn’t do what you want!” Shen Yuan cries. “I mean, uh - My Lord! My Lord, I - of course this lowly one wouldn’t know anything about what my Lord should be doing, so -”

“Shh,” Luo Binghe coos. “Yuan-er is right. I shouldn’t be doing this, and yet I am anyway. I always am.”

“Right,” Shen Yuan says nervously. He can feel the way his shirt is sticking to his back, wet with sweat. 

“But Yuan-er has questions,” Luo Binghe continues, his grip loosening on Shen Yuan’s neck but curling so that his claws are once more pressed into the skin there. “And I have answers. Isn’t it good of me to offer to show you?”

“Right,” Shen Yuan says again, barely thinking. Then Luo Binghe’s mouth splits into a feral grin, and his words process with Shen Yuan, and - “Wait, wait -!”

“No take backs,” Luo Binghe says, vicious and pleased, and proceeds to show Shen Yuan quite thoroughly what it means to be a stallion protagonist omega.

---

Later, staring up at his ceiling and feeling unfairly winded, Shen Yuan figures he doesn’t really have much left to lose.

“Do you want to be an alpha?” He asks the ceiling. “Er - did you? This whole time?”

Luo Binghe’s attention on Shen Yuan is as heavy and intense as if it were a physical touch; Shen Yuan knows without looking that Luo Binghe has not taken his eyes off Shen Yuan once since - 

Ahem. Since… finishing. What they had been doing.

Now, Luo Binghe reaches out to twirl a finger in Shen Yuan’s hair, round and round and round the short locks, tugging at it hard enough it’s nearly painful. 

“Being an omega was a very dangerous thing, in all three realms,” Luo Binghe hums. “It wouldn’t have been an advantage to me to act like one.”

Shen Yuan sits upright, quite suddenly feeling a bit panicked. “I - you didn’t have to - if you didn’t want to, just now -!”

Luo Binghe grabs more of Shen Yuan’s hair and pulls, tugging Shen Yuan back down into a prone position. 

“So earnest, little Yuan-er,” Luo Binghe croons, and Shen Yuan feels his face go blotchy and red. “You have no need to worry; if it’s Yuan-er, I’ll do whatever you’d like.”

“But if you want something different -”

“Then I’ll demand it,” Luo Binghe says quite simply. “I’ll do whatever you’d like, and you’ll do whatever I’d like; that’s what I deserve.”

Shen Yuan splutters a bit but ultimately fails to protest this in any meaningful way. Luo Binghe plays with Shen Yuan’s hair for another long moment.

Finally, he says: “If it’s you, I wouldn’t mind trying it the way it’s supposed to be, I think.”

Shen Yuan turns to bury his face in his pillow. What a terrible thing to say to him! What is he supposed to say in response! It’s too much, too much - Shen Yuan really can’t possibly be expected to know what the right reply is!!

“...Don’t force yourself,” he mumbles into the pillow. “It’s - like I said, I don’t have scent glands, or a secondary gender at all. There is no ‘way it’s supposed to be,’ if it’s with me.”

Luo Binghe hums. He leans onto Shen Yuan, digging his chin into Shen Yuan’s shoulder painfully. Shen Yuan doesn’t bother to push him off. 

“Good,” Luo Binghe says. “Then: whatever I want, and whatever Yuan-er wants, and nothing more.”

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 9 We're coming to the end of the date and is that... *le gasp* hand holding? How lewd. You're such a harlot, letting him hold your hand.

I'm not dead guys, just pretty busy with life, but this guy lives rent free in my head (he'd prefer to live in yours). Part 8 | COD Masterlist | Part 10

Abort. Fucking abort mission. He knows it’s going to be a no before you even open your mouth. How could he be so stupid. Your expression is troubled and he wants to kick himself for asking. Too quick, too much. Did he seriously forget how careful and easily startled you are just because you joked about Johnny? (yeah he did, too busy imagining your wedding)

“I”, you slowly start your hands nervously wringing “don’t want to intrude on your guy’s night. And I don’t know them and I bet they’re really nice but they’re three men I don’t know and it’s getting late and hell, I barely know you and…”

You’ve started rambling and Simon hates how he made you nervous like that again, so before you can get too much into your head about it he takes a small step forward his hands reaching out and gently covering your fiddling ones. God, they fit perfectly into his. He never wants to stop holding your hands again.

That effectively shuts you up and your eyes go to his again, looking up from the ground (such a good little lovie).

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I get it.”, he grumbles out, trying to keep his voice soft, lest he scares you off like a startled deer. He doesn’t want to have to chase you (maybe he does, but only if you’d like him to).  His big hands dwarf yours, gently squeezing.

You don’t pull back and that alone makes his heart do a victory jump in his chest. If you don’t mind him touching you like this maybe he can get bolder the next times, make his interest more obvious (okay, he needs to calm the fuck down, you haven’t even agreed to going to the concert with him yet).

“No need to explain. I shouldn’t have asked.”, he continues and you shake your head freeing your hands from each other so you can grab onto his too (oh fuck, you’re grabbing onto him, holy shit, holy shit).

“No! It’s very sweet of you. It’s just… too much?”, you say and it sounds more like a question than a statement. At least you’ve grown so comfortable around him that you continue to explain: “Meeting you today was already a lot for me.”

He nods in understanding, quietly accepting your words. He gulps heavily hoping you can’t hear his nerves when he asks: “Was it too much? Meeting me today?”

You grip on his hands tightens and you take a small instinctive step closer, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. “No! It’s not too much. You’ve been great, really. I just…”

You look troubled at having to explain further and his thumbs begins to soothingly brush over your hands. “Okay.”, he says simply, stopping you from trying to convince him.

The way you tilt your head up at him in surprise makes his heart squeeze and he swears he needs to take his cuteness aggression out on one of his pillows when he gets home because the urge to squeeze you tightly is nearly overwhelming. It fills his entire body up until he feels like he’ll vibrate right out of his skin and break into pieces at your feet.

“Just like that?”, you ask, evidently surprised at his acceptance and he nods, subtly starting to walk again but keeping one of your hands in his. You don’t seem to notice and if you do, you don’t complain. Shit, his hand is getting sweaty from how nervous holding your hand makes him.

“Yeah. No need to explain. That’s how it is.”, he says with a harsher tone than intended. Shit, he meant to sound conclusive not harsh what if you think he’s mad and…

“Thank you.” The squeeze of his hand is thankful and gentle making him stuff his other hand into his pocket again because he might start to shake from your proximity at any moment now.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”, he murmurs and wonders how people usually react to you if you feel the need to thank him for just accepting what you said. The thought of anyone not treating you right makes quiet rage settle around his chest and he vows to never mistreat you (yeah, not like he fantasizes about keeping you locked up so he can have you all to himself or anything, no hypocrisy there, Simon).

That’s the moment Wraith comes bounding back again and looks at your joined hands. Suddenly the big dog stops dead in his tracks and huffs a low bark. Your laughter rings out and Simon doesn’t know whether to cry tears of joy at the beautiful sound of your laughter or take cover because your mutt does not look happy at him touching you.

He fights the urge to jerk his hands back like he’s a naughty child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Damn him, if he lets a goddamn dog intimidate him into letting go of your perfect little hand. Wraith cocks his head at you two and a low rumble starts in his throat, not quite a growl. Something Simon can’t decipher.

You can though and when you try to go to your dog, Simon tightens his hold on your hand so you don’t slip from his grip completely. The way your head whips around nearly makes him let go of you after all but he decides to swallow his nerves and gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb again. Your eyes are wide, not scared just surprised and you seem to search his gaze for something.

He’s not sure what but he doesn’t break the sudden and intense eye contact, trying to hide his pout at you taking your attention off of him to give it to your dog.

“Only need one hand to pet him.”, he grouses and against anything he expected you giggle again and call Wraith closer. The ugly beast trots closer still grumbling and you pet his head.

 “There you go, Wraith. Is my poor puppy jealous?”, you ask your dog and he gives a huff in response. Simon has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t answer with a ‘yeah I am’.

He truly is trying to hide the side eye he gives Wraith when you coo at the mutt and gently scratch his chin, but he can’t help it. Wraith’s tongue lolls out and Simon swears the pleased grumble is aimed at him. Damnit, maybe he should get one of those puppy ear headbands. Maybe you would pet him too if he did.

[patroclusdefencesquad]

top five iconic Damen moments go. If there’s too many give me top ten. This is urgent scientific research.

oh my god you are so lucky i have a long train journey today so here we go, in no particular order because hell if that is possible :

when he threw a mf broadsword. a sword that is meant to be swung with two hands (!!). and he just casually yeeted it from the back of a horse. into a guy who was about to kill his enemy who wasn't even his lover yet

kingsmeet. kingsmeet was the Pinnacle of the man. he broke his country's most sacred rules without even fucking hesitating out of sheer rage and love at what had been done to laurent get this man fucking husband of the year

obviously it has to be "i speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart" no man has ever been so stupid and yet so sexy

every moment in book three where he's like "did i fucking stutter."

"damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. his garment dropped, and the crowd roared their approval" cock out and thriving. king

when he chose laurent he literally chose laurent over his kingdom he was prepared to sacrifice it all for him this MAN

when he was screaming crying throwing up at having to tell laurent who he was and laurent was just like "i know." sksjsks you dumb fucking bitch OF COURSE HE KNEW everything you now know about this man and you think he doesn't know the man who killed his brother god i love you how can a man be so smart and yet so. so

"i think if i gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly" sobbing. literally sobbing on a train. he's so sweet he's so gentle he loves laurent so much. he's so. so. also that scene where he tells laurent if auguste hadn't died he still would have courted him. once he starts loving laurent he literally cannot conceive of a world where he does not love him i'm crying

he's beefy. it's not an iconic moment it's just his natural state of being but it's iconic to ME. his arms could hold me so good. his tits are as big as his heart. his ass? bouncing. his thighs? could crush me and i'd welcome it

his dimple :')

there we go it started out as a list of iconic damen moments it ended as me rambling about everything i love about him what can i say he lives in my head rent free i'll never find a man like him

[vera-deville]

I Will Say (I'm in Love)

08/04/2023 - 04/30/2024

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Word Count: 2,787 Warnings: A fair amount of cursing; Reader's outfit is a dress and is decidedly purple; Reader does go through a little bit of a mental breakdown (I personally blame all the stress of NRC), but I promise it's gonna be alright- Gender: AFAB Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @otomyoli, @chroniccorvus Notes: This is the second part to this fic, so please check that out before reading this! Rook is basically a fairy godmother (even tho he's a stalker, but we don't talk about that). Oh, and I made a reference to Savanaclaw Rook, because he's been living in my head rent-free and thERE ARE NO FICS ABOUT IT DARN IT-

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

In which Y/N eventually does say that she's in love.

"Shit." Y/N hissed as she swung open the wardrobe door, only to reveal that there were no decent dresses.

"For fuck's sake!" The girl screeched, running her hands through her hair and yanking at it. Only the Great Seven could help her at this point. Did any of them specialize in luck with money? Or even better yet, did any of them specialize in stopping a person from splurging all their hard earnt bribed thaumarks on art supplies?

Grim wasn't even there to help with this whole fiasco!

Who else could she ask for money? Azul? No, that one's too slippery. Kalim? No, that one's guarded by a snake and talks too much. Vil? But that one's...

That one's perfect! He wouldn't be able to resist helping out someone to look fabulous! Besides, Y/N could handle potato insults for a bit if it meant getting a fabulous dress picked out by Vil Schoenheit himself.

And so the Prefect of Ramshackle ran as fast as her legs would carry her, all the way to the house of Pomefiore. It's a pretty name, filled with pretty people, but at this moment, only one pretty person mattered.

"VIIIILLLLL! I NEEEEEED YOUR HEEEELLLLLPPPP!"

That should grab his attention.

And grab his attention it did, because mere seconds later, a tall blonde stormed into the common room, vial of poison ready in his hand for the heathen that dared summon him in such a manner.

But before he could get a word in, Y/N asked, no begged him for help with a dress. And of course, him being the gracious queen he is, he couldn't leave the potato in such a state.

"Coral, though a nice color, would be far too bright for you for this event." Holding up a card of azure up to Y/N's shoulder, Vil decided that also would not do the trick. "Perhaps a glowy yellow brown?" Y/N perked at the fabric Vil held in his hands. It was just a small square piece of fabric, but it looked oh so pretty. Like sand glimmering in the sunlight.

And then suddenly the sun lit sand turned into purple.

A very familiar purple, though Y/N couldn't quite put her finger on it. Scrunching his face in contemplation, Vil nodded to himself before letting Y/N know that she should opt for a dress in that shade of lavender.

Which is how Y/N found herself in a shopping mall, looking high and low for a vaguely familiar shade of purple in a dress that she should have gotten ready long ago. Earlier, Y/N had pondered about who to bring with her (if she chose to bring anyone at all) to the mall to help her find just the right dress. Vil was the obvious choice, but Y/N wasn't sure she wanted to indulge in his kindness more than she already had. Rook was also a good choice, but Y/N didn't feel like admitting anything to him at the current moment (though knowing his nature, he probably already knew everything).

In the end, Y/N went by herself, not confident enough to bring anyone with her. In the hours she had to get ready for her event, Y/N had something of an epiphany. Anxiety was a bitch. No shade of purple seemed to match the shade card Vil had given her. And if she did find a dress in the color, the dress was not one she'd think herself beautiful in. In the off chance that she'd find a dress that was the right shade and style, Y/N would immediately go an try it on - only to despise the way it fit around her body.

This was now the 7th store that Y/N had walked into in hopes of finding the perfect lavender dress that eluded her grasps so.

And right off the bat, there was a beautiful dress. In the same shade Vil had instructed her to buy. In a style that made her heart pick up the pace because it was simply and utterly beautiful. Making a beeline towards the dress, Y/N gently ran her hands through the fabric. Good, it wasn't itchy. She pulled the dress to the side in such a way that she could see the back, but the dress still hung on the rack, and she could feel a heave of relief making its way through her lips. It was just right.

Her heart was racing now, and Y/N couldn't shake the grin off her face, and for once, she didn't even care. Speed-walking towards the dressing rooms, Y/N nearly threw open one of the stall's doors, and locked herself inside immediately. Hanging her purse on a hook, she stripped out her clothes and slipped the dress over her head and down her body.

Except it wasn't going down her body.

It was stuck at her hips.

With a gentle fury, Y/N pulled at the dress, trying to force the thing down her thighs.

It wasn't going down.

Looking back up at the mirror, as though it would be some sort of saving grace, she continued to try to pull the dress down, but no avail.

Eventually, she zeroed in on her eyes in the mirror, and that's when Y/N stopped for a brief moment. She took in her appearance. Dress half worn, frown embedded, sweat glistening, hair frenzied, shoes thrown in some corner, and worst of all: tears beginning to form.

In a moment of rash wrath, Y/N pulled the dress off her, and threw it against the mirror, letting the tears pour out her eyes as she hugged herself and turned away from the mirror.

It's like not a single thing would go her way and it was stupid, worrying this much over a dress, but that wasn't all there was to it. It wasn't just the dress. It was the event, the school, the people, it was the whole world she'd been dropped into.

Aware that she was still technically in a public setting and should maintain at least some semblance of decorum, Y/N kept her sobs and sniffles to herself.

Knock knock.

Whipping her head up, Y/N realized that an employee was knocking on the door, and sniffed once more. Wiping her eyes and her face and wearing the clothes and shoes she originally walked in with, she grabbed her purse and the damned lavender dress, plastered a smile on her face, and opened the door.

No need to burden others with her own burdens.

Except standing outside the door was no employee, but rather Rook Hunt.

Bewildered, Y/N rubbed her eyes again in hopes that she was hallucinating and wasn't actually seeing Rook Hunt right after she had an emotional breakdown.

Sadly, she was in fact seeing Rook Hunt after said emotional breakdown.

"What a magnificent coincidence my dear Trickster!" Rook said as he walked with Y/N out of the dressing rooms of the store.

"Uh, yeah, pretty cool coincidence Rook. What're you doing here?" Y/N asked, trying to move the focus away from her and on to Rook. If he noticed, he didn't make it known. He simply continued to prattle on about a new fashion line from a brand he liked.

The thing about Rook that Y/N enjoyed at this particular moment was how despite the fact that he was here to buy something for himself, he simply followed Y/N wherever she went while occasionally interrupting to ask if a particular garment would look good on him or not. (Y/N was sure he knew that it would look good on him, and that he simply wished to hear someone else say it).

It hadn't been too long since Y/N had returned the lavender dress she'd tried to wear to an employee at the store and had instead opted to accompany Rook to the store that had the new line he was looking for (as a change of pace of some sort). The store itself was very high-end, that much she could tell, and while she'd always had a rough suspicion that Rook was in fact secretly rich, him perusing through everything that caught his eye in the store (which was a lot) without bothering about the prices certainly cemented the suspicion in Y/N.

Mindlessly scanning her eyes through the aisles visible to her as she waited for Rook to emerge from his dressing room, Y/N scrunched her face as she remembered her dressing room incident from earlier. Even though she was feeling a lot better now, it didn't change the fact that she still had no dress, and was running out of time to get ready.

Bam!

The door smack open dramatically with an even more dramatic figure emerging from the depths within.

Rook actually looked really nice. He clearly had a good eye for these things, even if most of those things were taught to him by Vil. Apparently there was a time where Rook was in Savanaclaw, and was something of a diamond in the rough (Vil's words, not hers). Before Vil got used to Rook being...well, Rook, he had given him an atrocious bob cut in hopes of Rook finally leaving him alone.

Spoiler alert, it did not work. In fact, Rook embraced the haircut so much that he hasn't changed it since he first got it, and he certainly hasn't stopped his usual Rook self.

Personally, Y/N couldn't imagine Rook looking any different. But no matter how much she pestered either Rook or Vil for old photos of him from back in Savanaclaw, neither would budge (one because it was too hideous and the other because he simply found it fun to tease her).

"Trickster? Are you alright?" Rook asked Y/N who was lost in thought.

"Hmm?" Y/N hummed, snapping out of her thoughts. "Oh yeah, I'm alright. Sorry, I was just thinking about something." Doing a once-over of Rook, she said, "You look great."

Before she could get another word in, Rook slyly side-stepped her and made his way to some corner of the store not fully visible from where she was standing. Confused, Y/N tried leaning over to see where he'd gone, but when she couldn't see anything, she simply turned back and waited for him to come back.

He'd most probably seen something else he wanted to buy and was getting it.

Pulling out her phone, Y/N realized that she had less than an hour to get ready, and sighed. Still no dress. No completed hair or makeup. No nothing.

It was at this moment that Rook popped up in front of her face.

"There you are! Did you find something you wanted to try on-" Y/N asked when she looked at what Rook was holding in his hands.

It was a dress.

It was lavender in color.

It looked beautiful.

"I saw this dress, and I immediately thought that it would suit you so well! Hurry, go try it on~" Rook explained as he shoved Y/N towards the dressing room.

Sputtering, Y/N could only hold onto the dress thrust onto her arms as she was pushed by Rook. Once inside the room, she looked at the mirror.

Sigh.

Here we go again.

Tugging off her clothes, she pulled the dress over her figure with all the time she had.

Not looking at the mirror, she pulled the dress down her thighs. It went down just fine.

Huh.

Running her hands down the fabric and smoothening out any of the wrinkles in place, Y/N finally looked at her reflection. The dress was slightly loose, but not in a bad way. It gave her room to breathe. Besides, it'd probably shrink after she threw it in the wash. Y/N twirled around, watching the movement of the dress closely. It actually looked nice.

Hesitantly, Y/N brought her hand to the lock on the door and after taking in a deep breath, she opened it.

Rook was waiting patiently, and the look on his face when he saw her in the dress gave her some amount of confidence as she walked out.

"You look beautiful."

Y/N knew he wasn't lying. He'd never lie when it came to matters of beauty. But she also knew that he wasn't exaggerating. Rook, as dramatic and odd as he was, wasn't someone to exaggerate beauty. He simply spoke his mind, and that was something she respected about him.

"It certainly is a nice dress, but I can't pay for it Rook. I didn't bring enough." Y/N told him with a sad smile.

"Who said anything about you paying? I have already paid for the dress. All that you need to do is wear it!" Rook stated happily.

Despite being short of money most if not all the time, and bribing NRC's headmaster for payments (which in all honesty were well-deserved, taking into account all the work she did for him) amongst other things, Y/N had a certain respect for money. And a certain pride regarding money too. Especially when her friends were involved.

"Rook, I can't do that. This is way too expensive, and I'm not going to make you pay for it. I can't repay you, so I'm just not going to get this dress."

"Once again, Trickster, the dress has already been paid for. I didn't do this expecting you to pay me back, so don't worry about it, and just look like your prepossessing self."

Y/N could feel her eyes tear up again for the second time that day.

Before Rook could tell her to not ruin her face with tears, Y/N jumped him in a suffocating hug (one not unlike Floyd's infamous hugs) and thanked him profusely. Smiling, he looked down at her and wrapped her in an embrace of his own. She deserved much for everything she did around the school and more, and if this could be even a little helpful, he'd do it again.

"Now, now, don't cry Y/N." At the use of her name, she looked up at Rook's face. "You have something to attend, don't you? You can't do that if you're busy crying in a mall with me, now can you?"

Sniffing, Y/N nodded, and pulled back from Rook, wiping her tears away (luckily there weren't as much as before). "Did Vil tell you I was going on a date with Leona?" She asked.

"A date? With Leona!?" Rook exclaimed, much to Y/N's surprise. "I never thought I would see the day come!"

"Wait, so you didn't know?"

"My dear trickster, how could I have possibly known?"

With one more suspicious glance, Y/N dropped the subject.

"When is your date Trickster?"

"It's in less than an hour from now. Why?"

"And hour!? We have no time left." Rook cried out. Without missing a beat, he dragged Y/N with him out the store and to a salon that was just a few stores down. Sitting her down, he instructed an employee as to what to do with her (he was very particular when he told the employee to have the dress in perfect shape). For a second, he vaguely resembled Vil. This time, Y/N paid for the services herself, not taking no from Rook as an answer.

When all was said and done, Rook stood in front of Y/N, absorbing all the details, trying to figure out of it was all enough. A tiny bit of fuzz was on her shoulder, so he plucked it off smoothly before she could question anything.

"I-Thank you Rook. You have no idea how much this all means to me." Y/N told Rook.

"I would do anything for love to prevail *mon filou. And I would do even more for you." Rook told Y/N.

Smiling at Rook, she said, "You were right. I do like Leona. No, I love him. A lot. And by the looks of it, he likes me too!" Giving him one more hug, Y/N walked away, purse in hand, excited for her date with Leona.

"Ah, young love~ Whatever could be more beautiful?" Rook asked himself in a cheerful voice as he watched Ramshackle's Prefect walk off into the distance, one step at a time to her fairytale ending. Rook felt himself proud of reaching the mall just in time to help Y/N (her purse certainly helped in tracking her down).

That's two lovebirds he's helped today!

Turning back around and wandering through the mall, Rook wondered who he'd be helping next.

Author's Note: As you can see from the dates, I really took my time with this one. When I first started writing this last year, I was planning to write about Leona and Reader's date, or more specifically, how the date was arranged and all that fun stuff, but when I sat down to write today, it just went in a completely different direction. I've never really incorporated Rook into my writings (and if I did, he's there for like three sentences), but unpredictably, he ended up playing a larger role in this fanfic. If you'd like a third part to this where we find out about how Leona and Y/N even ended up agreeing to go on a date with each other, or perhaps we find out who Rook helped or is going to help, feel free to let me know!

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