#how much malpractice is in this? yes

[envy-of-the-apple]

ok i like the idea of reader going to shoko thinking she’s normal physician (not knowing she only works for sorcerers) and asks for a checkup. one thing leads to another and reader has to continue meeting her for ‘check-up’s’ frequently…..

how does it feel to be the smartest person in the room bestie????

@mynahx3 hiiiiiiiiii<3

Trust the Professionals

Dark!Ieiri Shoko x reader

Synopsis: Doctor Ieiri has a new treatment she’s eager to try on you

Word count: 2.2k

(Warnings: Dubcon/noncon, manipulation, vaginal fingering, dark content, mc's kinda dumb, self-gaslighting lmaooo, hospital kink? im pretty sure this is some type of kink but idk whats its called)

For the longest time, you never really believed in ghosts.

You weren't really the religious type. You went to church every so often, but you weren't invested. It's why it took you a while to get around to the idea that spirits were real, and one was particularly attached to you.

Luckily, the Shamans always seemed happy to help.

"It's back again, huh?" Doctor Ieiri asked.

You nodded, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. She doesn't look like a Shaman. You were expecting more bells and bracelets. Traditional clothing. Doctor Ieiri was always dressed in a labcoat, professional makeup that did little to cover lack of sleep. She looks like she just fell out of a hospital drama.

Despite her looks, you knew she was pretty good at her job. She was the only person who'd gotten rid of your spirit problem. At least, for a little while.

You don't know what she meant exactly, but the spirit ("Cursed spirit," she corrected one too many times) was a replicator. It needed to be exorcised multiple times to fully disappear. This has been your third visit so far.

You watched as her eyes followed something right above your head. She hummed, leaning forward on the desk, tapping her perfectly manicured fingers.

"That's strange," she murmurs, "usually, by the third, it's gone."

You wilt at that. A part of you feels guilty for taking so much of the Doctor's time. All of the appointments so far had been free, but you wouldn't blame her if she started asking for payment, or if she turned you away completely.

She straightens her back.

"Clearly, regular exorcisms aren't working." She states the obvious. "So far, they've just been a temporary fix. There's one more thing we could try but..."

For the first time since you've seen her, Doctor Ieiri hesitates. You look at her.

"Not many prefer this procedure." She explains. "It's a little...unorthodox."

Her reluctance should give you a warning, but you've already spent days putting off this appointment, willing for your cursed problem to go away, spending hours tossing and turning in bed, feeling something crawling up your back with too many legs and too many teeth.

"Anything." You say. "Anything to make this go away."

There's a glint in her eye. Something not quite a smile tugs on her face before it's gone. She stands up, prompting you to do the same. In her hands is a neatly folded hospital gown.

"You can put your clothes over there." She mentions to a chair. "Including your undergarments, please."

She must notice your discomfort because her tone becomes less clinical.

"We can stop whenever you want." She tells you. "But stopping in the middle is typically discouraged. Curses are pretty fickle."

You nod. "Okay, Doctor."

"Please, just call me Shoko." She gives a tired smile. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible for this."

You don't feel comfortable calling her by her given name, but Ieir-Shoko looks so pleased when you let her name reluctantly leave your lips, and you feel too bad to retort.

She steps out of the room shortly after handing you the gown. You put your clothes on the chair, she pointed out. When Shoko knocks, you're already seated on the examination table, swathed in the the thin fabric.

"You follow directions well." She's wearing a surgical mask now but looks satisfied with your compliance. You give a shy smile.

"Let's start with a general overlook for now." She says. "It'd be helpful if we can pinpoint where the curse originated."

You nod, but you can't push away the nervousness as Shoko gently pushes past the fabric. She's wearing gloves, but the rubber is a flimsy barrier to her warm fingers. Her hands brush past your clavicle, and the plastic gown easily yields for her touch. You gasp when she touches your tits, fingers lightly brushing over the nipple. The room is so cold. You're so sensitive. You stiffen against her touch.

She notices, pulling back to see your face. "Something wrong?"

"Uh, no." You smile, but it feels watery. "Just nerves." You can't read her expression. The mask hides everything.

She hums, and you're grateful she doesn't comment on how jittery you are. You hold in your reaction when she lightly presses on your breast. Her thumb flicks over your nipple again. You'd call it sensual if you weren't thoroughly convinced that Shoko was a professional and you were the weird one here.

She pulls away eventually, and you sag in relief. It was over. You don't think you could do that again.

"It's not coming from your upper body." Shoko murmurs. "Would you mind if I untied your gown? It'll be better if I can see everything."

You hesitate, unsure, but Shoko's previous words make your rejection waver. Curses are fickle creatures. In the end, you let her unwrap the gown.

There's no real point to it now. You're fully displayed on the examination table, legs spread, leaning back on your hands. It's embarrassing. You can feel yourself heat up at how exposed you are, especially considering Shoko is still wearing her lab coat and that mask.

But Shoko says nothing about it. Right, she's a professional. Instead, she starts pulling off her gloves.

"I'll be able to locate the cursed location more effectively without a barrier." She explains and you nod along.

She starts with your foot, gently squeezing your foot. It feels nice, like a massage. You languish in the touch, only getting concerned when her prodding starts going up her calf.

Shoko rubs circles along your inner calf. Something wells within you, but you're pushing it down because Shoko is a professional. Instead, you lift yourself off the table just to feel more in control.

"Not here either," Shoko murmurs to herself. "Maybe I need to go a little deeper."

Your eyes widen when she rests a single finger at the entrance of your pussy.

"Doctor, I—I don't think that's—" with one motion, she buries her finger inside you.

You're already shamefully wet. Your walls are already clenching down her nimble finger. You can't help it, you shudder, giving out a breathy whine.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" For some reason, you can hear a smile in Shoko's voice as she starts pumping her finger in and out of your sopping pussy. "You can talk. I'm great at multitasking."

"I—I was just saying—saying Doctor, you—" Her finger curls, and you are interrupted by another moan.

"Shoko." She reminds you her voice firm and calm and a total juxtaposition to the way her thumb is circling over your sensitive clit. "I want you to stay calm and relaxed throughout this procedure, okay?"

"Shoko." You keen and you're sure her breath hitches but your brain is numb and she's still wearing that mask. "This—This just feels a—a bit strange and I—"

She coos in sympathy. "It's all part of the process. Just relax, okay? You're doing so well for me."

At this point, you're leaning back on your elbows. The new angle jolts pleasure up and down your spine. It gets even worse when Shoko adds a second finger, stretching your sensitive walls out even further.

"I think the curse is getting closer. We're almost there." Her voice is soft and breathy in your ear and you can hardly understand that she's taken off her mask. "Just a little more. Just a bit further. So so good for me. You're doing so well, baby."

Your orgasm hits you like a train. All at once, you seize up on her fingers, your thighs squeezing together and your moan resembles more of a scream than anything human. Shoko keeps going as the orgasm smashes your broken body like grass.

She stops when you give one last shudder before collapsing onto the examination table. You lie there, breasts heaving, eyes glazed. You're so far out of it that you don't even notice the way she licks her wet fingers.

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings. When you do, you're mortified. You shoot up from the table, covering yourself up with the flimsy gown, ready to apologize when Shoko asks:

"How do you feel?"

It's such an innocent question. It takes you off-guard. Sensitive, is your first answer, but then you think some more and you realize that you can't really feel the dread or the weight on your shoulders anymore.

"You...exorcised it?" No, this felt different from the last two exorcisms she performed on you. Now, you feel five years younger.

She grins, pleased.

"Yes. I found the origin point." She explains. "Even if it ever comes back, it'll be smaller and easier to deal with."

You nod, still recovering from your high as you roll your shoulder. Everything feels so good.

"Wow," you say, "I—thank you! Thank you so much!"

She pulls back, accepting your gratitude with a soft expression.

"We're done for today." She tells you at last. "You're free to put on your clothes. Can't imagine that gown is very comfortable."

You wait for her to leave. She doesn't, sitting back behind her desk, typing away at her computer. There's no real point of you having privacy, is there? After all, you basically just showed her everything.

Still, when you go to put on your clothes, you can feel eyes on you, trailing down your body, your ass. It isn't Shoko. She's always busy with her keyboard, diligent as always. You were feeling things.

One garment was missing, however. As discreetly as you could, you searched around for it, glancing at the floor, underneath the chair. You swore you left it with the other clothes. How could it just disappear?

"Something wrong?"

Shoko's peering up at you, head tilted. You open your mouth. But then you decide they aren't worth the further embarrassment.

"Nothing." You give a nervous grin. "Just nothing."

Shoko can still taste you when Satoru visits her hours after your appointment.

"Get out," she says. Satoru just grins, shutting the door behind him. It was worth a shot.

"I see your favorite little patient had another check-up," he says, "still haven't disclosed we aren't exactly in the personal exorcism business, have ya'?"

Shoko shrugs. "It's a personal project. Don't worry about it."

"Right, you say that buuuuut 'can't help but notice that our lovely non-sorcerer still has a curse swimming around—"Satoru clicks his tongue. "—It's fourth grade, too. This deskwork is making you go soft, Shoko. Maybe I should start dragging you out to missions."

"Did you exorcise it?" Ugh, that would be a pain. Shoko spent so long cultivating that curse to work in her favor.

Gojo grins. "Nah."

"A residual curse." Satoru continues. "Harmless, but pesky enough to be noticed if it isn't dealt with in a couple days. Smart."

By Saturday, to be more exact. Shoko has already cleared her schedule. She can already hear your voice crackling through the phone, sweetly apologizing for such short notice, but would it be possible to book an appointment? She won't tell you that, nor will she tell Satoru. Though, she has a feeling the bastard already knows.

Said bastard is rifling through her drawers. She frowns when he pulls out your panties.

"Aw, these are so cute!" Satoru gushes, shamefully twirling the fabric on his finger. "Are you starting a collection? This some kind of trophy? Hey, I don't judge."

"It's wrong to take things without permission," Shoko says.

"I should be telling you that." Satoru grins. "Y'know, our precious non-sorcerer is kinda' cute. Maybe I should pay a visit—"

Shoko bolts up from her chair. She stares at him. Gojo stops playing with the frills. He's still smiling.

"Easy, easy." He says, but he hands her the fabric anyway. "Damn, I had a feeling, but you're whipped for this one, are n'tcha? Do I hear wedding bells?"

She rolls her eyes. "Get out."

He obliges with a snicker, proving that he only came to mess with her. What did she expect? With a sigh, she collapses back onto her seat.

She dangles your panties in one hand. She refuses to sniff them again, even though your taste and your smell are still swirling around in her head. They must have looked so cute on you. Next time, she'll put cameras in the room, just so she can have a playback of you shyly shucking off your clothes before compliantly slipping on the gown. She wouldn't know what would be more tantalizing to watch; the show or your utter obedience.

Satoru was, unfortunately, right. Shoko was crazy for you, even though you clearly didn't carry the same feelings. That's okay. In this line of work, Shoko knows she has to take what she wants, that letting her desires go is for those like Satoru.

So Shoko will lie and coax and manipulate until you're seated pliantly in her grasp. And maybe if Satoru behaves, he'll get a wedding invite.

And if you still don't yield...well, there's always plan B.

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

[zvdvdlvr]

Personal Heating Pad

You groaned, turning your head and shoving it into the mildly soft juncture of your upper arm and lower arm. The cold bathroom floor was a pleasant juxtaposition to the way you were sweating. Heat always seemed to ease your period cramps, but this month’s wave of body-breaking cramps had been downright unbearable.

Aaron- your boyfriend of almost two years- called your name from the entrance of your apartment. A noise that resembled a pained groan and an irritated screech escaped your lips. It was uncouth, yes, but the pain you were in hurt more than being stabbed.

“What are- I’ll be right back, sweet girl,” Aaron said immediately after seeing you.

Now, Aaron had gotten used to how finicky you were when it came to your period. You would be sleeping the day away on day one of your period and then thrive off of twenty cups of coffee for the next two, popping Midol like you were about to preform medical malpractice and give a male patient some mouse bites.

Aaron reentered the bathroom a minute later and turned off the lights. The faint orange light came from your wax melter. He carefully slid his hand under your head and slipped a pillow under your head before carefully laying your head down. “Roll over, sweetheart,” Aaron murmured. A small grunt escaped his lips as he kneeled and weapped his arms around your waist. “Good job, honey.”

You felt tears prick your eyes at Aaron’s coos. One of your hands carded shakily through Aaron’s hair as the other pressed down hard on your lower stomach. Aaron kept his head up, watching your face warp with pain. His heart clenched at the rapid rise and fall of your chest, feeling guilty for not being able to protect you from the pain your own body produce.

“Everything hurts, Aaron,” you whined pitifully.

“I know, honey,” he whispered, kissing the hand on your stomach. “But I could make it stop.”

Your eyes snapped open and you peered at him with accusatory eyes. Your chest heaved and you felt the urge to slam your head into the floor. “How you would do that?”

“I could get you pregnant.”

You may have laughed if you weren’t in so much pain.

“Yeah?” You asked, leaning back and trying to survive the next wave of cramps.

“Yeah. You’d be good for nine months,” he hummed. “But I think that’s a conversation for another time.”

Your eyes screwed shut. “Put a rock on my finger first, Hotchner, geez.”

Aaron chuckled. “I will, sweet girl. I will.”

[wooziorgans]

Woozi as a doctor??? Giving massages? New gose hits hard

— physical therapist!woozi

god he’s SO HOT HELP.

warnings: reader was in a car accident. jihoon definitely violates some,,, things. moderate medical malpractice (getting dicked down during an appointment). unprotected sex. mild ass play. not medically accurate i have no idea how this shit works. DONT TRY N SEDUCE UR DOCTORS!!!

after you hydroplaned on the highway, totalling your car, your insurance (surprisingly) opted to cover your physical therapy.

and by god if you weren’t going milk that opportunity for all it was worth.

that’s how you found yourself at a holistic physical therapy clinic. the highest rated one in busan, being seen by their best doctor.

“doctor lee will see you now.” the receptionist smiled at you. the green walls of the clinic were earthy and warm. the general vibe was quite comforting and pleasant; it’s the kind of place you’d want to get better in. your knee clicks uncomfortably as you walk.

you push the door open to his office, and out of everything you could’ve expected, you didn’t expect to see a young man, barely into his thirties with his sleeves rolled up and rimless glasses sitting on his face. his grown out dark hair frames his face perfectly, and on first impression, the only thing you notice about him is how undeniably handsome he is.

“you must be my four o’clock. y/n?” his voice is low and kind, his smile wide on his face. he speaks with the regions dialect, and though you’re used to it, it makes something inside of you twist. you swallow nervously.

“yes, that’s me.” your own smile is tight.

“i’m doctor lee, but please call me jihoon. the doctor title makes me feel old. have a seat.” he gestures laughing quietly, and you take a seat in the large leather chair. he pulls up a stool to sit next to you. “from what i can see from your chart, you were in a car accident?” jihoon asks carefully.

you nod, unable to look at him. “i see. and you had some torn ligaments that healed, but now you’re having issues with mobility and have some clicking in your left hip and knee, correct?” his voice is so soft and careful, and you can immediately get the impression that he cares about his patients. that’s probably why he’s the top rated doctor in all of busan.

“yeah. uh, i definitely shouldn’t be in this much pain after two months so i went to my doctor and he referred me here.” you laugh nervously. jihoon smiles at you reassuringly.

“well, how about i get you to stand up for me so i can do an assessment and i’ll see what i can do for you?” you nod, standing, and jihoon starts to scan over your body. he immediately starts to take you in, eyes analyzing your lower half. “is it okay if i touch you? just to see your hip alignment?” he asks, crouching down to the ground.

“yeah.” the doctors hands find your hips soon after. he squeezes and pokes, asks repeatedly if the pressure of his touch hurts you at all. his hands move down the side of your legs to your knees where he does the same thing

“from what i can see, your hip alignment is off. same with your knee. it would be a relatively easy fix, but because of your torn ligaments we have to be more careful. i think the best plan of action is to go over some exercises for you to do at home and then we’ll go over what needs to be done when you’re here.” the doctor sits back down on his stool as he gestures for you to take a seat again.

jihoon jumps right into it, directing you in various exercises to help with your mobility. he talks to you the whole time, asking about your accident, what you do for work, if you’ve lived in busan your whole life. you answer him earnestly, still a little shy because of the situation your in.

you never were fond of doctors, and jihoon seems to pick up on that as he keeps the conversation light and comfortable. he moved you to a big table, and has you lay down so he can work on your hip.

“this might hurt. i’m sorry in advance. it should just be a lot of pressure.” his hands press lightly against your hip at first as he lets you adjust to the pressure. then his whole body weight comes down in the same spot, and you yelp loudly, biting your lip as you try not to swear.

he chuckles softly, body still leaning over you so his voice is right in your ear. “don’t worry, this room is sound proof.” you laugh through the pain, but the relief feels almost immediate. your hip isn’t as stiff.

jihoon continues working on you until the end of your session, and when you stand you feel a little lighter. he smiles at you, wishing you well for the week.

and so your first session ends with doctor lee, and you leave his office with a stack of papers and another appointment booked for next week.

session after session with jihoon, your body starts to return to how it was before your accident.

the appointments are comfortable, and after six months, you’re able to joke around with your doctor. maybe it’s because he’s quite young, and you’re young, that his conversation begins to feel natural.

it feels like you’re almost friends, meeting up once a week to hang out while he abuses you in ways that have you cursing and calling him colourful names. he always laughs it off, knows not to take anything you say too personally.

jihoon is a good doctor, but him being hot is posing quite the issue. you can’t help but stare at his exposed forearms when you enter his office. jihoon pretends not to notice, but over the few months he’s been working on you, he can’t help how interesting he finds you. and beautiful.

he thinks you’re beautiful too.

“you’re doing a lot better, y/n.” jihoon smiles at you, and you smile back, feeling the change in your body. you flex your knee as if to test his words, and the bones don’t grind uncomfortably. “honestly, i think we only have about a month left of sessions together. and then you’ll be free of me.” you roll your eyes at him.

“oh no. whatever will i do?” you jest. he laughs.

“don’t go and get yourself injured again just to spend time with me.” he flicks through your chart. “is your back pain getting any better? i thought i was from your hip but it might be something else.” his eyebrows are furrowed, glasses slipping down his nose as he scans over the sheets of paper attached to his clip board.

“it’s migrated lower. i think it’s my tail bone but i don’t know.” you offer. he’s the doctor, but you know your body. jihoon told you that a few sessions in; that your opinion mattered to the direction of your treatment.

“you mind if i check? if that’s the case it’ll be a quick adjustment. it’s possible it got jacked up when you messed up your hip.” he’s teasing you, about to call you old, which is almost ironic considering he’s in his thirties, and you’re not. you just shake your head at him, climbing up onto the table you’ve grown so familiar with.

jihoon presses lightly at the bottom of your spine, carefully pushing your hoodie up to directly feel the contour of your bones. he sighs. “i’m gonna have to move your sweats out of that way to check your tailbone. the fabrics too thick for me to really feel it. this okay?” you feel his fingers hook under the band of your sweats and you nod, humming softly as you push away any and all unholy thoughts you’re having right now.

jihoon pulls both your sweatpants and underwear down, to the middle of your ass. the elastic band keeps them down as two of his fingers trail lower down your back. you shiver, and jihoon does a good job at ignoring it as his fingers dip in between your ass cheeks. he presses down on the tip of your tailbone and you flinch.

“oh, yeah. that’s not supposed to feel like that.” he sighs, gently rubbing over the bone with his fingers. “it’s sticking out too much. i think you dislocated it.”

“y-you can dislocate a tailbone?” you stutter. his fingers are far too low for comfort.

“yes. you said you fell when you were doing your knee exercises. that’s probably how.” jihoon’s fingers graze over the bone carefully, and you shiver again. this causes his fingers to slide further down, tips brushing over the tight muscle of your asshole.

both you and jihoon freeze. he doesn’t know what to do so he removes his hand and says nothing. he cracks his fingers softly. “adjustment time.” he speaks lowly as he places his hand flat on your ass. one of his knees finds itself between your legs as he braces himself to make the adjustment.

its procedure. he’s done this dozens of times before, but something feels different this time. jihoon’s knee presses against the bottom of your ass, dangerously close to your core as he presses down.

the initial adjustment makes you yelp in pain before you laugh it off. “good. one more.” he praises, and if he doesn’t stop talking in that low tone you’re going to end up soaking this table.

the second adjustment rocks your hips into the table, moving your whole body up and then back down. he accidentally grinds you against his knee, and the table, and the sound you make this time is strained and breathy. an involuntary moan falls from your lips as you close your eyes. jihoon freezes again. “y/n? what was that?” he asks carefully. he knows what it was.

“i- uh, i didn’t mean to- fuck.” your voice is suddenly whiny, and that’s when it fully clicks.

“oh.” jihoon briefly removes his hands from your ass, before he palms one of your cheeks. “i see.” he squeezes carefully. you arch into his touch, and though you can’t see him, he smirks.

“i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to react like that. it’s just—” jihoon’s other hand finds your other cheek as he pulls your sweats down a little further.

you’re still trying to defend yourself, maintain professional integrity for him, even though you’ve been painfully obvious in the way you stare at him and check him out. “please forgive me if i’ve read into this wrong, but i’m under the impression that you’re into me. is that correct?” jihoon leans down, right next to your ear as he speaks. his breath hits your neck and you shiver. you nod. “good, because it’s been absolute torture having to work on your hips with this ass on display for me every single week.” he rubs your ass with both hands, leaning down further to kiss your neck softly.

you whine, leaning into his touch. his lips are soft against your neck as he pecks at it lightly. “jihoon,” you whine softly, hands gripping at nothing.

“do you want this?” he pulls away from your neck to ask you. you whine out a yes, and jihoon flips you over onto your back in one quick motion.

you gasp at the sheer strength of him. it’s not entirely shocking, not when you’ve seen his forearms out at every single appointment. but he’s far stronger than you expected. jihoon slides off the table, towering over you. you lean up, grabbing at the collar of his shirt to pull him down to kiss you.

the kiss is electric, full of tongue and spit as all the weeks of checking each other out come to a head. you tug at the belt loops on his slacks, hands sliding over his leather belt. jihoon chuckles against your lips, pulling you to sit up before he unfastens his belt.

jihoon slides himself in between your legs, thigh pressing against your core as you grind against him. he pulls his belt free from his pants, popping the button on his pressed slacks as he continues to lick into your mouth. you whine against his lips and he chuckles softly, undoing his zipper. he pushes his pants down to his ankles, not bothering to step out of them as he manhandles you back into the padded table.

“lay back for me, baby.” he purrs, lips leaving yours to find your neck again. you do as he says, resting your weight on your elbows so you can get a better look at him. with strong hands, his lifts your legs up, grabbing the band of your sweats which had slipped further down your ass with all the movement. he pulls them down to your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he watches the way your pussy seems to throb in the cool air of his office.

jihoon swears under his breath as he licks his fingers to run them over your folds. you whine, eyes closing and jihoon tuts. “look at me.” you do as he says, watching him as he pushes two fingers inside of you. “so fucking wet for me.” he curses as your body pulls his fingers inside with ease.

he fuck you with two digits, watching your reactions carefully, drinking in every single moan and whine you try to silence. as much as he’d love to make you cum on his fingers, your time is quite constrained with your hour appointment, so he pulls them out, sticking them in his own mouth to lick them clean.

jihoon moans around his fingers, using his other hand to pull his boxers down and give his cock a few lazy strokes. your knees block the view, so you look to the side to see him touching himself. his cock is large and thick in his hand, and your mouth waters at the sight of it.

jihoon smirks, stepping forward a few steps to rub his tip through your folds. you whine, breathy pants the only sound you’re capable of making. “god, just fuck me. please.” you plead, and jihoon smirks again but listens to you.

jihoon lines himself up and pushes his tip in. the stretch burns, so he gives you a few moments to adjust. “so fucking big, my god.” you hiss, lip between your teeth as you adjust to the stretch of him. when you give him a silent nod to go ahead and move, he pushes in further, sheathing his cock in your warm walls.

jihoon hisses, eyes fluttering shut. he pushes his glasses back up on his face, hand anchoring down on the back of your thigh as he slides back out. his face is flushed as he pants. you’re so warm and wet; he won’t last long. “you’re so tight, baby. fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” he pants, thrusting back into you.

he sets a fast pace, the sound of skin on skin echoing through out his office. you’re barely there; hardly coherent as his thick cock drags against your walls, his tip brushing against your spot with each thrust.

jihoon’s thumb flattens down on your clit, and it’s too much. you pull him back down for a kiss, which he returns eagerly, as your walls tighten around him. you moan into his mouth, hand finding his hair to pull him in closer. his thumb rubs circles over the swollen nerve and you shudder as a long moan leaves your lips.

you cum around his cock, the added wetness help him slide into you to fuck you through your orgasm. you tighten around him impossibly more, and that sends jihoon over the edge.

his hips stutter as he cums inside of you. he pants against your mouth, sighing contentedly as he comes down with you. his cock slips out of you once the final drop is milked from his cock, and he plants a delicate kiss to your forehead.

jihoon’s quick to pull his boxers and slacks back up as you catch your breath. he massages your thigh carefully, watching the way his cum slowly leaks out of you and drips onto the padded table. “c’mon baby. let me help you get your pants back up.” your sweats are still at your knees, and you comply, lifting you hips for him to pull them back over your ass. you sigh, unable to look at him.

jihoon leaves you to go to his desk, pulling out a business card and a pen as he writes something down on it. “we’re almost out of time for today, but call me before our next appointment. i’d like to take you to dinner.” he presents the card to you with two fingers, and you take it hesitantly before you nod and get off the table. “i’m serious. it’ll be a date. if you want.” your lack of response seems to have jihoon on edge.

you smile softly at his sudden nerves. “i’d like that. thank you.” you grab your bag and head out of his office without turning back. you don’t see jihoon punch the air in victory.

“well. looks like our time here is up. you’ve been a lovely patient.” jihoon smiles, clip board in hand.

“it’s been a pleasure, doctor lee.” you smirk, finger trailing over his collar bone through his shirt.

“oh, don’t you start.” he scoffs, but he’s smiling at you fondly, cheeks on full display as his eyes crinkle.

“we’re still on for dinner at seven, right?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“of course, love. i’ll pick you up. i was thinking about a movie and maybe a back massage at my place after? if you’re okay with that.” jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

“you know i’m always down for a back massage from you.” you peck his cheek.

“i swear you just use me for my physical therapy perks.” he rolls his eyes at you fondly.

“maybe i do.” your boyfriend laughs before he kisses you softly.

[artemis32]

Transilience iii

The long-awaited part 3 is here, thank you all for being so patient <33 (you're all going to hate me, but yes, there is going to be a part 4)

word count - 10.1k

tw: mentions of past child neglect, abuse, kidnapping, violence, medical malpractice (they're bad people, what did you expect??), LoV being bad people (mainly Shiggs and Dabi), slight yandere LoV (kind of, but not really), reader is delusional - like, very delusional - dismisses red flags like its nobody's business

mbe masterlist

transilience masterlist

Dabi was… different.

You’d given up what little hope you’d had of Touya still being there, but you didn’t expect there to be such a vast change in his personality.

How could someone who was once so obsessed with the idea of being a hero, of overtaking All Might, become this horrible? And really, there was no other way to describe him but horrible.

From the very first day that you’d been there, he’d done his utmost to isolate you from the other members of his group, whisking you away if they ever got too comfortable around you.

To their credit, none of them had laid a finger on you, though they hadn’t said anything when they saw the freshly burnt handprint on your shoulder either. It felt like a branding mark, a sign of ownership.

You remained wary of them, forever on edge. It became exhausting after a while – never breathing too loudly when one of them was near, hardly eating or sleeping. It got to the point where you nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion.

If he cared, Dabi never said anything. 

The isolation was probably what got to you the most. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion – none of it felt as torturous as the loneliness. You weren’t allowed to talk to anyone but the leader, Shigaraki, and Dabi. Who’d decided that, you weren’t sure, but it ate away at your psyche day-by-day until almost nothing remained.

Most days, the only interaction you got was someone bringing your food to you. It was usually the man in the mask who had taken you – Mr Compress, or, you’d learned his name was, though sometimes it would be others in the group.

It was awful. They’d open your door and set a tray of food on the desk next to your bed.

They wouldn’t look at you. 

They wouldn’t talk to you. 

Nothing. 

And you tried. You tried so hard to hold a conversation, to get them to say something, to look at you, but still, nothing.

Shigaraki’s visits were few and far between. Most days he came to see you, it would be to accompany the doctor he brought with him.

You didn’t like that man. He was cold and harsh, and he left bruises that would take weeks to fade away. He’d take samples of your blood too, poking you harshly with the needle if you squirmed too much.

Shigaraki said nothing. He only stood in the corner, silently staring at you.

It was the same when he came to see you alone. He’d come in quietly, sit down by your desk and stare at you for hours.

Sometimes he would speak, but those days were rare.

He’d ask you about your life before they’d taken you, before you’d gotten your quirk.

Originally, you had ignored him, but after weeks of isolation, you’d told him what he wanted to know. He smiled that day. It hurt.

Dabi’s visits were even rarer. 

You thought you might dread his visits more than you did being alone.

He told you stories. Stories about his life – both while he’d been living with you, and after. You weren’t sure which you hated more.

While you’d understood how horrible your father was, to hear it first-hand, to hear from Touya himself what he’d gone through… it was almost more than you could handle.

Though right now, you’d take your father and his anger and violence. If you had a choice, you’d choose him over Dabi in an instant.

How pathetic – that you’d choose a monster like your father over your own brother, one who you’d looked up to, one who you’d mourned.

But that sort of thought had become surprisingly common. You’d been missing your family – Shouto, Fuyumi, Natsuo, even your father. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to miss your mother, and you were sure the feeling was mutual.

You tried as best you could, but nothing could stop your gradual descent into despair. You were so lonely, so scared that they’d decide you’d outlived your usefulness.

It was a shame that you were nothing like your family – you lacked Touya’s resolve, Shouto’s strength, even your father’s tenacity and anger. That would surely have helped you, but you were weak.

You were weak and scared, and even gaining a quirk had done nothing to change that.

****

If you had one complaint about how your days went, it had to be about the food they gave you.

It was plain, bland. Not to mention, you received the same thing every single day. 

Plain oatmeal for breakfast, plain, dry bread for lunch, and plain, flavourless ramen noodles for dinner. If you were lucky, they’d occasionally throw in a bruised, overripe fruit, or give you of the takeout they’d had for dinner.

You’d gotten to the point of having to choke it down, trying not to gag whenever you saw the same food day after day. You wouldn’t call yourself ungrateful, but it was pretty obvious that no one knew how to cook. After the first two weeks, you’d liken the experience to eating cardboard, taking hours to pick at the plain, odourless lump on your plate before giving up.

That’s how Dabi found you thirty minutes after Mr Compress had bought you your dinner - picking at your plate with half-hearted interest, doing nothing more than moving the now solid pile of ramen from one side to the other.

He shoulders the door open without knocking, kicking it shut behind him with no regard for the slamming that rings out in the corridor beyond. Members of the League knew not to bother him when he was with you - everyone except Shigaraki.

A brown paper bag is chucked your way as he slinks over, slumping down in the chair next to your bed.

The sigh he lets out is one of exhaustion, and if you actually cared about him, you might’ve shown some concern for the weariness in his eyes and the weight on his slumped shoulders. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare down at the paper bag next to you.

“Well?” he asks when you make no move to touch it. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”

You shrug, still staring.

“That depends.”

He huffs. “On what?”

“If I open it, do I get to leave this room?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, head leaning against the wall as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “This again?”

After about the first month and a half of being cooped up in the room they’d shoved you in, you’d decided enough was enough. Seeing the same four walls all day, every day, was driving you insane. So you’d begun asking Dabi if you could be let out, even for a short ten minutes, just to walk around the base, to the end of the hall - anything.

Unsurprisingly, your request had been denied. 

So you’d asked again. And again. And again. 

It had become routine at this point, and though he had yet to agree, you felt as though you were slowly wearing him down. 

Asking Shigaraki didn’t have the same effect. He’d fix you with this eerie, wide-eyed look, sitting in silence until you looked away or changed the topic.

So you stuck with asking Dabi instead, refusing to go along with whatever he asked of you unless you got what you wanted.

It seemed as though the two of you shared the same stubborn streak, and neither of you had given in yet.

“Yes, this again,” you say stubbornly, jutting your chin out at him.

“I’ll go crazy in here if you don’t let me out. It’s not as if I’m asking for a kidney, I just want to take a walk. Blindfold me if you have to, just let me out for a few minutes.”

He says nothing, staring at you for a moment.

“Please?” you ask – no, you plead.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Fine,” he says, sighing heavily, nodding slightly. 

“Fine. I’ll let you walk around for a bit. There – happy?”

You perk up at that, nodding eagerly, happy for what you consider to be a small victory. 

Honestly, considering the circumstances, it’s a massive victory. Any amount of autonomy is cause for celebration, and this was as good as it was going to get for a while.

“Are ya gonna open the bag or not? Or should I change my mind?”

“No! No, I’ll look.”

You scramble to grab the brown paper bag, ripping it open in your haste.

“A… burger?”

Indeed.

It’s a burger, and the smell makes your mouth water. You want to eat it, but you don’t. Instead, you look over at him, quirking your brow in question.

“Eat up, Cupcake,” he says with a smirk.

You scowl at the nickname. It was one in a sea of many – he seemed to sense how much it annoyed you, so he took great time and care in finding different nicknames for you each time he came to visit.

His smirk flattens into a scowl when you don’t immediately respond or go to eat.

“What’s this about?” 

“Huh?”

“You only ever bring me food like this- You’re only nice if something’s about to happen. So, what is it?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to grip at his chest, gasping in feigned horror.

“Oh! My own sister doesn’t trust me. Whatever shall I do?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Can I not just be nice? Why’re you so suspicious all the time, huh?”

You squint at him. “So… you really don’t want anything in return? You're not going to knock me out and move me to another room or something? You’re not going to run some kind of painful quirk test on me?”

His palm still rests on his chest, right over his heart. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

“Cross my heart. Come on, eat up.”

He stands with a huff, slinking over to your bathroom as you hesitantly begin eating.

There are some clattering sounds as he moves around the bathroom for a moment before it falls silent. He emerges fifteen minutes later, right as you finish the burger.

“Ah, you’re done. Great. Put this on.”

He hands you a jacket and a pair of shoes. You slip them on without question.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?” you ask, palm rubbing contentedly over your full stomach.

“For your damn walk, what else?”

“Now?” you ask, mouth open in shock.

He hums, coming up to you and grasping your forearms before hauling you up.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.”

You stand and trail after him.

****

“Still nothing?”

Hawks hums, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says with a shrug.

Endeavour lets out a frustrated huff, slamming his hand down on the desk. Everything atop it rattles.

His frame remains tense for a moment before his shoulders slump.

“We’ve checked everywhere,” he says in an even, measured tone. “Why, after six months, have you still not found my daughter?”

Hawks gives him a good-natured smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. “Hm, dunno. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

The temperature of the room steadily climbs the longer Hawks talks.

“After all, it’s been a while. Surely if she wanted to get away from wherever she is, she would have by now, what with that nifty new quirk and all.”

At the mention of your strangely acquired quirk, Endeavour finally cracks. His fingers melt through the surface of his desk, the ornately carved wood caving beneath his warm grip like butter. The look on his face betrays his emotions – it’s a look of pure pain, what with his furrowed brow and quivering lip.

The mighty Endeavour did have a heart after all.

He slumped down into the seat behind him, roughly swiping over his face with calloused palms.

“I–” his voice cracks.

He clears his throat, sniffing and straightening up before he speaks again.

“Hawks, please, be honest.”

Keigo tilts his head to the side, eyeing the redhead curiously.

“Have you done everything in your ability to find my daughter? Does she– does she truly not want to be found?”

He lets out a heavy puff of air, carefully taking a seat across from the distraught man. After a few long, quiet minutes, he finally settles into a seemingly comfortable position, leaning back with one leg propped up over the other.

“I’ve done everything I can,” he says, looking directly into the other man’s eyes. He places his hand over his heart – a gesture of his sincerity. “I haven’t seen her – she really doesn’t seem to want to come back. That, or…”

He shrugs. “Never mind. I’m sorry Endeavour, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’ve helped as much as I can because we’re friends, but I can’t keep neglecting my own work for this.”

The chair scrapes harshly against the polished tiles as he stands, dusting off his jacket while he strides to the door.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything. For now just… relax.”

Hawks leaves the man to wallow in his ever-growing despair.

****

Your legs burn slightly from the stretch, but you welcome it as you pace each corridor eagerly, Dabi trailing a few steps behind you with a slouched frame and barely concealed scowl.

He’d made it clear that he thought your eagerness to go for something as silly as a walk was stupid, but he’d kept many of his comments to himself, choosing instead to mutter under his breath as he directed you through the dimly lit base.

“Left here.”

You turn left, trying to keep yourself from skipping like an idiot. It was one thing to be excited for a walk, but to skip like a child? Dabi would never let you live that down.

The corridors are as dingy as the rest of the building, flickering lights, cracked tiles, chipped paint on the walls. It truly looked like the prison it was. 

Oh well. It wasn’t as if you expected any better from a group of villains, especially those that had kidnapped someone without a second thought.

“So, what exactly do you do?” you ask, eyes still flitting from one side of the corridor to the other, taking in as much as you can while you have the opportunity.

“What?”

Dabi sounds bored. He drags his feet as he walks, shoes scuffing against the worn tiles.

You shiver. It’s freezing out here. A part of you was thankful that Dabi had given you the shoes and jacket. Not that you’d ever mention it.

“I mean, I get that you guys are villains and all, and you spend your days coming up with ideas on how to take over the world, but like – what do you do?”

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

He looks perplexed, lips pursed as he stares at you.

“What a dumb question.”

You splutter out in indignation.

“Hey, it’s not a dumb question!”

He hums, staring at the ceiling.

“Take a right.”

You do, waiting in silence for his response.

“We make deals, gather intel, threaten a few people – fun stuff like that.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. 

“I don’t know, that’s about it I guess.”

You pause. 

“Sounds boring,” you say with a shrug.

He grunts, prodding the small of your back with his fingers to urge you forward.

“Keep walking.”

You walk past a familiar looking door.

There’s a slight stumble in your step and Dabi has to grab your arm to keep you from landing on your face.

“Come on,” he says, shoving you forward roughly. “Don’t make me regret this by acting all stupid.”

You nod in apology, eyes lingering on the door.

That day you arrived is still stark in your memory – the way they all laughed at you, the fear and anxiousness you’d felt. 

Shigaraki and his touch.

The way he’d turned your jacket to dust with a simple brush of his fingers.

Dabi. 

Touya.

The mark seared onto your shoulder.

You shiver again, though not from the cold.

The memory of your first night there opens the floodgates, and you’re forced down memory lane as you walk, Dabi’s hand still a warm fixture between your shoulder blades.

You remember the first time Shigaraki came to visit you. You remember the first time he truly hurt you.

You remember what he made you do with your quirk – the quirk shoved upon you, one you’d give up in a heartbeat for the chance to escape this place, to go back in time and be thankful for your lack of quirk.

But would you?

Yes, everything that had happened to you was horrible, and you woke up everyday praying it was some kind of sick nightmare, but would you really give up your quirk in exchange for your freedom?

It was something you’d battled with for a while now.

Would you rather be here, locked up and used as a lab rat, or would you choose to go back to your family and crawl back into their cold, unaccepting arms?

No matter how you looked at the situation, there was no lesser evil amongst the two.

The thought made you laugh to yourself whenever it crossed your mind.

Had you truly reached the point where you lumped your family, your own flesh-and-blood, together with a group of villains?

Yes.

They were one and the same.

Your father, your siblings – your mother.

Everything about them shunned your existence. 

If they weren’t overwhelming you, they acted as if you didn’t exist.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they were looking for you – did they miss you? Did they even realise you’d been kidnapped?

Thinking about it - them - got you nowhere.

Your family.

Family. 

The word didn’t exactly fit.

The League… They treated you similarly.

They hurt you, physically, mentally, emotionally. They ignored you when you served no purpose to them or their cause. They overwhelmed you, they controlled you when they felt like it.

Dabi – he was the epitome of both.

Both your family and the League, but especially Dabi – they had a certain intensity about them when they looked at you, when they thought you couldn’t see them.

It scared you more than their insults, more than their fists, more than their distain.

They looked at you as if they wanted to consume you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a look of crazed, unwavering mania. Obsession. But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be beaten and bruised, or locked up in a cage like some sort of pet meant for display.

You shake your head, trembling hands clutching at the bottom of the zip up Dabi had given you.

When did it get this cold?

Dabi distracts you from your thoughts, fingers harshly digging into your side, guiding you roughly down a corridor towards your right.

He tuts at you.

“Pay attention.”

He comes to walk beside you, reaching his arm around you to lay it over your shoulder.

You stiffen up.

The palm of his hand sits perfectly against the scar that sits in the juncture between your neck and shoulder – the one he’d given you.

Having a doctor on hand to run tests on your quirk wasn’t as reassuring as you might have hoped. It meant that no matter what any of them did to you, it could be fixed, and you’d be left with nothing but the mental scars as proof.

The scar Dabi had given you though – that they let you keep. 

It had taken a while to heal enough for you to touch it, and you’d spent a few days after delirious with pain. But now, months later, it was fine.

Or, it should be. 

But the mental scars from Dabi ran far deeper than anything else you’d been through since they’d taken you.

You hated it when people touched you.

It was the only scar you were allowed to keep, but you wished they’d rid you of it like they did with everything else.

The floodgates of your mind seem to open, the palm on your shoulder acting as a key, and you’re helpless to stop the painful barrage of memories you try so hard to suppress.

****

The first test they’d ever run on you had been the most painful to date. A large part of you had blocked out the memory, too overwhelmed to remember it in anything but short snapshots and glimpses.

You’d been strapped to a medical gurney, probably the most uncomfortable one the League could find.

The cold metal left you covered in goosebumps and shivers that had done nothing to deter the panicked sweat enveloping you, leaving your palms clammy and shaking.

Worse than being restrained and prodded with needles had to be the duration. They’d left you like that for three weeks.

Evidently, they hadn’t felt it necessary for you to eat either, deciding instead to shove a thick feeding tube down your throat. Similarly, you weren’t allowed to sit up or use the bathroom. You weren’t allowed to do anything.

They left you in a drugged haze after the third day, growing tired of your struggles and cries.

And that’s how you spent the first three weeks with the League. Completely exhausted and mentally checked out, staring blankly at the ceiling day in and day out, never so much as twitching a finger as they performed invasive surgeries you were too delirious to feel.

You’d flatlined more times than you care to remember, your heart rate dropping to a monotonous beep. 

Blood filled your lungs after they’d punctured the thin membrane.

Your face turned blue from the lack of oxygen after you’d choked on the feeding tube.

You’d had multiple seizures mid-surgery from a number of malpractices.

In the end, you don’t remember much of what had happened. All you recall is waking up out of a daze surrounded by cold, impartial doctors, and being forced to carry on as if nothing had happened.

It was probably better that way. You had a feeling you didn’t want to know the entire truth of what had happened while you were all but comatose.

And beyond that, the training they’d put you through to improve your quirk was just as bad, if not worse.

You imagined that training with your father would have been similar, in that you received painful, unwarranted punishments for failure of any kind.

The only saving grace was that your quirk had improved significantly since the League had taken you. 

You clung to that when despair crept up on you. You had a quirk. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel as wonderful as you’d hoped it might have years ago.

****

Eventually, Dabi drags you to a halt and out of your thoughts, grasping your forearm with a grip so harsh you’re sure it’ll bruise. If they’ll allow it. 

The two of you have stopped before a large set of metal doors. They reflect the flickering lights and make your eyes water. You’re confused – this isn’t your room. Why did he not take you back to your room? 

Had he lied to you?

Stupid question.

Of course he lied to you.

You turn to glare at him, heart pounding wildly.

“You liar,” you spit, flinching back in vain as he reaches for you.

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I am a villain. And I didn’t lie. This is part of your walk – the walk you wanted. So,” he prompts, giving you a slight shove that nearly sends you crashing into the double doors. 

“Keep walking.”

****

You hardly dared to breathe.

Not that you could even if you wanted to. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your brain buffered for another few seconds before you could process what you were seeing.

The room, a large assembly hall, was, as you’d expected, filled with people. Members of the League. Villains.

But there, near the front of the room, looking far too content in a room of people he was supposed to be against–

Wasn’t he–?

Hawks.

The pro-hero Hawks.

Wasn’t Hawks a hero? 

Shouldn’t he be fighting? Running? Trying to rescue you?  

Why did he look so content? Why was he laughing, smiling next to Twice?

You take a step back, searching blindly for the door handle.

Consequences be damned, you weren’t about to wait around. Whatever was going on here, you wanted nothing to do with it.

Swallowing thickly, you tried to slip out of the room while the villains before you mingled about, as if this was some type of meet and greet or a party. 

You weren’t ever really the type of person to feel any degree of self-righteousness, or think yourself better than those around you, but it became difficult when the only people you were surrounded by were villains. You didn’t feel bad about what you thought of them. It wasn’t as if they’d ever find out.

“Ah ah,” someone tuts behind you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dabi. 

What was he getting at? What kind of sick game was he trying to play?

He lightly shoves at the small of your back, pushing you forward. You stumble back into the room, straightening up.

Glancing around cautiously, you all but meld into the wall, praying no one notices you. That hope is dashed as soon as Dabi seizes your forearm and yanks you towards him, walking with an air of ease towards Twice and Hawks.

A million thoughts race through your mind as you try, and fail, to pull away from Dabi. All he spares you is a warning glare before the two of you come to a stop before the winged hero and his animated companion.

Something flickers in Hawks’ eyes when he spots you, a slight glimmer of recognition. It’s gone a moment later, so fast you almost think you imagined it.

“Who’s the kid?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, turning to Dabi. Your brother, if you even still considered him that, spares you one more quick glance, a dark look in his eyes, before responding.

“Tomura’s new experiment.”

That hurt, more than you’d care to admit. 

You knew it was true, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful to hear out loud. You’d been denigrated to nothing more than an experiment. Not a person, not a child, but an object to be tested and prodded at. You were little more than an oversized labrat to these people.

Something in your expression must convey the hurt and irritation you try so hard to bury, because Dabi scoffs and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, jerking you closer to him as he tilts his head down to whisper to you. His breath is hot against your ear and it makes you cringe back awkwardly, though you don’t get far.

“What? Did that hurt your feelings?”

You clench your sweat slicked hands into fists, trying to hold your anger at bay, though it does nothing to curb your frustration. And with your frustration comes the familiar feeling of your quirk, unnatural and monstrous, bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you try so hard to shove it back down.

“No. No, I’m just… tired. From the tests.”

He scoffs, a patronising smirk tugging at his lips. “Aw, of course. You’re tired.”

Twice and Hawks watch silently from the sidelines, not intervening, even as you wince, Dabi’s grip tightening on the nape of your neck.

“Behave. Be a good little lab rat and I won’t have to fry your face, okay?” 

His tone is gentle, as if he were talking to an infant, punctuated by the soft strokes of his fingers against your cheek, but his words send a shiver of panic down your spine, locking you in place.

Satisfied with your fear induced obedience, he releases you and turns back to the pair before you, chattering away about some or other plan the League was in the process of reviewing. 

None of them pay you any attention for the rest of the night.

****

Hawks seems to linger around base a lot more after that first encounter.

You see him every time the door to your glorified prison cell opens. You see him when the doctor visits to poke and prod at you, when Mr Compress drops by to deliver your meals, even when Shigaraki appears for his rare visits.

The only time he doesn’t appear is when Dabi visits, though that’s rare enough in and of itself.

He never stops to talk, or even stare, only sparing a fleeting glance at you from the corner of his eye, posture tensing slightly, before he continues down the corridor.

You feel a strange tension with him around base. The anxieties you felt before seem to be amplified, your heart rate picking up every time you catch sight of him. A part of you, deep down, hopes that he’s here to help you - to save you. But it’s a childish hope, one you’re sure to squash down as soon as it arises.

The first time he stops and lingers, around three weeks after you first meet him, is to drop your dinner off in place of Mr Compress. It’s a surprise, seeing him instead of the masked villain.

He’s silent the entire time, staring at you with a look of bored curiosity, as if he’s waiting for you to do something entertaining.

You don’t. 

You force down the bland food in silence, never once taking your eyes off of him.

He leaves just as silently and quickly as he arrived.

After that day, it slowly starts to become a routine. At first, you rarely see him, but as the weeks turn into months, he becomes one of the only people you interact with. You start expecting to see him instead of the others, and you find out in passing one day that the other members of the League had shirked their duties of caring for you off on to him. 

It didn’t bother you as much as it should have - the fact that they viewed you as little more than a chore.

You form a tentative bond with him, one that feels fragile and strained, but it’s better than anything else you’d had up until that moment. He’s the closest thing you have to a friend, to someone that cares about you.

His apparent care for you becomes obvious in the small things he does - the meals he brings you become more edible, something you actually look forward to instead of having to force it down. He visits more often, the short periods in which you see him seemingly becoming longer than they were before.

Four months after that first tentative encounter, Hawks had solidified himself in your dreary daily existence, establishing himself as your sole source of what could only be described as happiness. 

You’d, somewhat unwillingly at first, become far more relaxed in his presence, even going as far as to enjoy his company. Some days, you might even say you looked forward to his visits.

Not only did he act as a reprieve from your never ending boredom, with both his company and the gifts he bought you, but also his interventions.

Mr Compress had, on one of his now rare visits, not at all subtly told you that Hawks had convinced the League - specifically Shigaraki - to quote unquote ‘take it easy on you’. His tone had been tinged with something you couldn’t quite identify at the time.

Even Dabi had begun to unironically refer to Hawks as your ‘new best friend’.

He didn’t seem too happy with the new development.

A week later, Hawks, or Keigo, as he’d asked you to call him in private, had paid you one last visit, and you hadn’t seen him since. He’d gifted you one of his fluffy, scarlet feathers the last time he’d visited, for ‘when he wasn’t around’. 

It sat waiting neatly on the centre of the singular pillow on your bed one evening, easily catching your eye as you slipped out of the bathroom attached to your room. There was no note left with it, but you didn’t need one. You knew well enough what it meant, and it filled your empty, aching chest with a sort of warm feeling that left you breathless.

After that day, you kept it with you, tucked into your shirt, positioned right over your heart, and at night, you placed it under your pillow. You might’ve felt embarrassed at how much it meant to you, or how attached you were, but it felt like your only lifeline in the miserable four walls of your little room.

In a strange, cosmic joke kind of way, he almost felt like the family you’d never had.

****

The day Shoto had been scarred by your mother had been an odd day. It was one of the rare days since Touya’s death that you’d felt loved, accepted by your family. Everything felt normal. Two months after your fifth birthday, the snow had melted into clear, fresh streams and flowers had begun to bloom.

Sakura.

Your family had spent the day in the park, wandering around while you and Shoto played with Fuyumi in the dewy grass, in awe of the delicate pink blossoms. There’d been a strange tension between your parents that day, one you’d been too young and oblivious to notice.

After a long Spring day spent outside, your family of six had returned home and resumed life as usual. Dinner was a quiet affair, as it usually was, and you’d hurried about your evening routine after you’d felt your mother’s distasteful gaze trained on you for longer than usual.

Fuyumi had, for reasons unknown to you, attached herself to you that evening, insisting on helping you bathe and get into your pyjamas. You’d gone along with it all, happy and unquestioning of her attention on you. 

It felt good, having someone care for you - the first person to do so since Touya’s passing.

She’d laid next to you in your bed, reading a children's storybook to you, her fingers gently carding through your hair - the same hair she’d so caringly brushed out an hour before, carefully working each knot out with a patience and kindness reminiscent of a mother.

In the peace and stillness of the moment, you’d failed to notice Rei's shadowy figure in the doorway, watching the two of you through the slight gap in the doorway. If you had bothered to peer over Fuyumi’s shoulder, you might’ve noticed her blanched face, or her hands, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned while. You might’ve noticed the wide eyed, crazed expression that had washed over her face, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

But you didn’t notice her.

What you noticed was the commotion not long after she left. You heard her panicked shrieks fifteen minutes later. Shouto’s pained screeches and sobs followed soon after, echoing eerily down the long corridor to your room.

You heard your father’s thundering steps and bellowing rage, felt Natsuo and Fuyumi’s panic, their trembling hands on your shoulders, steering you away from the sight of Shouto’s raw, burnt face.

And you definitely felt the shiver of dread dripping down your spine when your mother turned her crazed eyes on you. She looked almost demonic in that moment, eyes red rimmed and wide, face nearly as stark white as her hair.

She’d tried to approach you, hands outstretched, fingers curled into cruel claws as she reached out for you, and only your father’s firm grip kept her in the kitchen as you were ushered to your room while Shouto was rushed off to the hospital.

You didn’t see much of any of them after that, and in the months following the incident, you felt even further ostracised from your family.

Rei had been institutionalised not too long after that, and the remainder of your family had kept you at arms length ever since, reminding you constantly of your insignificance to their lives - to the family.

****

The scent of soba and egg rolls fills the room, its occupants silent as they eat.

Hawks halts for a moment, the noodles dangling from his chopsticks as he glances to his left, to the hulking flame hero sitting beside him. He hides a small smirk, tilting his head down and clearing his throat before speaking.

“I looked into that lead you told me about - the one about your daughter? It’s a deadend.”

Endeavour tenses, shooting Hawks a pointed look, but it’s too late. Natsuo and Shouto pause, exchanging a tense look across the table, and Fuyumi perks up, her grip tightening on her chopsticks.

“You’ve been looking for her? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” Natsuo sounds outraged, his hands tightening into fists on the tabletop. “You didn’t think to ask us for help?”

Endeavour’s jaw tightens. 

“I didn’t think it was necessary. Allowing you three to help would’ve done nothing but give you false hope and allow you to interfere with my work. You’d do more harm than good.”

“Ah, Endeavour, so harsh! Don’t shoot them down yet,” Hawks interjects, cutting off whatever scathing remark Natsuo was about to spit out. “More eyes and ears are always helpful. I’m sure they could help out in some way.”

His tone is light, but something about the look in his eyes has Endeavour cautious, and his tone becomes firm.

“No. You three will not get involved. That’s final.”

Hawks shrugs, going back to his soba with a quick final quip. 

“Well, that’s that. Dad has spoken. Don’t try to help find your sister.”

His words hit their intended mark, evident in the barely concealed rage on Natsuo’s face.

“...yeah. Figures, you wouldn’t want us helping. You don’t actually want to get her back, do you? You probably wish she’s dead in a ditch somewhere, don’t you?”

The silence that rings out after Natsuo’s rant is deafening, oppressive. It makes the air feel stifling and heavy, and no one dares move.

“You know nothing,” Endeavour spits, his eyes alight with a look akin to pure fury. Heat radiates off of him in waves, turning the once cold soba on the table scalding in mere moments.

“I know you scared her off. We all do. We know you’re the reason she ran away in the first place. We know that if she’s hurt, or dead, or worse, then it’s your fault. And I know that I won’t stop blaming you until the day I die.”

Before the situation can escalate further, Fuyumi intervenes.

“Okay, um– Everyone is clearly feeling overwhelmed, and we all miss her, so… so let’s just take a deep breath and calm down, okay? Getting upset with one another won’t bring her back.”

Her half-hearted interference, surprisingly, seems to work, just enough for everyone to cool their tempers slightly. Natsuo lets out a long, deep breath, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Shouto follows close behind, pausing at the threshold for a moment and turning to glower at his father.

“Find her, or we will.”

****

You’re rudely awoken in the middle of the night, sweaty and tangled up in your sheets with someone shaking you harshly by the shoulders.

“Hey, wake up– Wake up.”

You jolt upright, forehead banging against someone else’s. Wincing, you massage the bruising skin of your forehead and shoot a glare to whoever had woken you up.

Hawks.

“Wha-? What’s going on?” 

Your words are mumbled, sleep clouding both your mind and your vision.

Kiego firmly grips both your wrists, pulling them away from your face and yanking you to your feet, out of the bed. Your sheets pool at your feet, tangled up between your legs on the cold concrete floor.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

A quick tug towards the door accentuates his words, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. You put up some resistance, pulling back slightly, trying to ignore the roiling in your stomach.

“Hawk– Keigo, what–? Why are we leaving? Where’s Dabi?”

His expression, from what you can see in the imposing darkness of the room, is hard and guarded, and his grip shifts to your bicep, tightening to an almost painful extent.

“None of that matters. I said we’re leaving, so start walking before I make you.”

You’re thrown off by how short off and rude his words are. He’s nothing like the man you’ve come to consider a friend, and a part of you is almost scared of him at that moment. Something in your expression must give your feelings away, because moments later, his eyes soften alongside his grip, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the League. Just… trust me. Please?”

Something about his gaze, his tone - it sways you. Convinces you to believe him.

So you do.

A slow nod is the only confirmation you give, but it’s enough for him to start pulling you towards the door again. You hesitate for only a moment before going along with him, pausing only to grab the scarlet feather laid carefully beneath your pillow.

It’s the only thing you take with you. The only thing you have to your name, the only possession of any value to you.

The low light disguises Keigo’s small smirk when he spots the feather clenched tightly in your grip as you trail after him, though he makes no mention of it. Similarly, you make no mention of his bruising grip.

You don’t encounter anyone in your silent, swift escape, and you almost feel as if it’s too easy, but you don’t point it out to Keigo. 

Maybe a part of you is scared of jinxing your good luck.

Or maybe you’re terrified this is some sort of elaborate, cruel trick he’s playing on you.

Regardless, you stay silent, sticking close to his side as you both exit the seedy bar. He immediately scoops you up into his arms, crouching down, powerful thighs flexing beneath him for a moment before he takes flight, soaring out of the alleyway in an instant. 

****

“She’s gone.”

The entire League sat gathered around the bar, tense and silent as Hawks speaks, leaning casually against the bar, wings splayed out behind him.

“I dropped off her breakfast this morning and her room was empty. Bathroom too.”

The group looks to Shigaraki, waiting for his reaction. 

He’s still, expression blank and guarded. The only sign of tension in his body is the tightening of his hand, clasped into fists at his sides. His jaw works for a moment before he responds, muttering to no one in particular.

“Ruined. All ruined. Those stupid pro heroes are always ruining my plans.”

His agitation becomes obvious as he begins pacing in front of the bar counter, hands clawing uselessly at the pale skin of his neck. Welts form within seconds, raised and red and angry beneath his frantic fingernails. 

“It’s Endeavour. It has to be. How did he find out? How?”

The words are muttered below his breath as he paces, not meant for anyone but himself, eyes wide and fretful when his head snaps up. His gaze narrows and sets itself on Dabi.

“Did you know about this?”

Dabi raises his eyebrows, expression cool, seemingly bored as he drawls. “Me? Now, why would I know a thing about this?”

His gaze flits momentarily to Hawks, narrowing.

“If anything, you should be asking bird boy over there. He seemed particularly comfortable around her. Wouldn’t he know something about our little escapee?”

Shigaraki groans and turns on his heel, kicking his leg out and toppling a table in the process. The room is silent for a long while, the only sounds piercing stillness is the resounding clatter of the table striking the floor, and Shigaraki’s own rage filled panting.

Silence stretches out for a few moments as he schools his rage, recomposing himself after his explosive tantrum.

“Bring her back - I don’t care how. I need her. My experiments aren’t done yet. Father won’t be pleased. She’s my experiment. Mine.”

He turns his cold glare to Hawks, then Dabi, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Find her.”

****

Sometimes, you wonder what life would’ve been like if your mother hadn’t been around. Your siblings too, for that matter.

During the more peaceful moments of your life, you fantasised about life far away, often imagining what it’d be like if you’d been born into a different family entirely.

Maybe you’d be an only child, living in a small rural town by the beach, or on a farm. 

It would’ve been peaceful, you think. Calm.

Your parents would dote on you, their only daughter, and they wouldn’t care about your lack of a quirk. 

Imagining that sort of kindness made your stomach turn.  How would it feel?

Or maybe you’d be one of many children. The oldest child. 

You’d protect your younger siblings in the ways you never were. You’d be part of a big happy family, one where you had big Sunday lunches and went on annual vacations. You’d have a family pet, a cat or a dog, adored by everyone in your make believe family.

Or maybe you’d be an orphan.

How sad, that being an orphan without a home was preferable to your own situation.

But you’d be surrounded by other children like you - children without homes, without families.

The thought of a different life left an aching hole where your heart should’ve been.

There were times that you felt bad about wishing for a different life. You’d look at family photos, gazing down at your siblings smiling up at you, their faces joyful and free of concern. 

Why couldn’t your life have been like that? Was your lack of a quirk really the only thing that made you so different?

Maybe if you’d been born as Fuyumi instead, with her soft eyes and kind disposition.

Or maybe Natsuo, with his unwavering strength, that glint he got in his eyes when he looked at you - the one that meant that he loved or hated you.

Most often, you imagined what it would be like to have been born as Shouto. 

The golden child. 

Would you have been grateful? Or would you have hated your family as much as he seemed to hate yours?

What reason did he have for hating them? They treated him like a king. Like their own saviour.

You wish he’d been yours. You wish he’d never grown out of his kindness, like he did when you were five years old and desperate for some kind of connection. 

Perhaps things would have been different.

You try to imagine a world in which he took over the role Touya held in your life. You try to imagine a world in which your family protected you, in which they didn’t look down on you like you were scum.

The picture is blank and fuzzy.

You can’t imagine such a world.

But amidst the mess of self-pity and poorly disguised hatred in your mind, you remember small glimpses of happiness in your life with them. It rarely happened, but since you’d been taken by the League, it was as if the floodgates had opened. Memories you’d long since repressed came back in bits and pieces, and surprisingly, they weren’t all bad.

When you were seven years old, your father had hit you. It wasn’t out of the ordinary - in fact, you’d come to expect it.

But it hurt nonetheless. It bruised both your face and your feelings, so you’d escaped to the greenhouse in the garden for a reprieve - somewhere you rarely went.

It had been your mother’s sanctuary, but she’d long since been hospitalised, so you had no fear of seeing her through the thicket. You spent far longer there than you’d thought, and eventually the setting sun illuminated the room, filtering through the glass roof and overhanging foliage. It looked as if the room was on fire, bathed in the warm orange afternoon glow.

That’s where Natsuo found you, huddled up under a counter with your knees to your chest, careful not to jostle your bruised cheek.

He didn’t say anything, or try to coax you out of your shelter. Instead, he sat down next to you with a huff, slightly hunched over beneath the table. He, despite being only ten years old at the time, was already a lot taller than you, and most other children his age. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, not acknowledging one another as you sat side by side. 

The memory replayed itself in your mind, almost as clearly as the day it happened.

Some time passes before he speaks.

“When I’m older, I’ll protect you. Like Touya did.”

The words give you pause, and you don't look at him. Thinking back now, you wish you had. 

Would his expression have told you what he was thinking?

You’d never know.

“I’m not strong enough right now, but one day, I will be. And then he’ll never hurt you or Sho again. We’ll leave - us and Fuyumi.”

He pauses, bumping his shoulder against yours. You glance up at him and see his mouth pulled tight, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“...I’m sorry for being a bad brother. I… I know I don’t act like it often, but I do love you. I worry about you too.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, averting your gaze. The words, however true they may or may not be, make you feel… wanted. As if he actually sees you as a member of the family, a little sister, and not some pesky waste of space or a punching bag.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

The conversation lulls into silence after that. He sits beside you in silence, staring blankly at the wall of ivy opposite the two of you, and you sit there, still curled up tightly, fighting back tears.

He glances at you for a moment, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. The gesture feels comforting, in a way. As comforting as it can be, coming from him - someone who’s a strange combination of both your older brother, and a complete stranger to you.

The sigh he lets out is heavy, weighed down by an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on, and his thumb gently strokes your swollen cheek. He pulls back as you wince, recoiling as if you’d struck him.

“Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that bruise.”

It felt both strange and pathetic - the fact that that was your fondest memory with Natsuo, at least from what you could remember. 

But it felt soothing, in a way, to know that he didn’t completely hate you. Not as much as you’d thought.

It almost gave you hope that your family actually cared. Maybe they were looking for you. Maybe they were worried about you. 

And maybe, they even felt remorseful for how they’d treated you.

Or maybe not.

****

“There’s been a… development.”

Endeavour tenses, the vein in his jaw ticking as he eyes Hawks.

“What do you mean?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, his brows scrunching into a faux sombre expression. The hand he lays on Endeavour’s shoulder is meant to be reassuring, but it feels like a death knell, settling heavily on his mind.

“I looked into it, and… she isn’t with the League. I don’t know if she ever was.”

“So… What? She just disappeared? People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth Hawks!”

His temper is boiling over now, despite his attempt to keep it under control. Hawks takes a step back, cautious as he shows his palms in a placating gesture, attempting in vain to calm the quickly growing fury of the man before him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t found a single trace of her. Maybe…”

Hawks schools his features, taking another step back, preparing for the inevitable backlash he’s about to receive.

“Maybe you should let it go. She’s gone, and she’s clearly not coming back.”

The large mahogany desk, once anchored to the floor, flies across the room, slamming against the wall of shelves with a resounding boom, its contents scattered across the office.

Endeavour is the picture of barely restrained rage, shoulders heaving with each panting breath, posture hunched and shuddering, his face red and twisted beyond recognition. Even his voice is barely recognisable.

“How dare you? How dare you suggest I give up? She is my daughter! She might be dead or worse, and you think I should just give up?!”

The air sizzles with each wave radiating off of the flame hero, and the plastic office chair behind him melts like butter, dripping to the floor in a sticky puddle, marring the once perfectly polished tiles.

Hawks quickly backtracks, eyebrows raising at the display of unbridled fury.

“Woah woah, no! I’m not suggesting that at all! I mean… maybe I was, but I can see now how upset that makes you so– Let’s just take a break, okay? Just take some time to… rethink things.”

His eyes flicker to Endeavour’s face, searching for something for a moment.

“Maybe consider allowing your kids to help?”

He shows his palms again before Endeavour can interject.

“I know, I know! It’s just a suggestion. Many hands, and all that. Just… give it some thought, okay? I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.”

He leaves without waiting for a response, a small smirk playing on his lips.

With Endeavour lost in his own self hatred and personal musings, and the League preoccupied with their plans and separate search for you, no one would be looking his way.

****

Keigo was surprisingly wealthy. 

Not that you’d expected him to be living in squalor - he was a Pro Hero, after all. A good one too, if his position as number two was anything to go by.

But the blatant decadence of his apartment shocked you.

He’d landed on the balcony smoothly, after a long forty minute flight, gently setting you down and leading you inside.

While he may have been accustomed to flying, you weren’t so lucky, and you felt as though you’d left your stomach back at the League’s base. Or maybe you’d lost it mid flight.

He seemed to pick up on your disorientation, guiding you to the plush couch with an unexpected tenderness. He’d allowed you to gather your bearings, bringing you a fuzzy blanket to stave off the odd chill in his apartment, and a tall glass of water, the condensation beading down the sides.

You’d been thirstier than you’d expected, chugging down the contents in mere moments, gulped down in six seconds flat.

Evidently, you’d been more exhausted than you thought too, dozing off less than fifteen minutes later. You felt Keigo there, his gentle hands helping you lay down and covering you with the blanket.

Now, when you wake up hours later, dazed and drooling, in a bed far too large for one person, Keigo’s gone, and the only indicator of his presence were the few scarlet feathers strewn across the fluffy duvet.

You spend a while combing the apartment for him, tentatively calling out his name as you wander the wide halls, but he’s nowhere to be found. Likewise, you note, at the back of your mind, the distinct lack of a front door.

There’s an off-kilter niggling at the back of your mind, but you brush it off, shifting your search to the kitchen after yet another unsuccessful ten minutes of searching. Evidently, exploring after hours of surprisingly deep sleep made you thirsty. You stand there, leaning against the marble countertop, chugging a tall glass of water, then another, and a third, until you feel bloated and almost sick. Only then do you set your glass down in the sink and move on from the kitchen.

His apartment is large, far too extravagant, but you suppose that must’ve been his taste.

You wander around the space aimlessly for a while, longer than you expected. 

Why did he need this much space? Did he live with someone else?

The three tall glasses of water you’d chugged catch up to you far too quickly, and you shuffle to the first bathroom you find, paying no mind to your surroundings.

After taking care of your business and washing your hands, you exit the bathroom and stop short when you spot Keigo standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his face blank. Neither of you move for a long while, but eventually he blinks, eyes clearing as he assesses you.

“You feeling better?”

His tone is light and airy, the same Keigo you’ve grown accustomed to. It sets you at ease, the tension you hadn’t noticed in your shoulders melting away, trailing down your spine like a trickle of water.

“...yeah. Much.”

There’s a long pause, neither of you moving or saying anything. You clear your throat.

“Um, I never thanked you. For helping me, I mean. So… thank you.”

You incline your head slightly, straightening up. He stares at you for a long moment, sighing as he shifts to the side, a clear indication for you to leave the room. You do, shuffling past him awkwardly and making your way back to the living room.

The ceilings are tall, nearly over twelve feet, making the room seem larger and more exposed than it truly is. You sit back down on the couch, shifting about for a moment, settling down as Keigo seats himself down near you.

After a while, when it becomes apparent that he has no plan of breaking the simmering silence, you decide to take it upon yourself.

“I– Can I go home now?”

Home.

You didn’t know what that was. Not anymore. 

It wasn’t with your father, on his sprawling estate. It wasn’t your four walled prison cell with the League. It certainly wasn’t with Touya.

The realisation that you had nowhere to go, no one to care for you… It was startling, and left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Keigo stares at you, head dipped forward so it appears almost as if he’s leering at you through his lashes. His golden eyes are alight with a strange intensity, and he takes a deep breath, seemingly thinking over his words.

“About that. See… I think it’s better if you stay with me for a bit. Just to… acclimate. You understand, right?”

His tone leaves little room for argument, but you try nonetheless.

“What? But wouldn’t– I don’t want to impose. I should really get back to my… family.”

The words die out on your tongue. 

Now, out in the open, free from both the League and your family, you’re not so sure you want to return to the Todoroki home. You’d never had a choice before. It felt freeing, in a way, finally having the power to decide what you wanted without someone else breathing down your neck, trying to influence your decision.

Keigo raises a brow, the look that he gives you filled with a mix of pity, and something far more calculated and knowing.

“Do you? Do you want to go back to them? To him? The media may not be privy to what happens behind closed doors, but I’ve worked around Endeavour long enough to recognise the fact that he has a bit of a hot temper. Are you really willing to leave one prison cell for another?”

His words are like a stone dropped in your stomach, settling heavily in your already uneasy gut.

It sparks something inside you, a deep seated realisation. Keigo was offering you a way out. Freedom. True freedom. Or, at least, as close as you could get to it. You wouldn’t have to be subjected to the whims of others, of what they wanted for you. 

Keigo was offering you a choice.

Maybe not in so many words, but the offer was there. You’d be a fool not to take him up on it. 

Your throat bobs as you swallow, fists clenched tightly in your lap as you meet his gaze.

“I’ll stay.”

He smiles, eyes filled with light, seemingly glowing in the early morning rays that filter through the tall windows, gaze intense and trained solely on you. You shiver, wrapping your arms around your midsection as goosebumps dance over your skin.

It’s so cold in here.

“Wonderful.”

[perfinn]

translate your vibration

rugby player!soap mactavish x reader

wc: 3.1k

summary: you're a fieldside medic for a rugby league team and you care a bit too deeply for one of the players. he cares right back

cw: NSFW, f!reader, medical inaccuracies, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), johnny's face is covered in blood, medical malpractice too probably, semi-public sex, johnny is lowkey concussed so dubcon just to be sure (but he wants this trust)

special thanks to @kitkatscabinet for helping this come to be!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

“Ye come here often?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Johnny’s obvious attempt at flirting. Not because he’s misguided or the advances are unwanted– truly, you wouldn't mind at all in any other circumstance. Only right now, you’re trying to assess him for a concussion. That, and he’s still got his mouthguard in so paired with the blood dribbling from his nose, his words are a garbled slur. 

“Stop moving, Johnny,” you tell him, handing him another cloth to press to his bleeding nose– broken again, you’d wager. You’ll get to that in a moment. 

“‘Am no,” he mumbles, lifting his head when you tilt up his chin and giving you a charming grin. Even with the mouthguard and a twisted nose, he’s still the most handsome man on the team. Which, given your own penchant for beefy rugby-type men, is saying something. “Just askin’.”

“It's not helping your case, then,” you say, gripping his jaw tighter when he tries to move again. “Because you know good and well I come here often. I’m your medic.”

“ Mine ?” Johnny echoes with a somewhat-delirious chuckle. “Och, I’m lucky then, have ye all to maself.” 

You want to correct him, to tell him that you're technically the whole team’s medic, but you don't. You let him be, and instead reach to grab a light to check his pupils. He does manage to hold still as you shine it into his eyes, though he’s helped along by your firm grip on his jaw. His pupils react normally, but you’re still concerned. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, taking a seat across from him as he finally spits out his mouthguard and presses the cloth to his nose. “Head pounding?”

“Aye,” he says, and you frown as you watch the cloth steadily soak with blood. “But it has just been knocked off my shoulders. ‘Am not seeing  two of you, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't be complainin’ if I were, mind you.”

You hum in response, seeming dubious. You suppose that's good, all things considered. Flirting aside, if he is concussed, it's not deeply serious. Still, you’re concerned. But you know Johnny. He loves to play, loves the game. And he’s one of the best players in the club. You glance behind you at the screen that's playing footage of the game, biting your lip. You can see how desperately Johnny wants to get back out there, he’s practically buzzing in his seat. So somehow, you’re going to have to break it to him that you’re keeping him off the pitch for at least the remainder of this half. Naturally, he’ll be a nuisance about it. Whine, complain, probably beg you to reconsider. Part of you doesn't want to deal with the guilty feeling those puppy dog eyes envokes. 

So, you stall. 

“And the nose?”

“Fuckin’ kills,” he confirms, lowering the rag and grunting in satisfaction when no more blood drips free. “Broken.”

“Again,” you sigh, moving to stand up again. The fact his nose has stopped actively bleeding does loosen the vice-like grip of worry that’s wrapped around your ribcage. He’s breathing okay too, which loosens it again. Still, though, it’s suffocating. 

(You shouldn't worry so much about Johnny. He’s been knocked around far more than you could ever handle and played through much worse. But you’re a bit selfish when it comes to Johnny… you care about him more than you ought to as a professional.)

“Cannae complain when it means I get to see ye,” Johnny says with a cheeky grin as you put your fingers to his nose. “I like it when ye dote on me.”

“You won't like me in a second,” you say. He laughs shortly, and you suppose that he assumes you’re talking about setting his nose. In a way, you are. But that's not why he’ll actually be miffed with you. He’d probably never be miffed about setting his nose anyway, he knows it's a necessary pain. 

You give him a smile, gently prodding at his twisted nose to get your hands in the right position, and you don't bother giving him a countdown. Instead, you break the news to him as quickly as you can manage as you snap the bone back into place, “I’m keeping you off.”

“ Fuck ! Yer what?!” Johnny rears back in his seat with the combined impact of the pain and the sudden information. You step back, wringing your hands together as he blinks harshly. You’re sure there’s dots in his vision from the pain, and once his head clears enough he’ll process what you’ve said. 

“Bonnie,” he says slowly after a moment. The sweet name makes your stomach twist in a strange anxious delight. “Tell me yer joking.”

You give him a sheepish smile, unmoving– and he knows you won't budge. He also knows how much his coach trusts you, and if you say he’s out, he’s out. His coach won’t put him back in if you say not to. But you know he’ll argue anyway. “Until the next half, at least. I need to keep an eye on you.”

Johnny groans deeply, sinking down in the chair. He growls your name, and you’re a tad ashamed to say it goes right to your core. 

“We’re only 20 minutes in, I’ll miss half the game! You cannae-”

“You’re staying off, Johnny,” you say firmly. When you’d started on as the Eels’ medic, you’d been a bit shier. But you’d learned quickly that these men were hardheaded in more ways than one, and being shy and timid would get you nowhere in enforcing their safety. So you took note from their coach and got tough with them. It earned you the respect you needed, and also the trust from their coach in knowing that you could handle them. “And you know I won’t be changing my mind. Now if you want to go back on at all, you’ll behave.”

This earns you another groan, but the growly tone of it says something entirely different than the last one. You feel your cheeks warm, and hope to god he doesn't notice. 

“Talkin’ dirty won’t make me forgive you, you ken,” Johnny says, knuckles pressed against his closed eyes. “Ye really won’t budge?”

“You know me better than that.”

“Aye, I do,” he sighs, dropping his hands and lowering his lidded gaze to you. “Lucky yer sweet talking me, lass. Wouldn't be so forgiving otherwise.”

It's not a threat meant to be taken seriously, you know. It's a threat that does something else entirely, but you hurriedly stand and clear your throat. Professionalism, you tell yourself. It's the backbone of your career. To be surrounded by hot, burly, virile men all day and not do anything about it is a god damn superpower. 

“Price will be as disappointed as you are, but he’ll let you watch from the bench-”

“‘Am no going out there,” he says, standing up with less hurry and far more care. Despite his protests, he is heeding your warnings and taking care with his head. “Can watch the game from in here. Got another way for us to pass the time.”

You stop as you’re turning toward the door, glancing back at him while he inches closer to you. “Johnny…”

You know exactly where he’s hoping to go with this. And as much as you want to – god, you want to – you truly can’t. You’d lose your job. Probably lose your licence if the powers that be were feeling extra annoyed by it, and absolutely shatter your reputation in the process. 

But then… that’s only if you get caught. There’s no security cameras in the locker rooms– there isn’t allowed to be. There’s 20 minutes left of the half, no one’s going to come in here until then. You could. You could do it, and be done with it before anyone notices.

(You’re obviously being intentionally naive in thinking you’d ever be satisfied with just one taste of Johnny, but for now it’s the only way you can rationalise it.)

“C’mon, bonnie.”

You turn back round to face him, bouncing a bit on your toes. “We’ll need to be quick.”

Johnny’s bloody and bruised face lights up with a toothy grin and he nods dutifully as he closes the distance between you both. He lifts his hand to place it on your cheek, his palm warm and rough against your skin. “Cannae tell ye how much I’ve thought about this.”

You laugh a bit, staring up at him. You don’t mind so much that he’s still a bit covered in his own blood. “This is so unprofessional.”

“Aye, it is.”

He doesn’t waste another second before he’s putting his mouth on yours, teeth clacking against yours with the desperation and intensity of his kiss. You hear yourself make a soft noise of surprise, or something akin to that. It’s hard to say, hard to organise your emotions when your brain only wants to focus on Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.  

He’s intoxicating. If being around him and simply being flirted with by him was as addictive as it was, actually kissing him, touching him beyond just treating his injuries, is heroin. He’s backing you up toward the lockers before you realise it, moving his hands from your cheeks down to your body. His hands explore you with no inhibitions, his rough hands squeezing at your tits. He groans into your mouth, pulling his lips away from yours to look down.

His forehead presses to yours as he takes in the sight of your body. Of course, you’re fully clothed and it’s nothing he’s never seen before, but it’s the fact that for this moment it’s his.

(Johnny is well aware that half his team wants you. Maybe more than half, but half of them had openly expressed it. While you’re gone, while they’re winding down in the locker room. But none of them could pull it off. None of them had seeped through the cracks in your professionalism and found their way into your pants. But Johnny had. He had barely even started with you, and he's already thinking about how he might gloat about it.)

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, bonnie,” he mumbles, pressing a short kiss to your lips. “Would love to take my time with ye.”

“Me too,” you breathe, arching into his touch as he gropes at your tits. “But we can’t.”

“Aye,” he says, a scowl creasing his bloodied face. “Bloody tragic. S’alright, lass, next time.”

Part of you wants to say there probably shouldn’t be a next time, which is true, but your brain is already surpassing its ability to form sentences– and the idea of denying yourself of more Johnny sounds like a nightmare right now. You can’t even entertain the thought, not while Johnny is pressing his bulge to your leg, groaning as he shamelessly ruts against your clothed thigh. 

“What d’you want, bonnie?” He asks, voice breathy, almost growling in your ear. “Tell me. I’ll give it to ye.”

You have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from asking him to fuck you outright. You’re not entirely sure why you don’t say that, actually. Maybe it’s the time constraints, or maybe it’s his cock pressing against your thigh, but fuck, you want to taste it.

“Let me suck you off,” you demand unceremoniously. Johnny chuckles, likely at your commanding tone, but nods as he presses a kiss, then another, to your neck.

“Christ,” he says between heated kisses. He seems almost disappointed to let you sink to your knees, leaving his mouth unoccupied. He almost starts panting as he sees you stare up at him from your knees, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. “Yer fuckin’ perfect. Goan then, lass, then I’ll give that pretty pussy of yours the treatment it deserves after, yeah?”

Nodding along to his ramblings, you tug his shorts down and find yourself disappointed as you come face to face not with his cock, but with his compression shorts. The both of you groan, and Johnny almost tears them off in his desperation to remove them, cursing the shorts under his breath– you bite back the urge to remind him of the medical benefits of wearing them; besides, any thought you have is cut off by the sight of his cock, hard and leaky, springing free. 

It's beautiful, which is a strange thing to say about a cock, you know, but there's little else to describe such a pretty thing. You wrap your hand around the base, licking an appreciative stripe along the underside of it. 

“ Fuuuuck ,” Johnny groans, hand falling gently on the back of your head. Not pushing, but just resting there. “Good fucking girl.”

You take the head of him into your mouth, gazing up at him as you begin to take him deeper, bobbing your head along the length of him. Johnny’s head hits the wall as he moans freely, seemingly unashamed of the idea of being caught. He’s lost in the warmth of your mouth, and you can't much blame him, because you’re lost in the weight of his heavy cock on your tongue. 

Johnny’s eyes are lidded as he turns his gaze down to watch you, and you feel his thumb rub gently over the back of your head as you take him deeper, stopping about halfway down his length, and just stroking what you haven't fit. 

“S’alright, bonnie girl,” Johnny mumbles, voice low. “Dinnae have to take me all today, we’ll work at it, aye?”

His muttered promises make you moan, and that makes him moan. You go back to bobbing your head, the locker room filled with the lewd noises of your mouth. 

It doesn't take Johnny an exceptionally long time to start reaching his end, his hips twitching as he holds back on the urge to fuck right into your mouth. He has the self control to care for your comfort at least. 

“Gonna- fuck , lass, can I come in your mouth?”

Were it anyone else, or any other situation, you’d probably say no. But it's Johnny ; and right now the two of you can't exactly afford to deal with a mess. You hum your affirmative, and apparently the slight vibration of it is enough to have him coming. You see the muscles of his lower abdomen tense before you feel his hot release spill onto your tongue. You take every drop, even when it begins to feel a bit much. When his body relaxes and he leans back against the wall, you pull away and swallow, making Johnny groan lowly. 

“Perfect,” he praises, gently guiding you to stand before kissing you again. He licks into your mouth, tongue laving over your teeth like he’s trying to taste himself. Only as you lean to return the favour, he’s flipping the both of you around so your back is against the wall and he’s kneeling before you. 

“Promise is a promise,” he mumbles, tugging eagerly at your leggings. You can tell he’d love nothing more than to rip them from your body, but he exercises enough self control to just drag them down to your calves, your panties going along with them. 

The position isn't ideal, but Johnny’s enthusiasm isn't hindered. He spreads your legs as far as the leggings will allow, one thumb tugging your lips aside. He groans, leaning forward and inhaling deeply. His nose brushes against your clit and you whine, cheeks warming at the lewd gesture. 

“Johnny,” you urge, threading your fingers through his mohawk and tugging gently. Johnny moans. Then, he shuffles forward on his knees and presses his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue over your dripping pussy. 

One of his hands grabs at your thigh as he licks you, slurping desperately at your slickened cunt. Another tug at his mohawk draws his focus to your clit, which he sucks into his mouth with an appreciative groan. Even when he can't talk, Johnny is incredibly loud; there would be no hiding this from anyone listening outside the door. 

He sucks at your clit, hand moving from your thigh to slip a finger into your cunt, making you moan before you slap a hand over your mouth. Johnny’s eyes open, and his eyebrows furrow. 

He pulls away, despite your whined protest, and takes a short breath. “Lemme hear ye, lass,” he encourages. “Don't hide from me.”

“Johnny,” you begin to protest, cutting yourself off with a gasp when he eases another finger into you and curls them right against a spot that has a loud moan falling from your parted lips. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, ducking right down to graze his teeth over your clit.

His mouth combined with his rough fingers is driving you mad, making you squirm in place as pleasure begins to sear the ends of your nerves. 

“ Johnny !” You cry, head banging against the wall as your orgasm hits you without warning or much buildup at all. It feels as though it's been punched out of you, making your body tense and tremble for a few good seconds, mind floating miles above your body. 

When you return to earth, Johnny has pulled his fingers from your pussy and has them in your mouth, his nose pressed against your clit as he ruts his hips against his hand. You're entranced watching him rub himself through the overstimulation, fingers in his mouth and bruising nose in your pussy. It's only a few more moments before Johnny spills into his fist, a guttural groan muffled by your cunt. 

He sighs, pressing a loving kiss to your pussy. Then, he pulls back, face shiny with your slick, and looks up at you, grinning lopsidedly. “Alright, bonnie?” He asks, like he hasn't just jerked himself to a second orgasm on his own. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, words like laughter. “Are you?”

He nods, shuffling awkwardly to his feet and looking at the mess on his hands. Pants still around his knees, he shuffles over to your medical supplies and gets himself a tissue, wiping his hand off before tugging up his shorts. 

He returns to you, who’s struggling to stand, and gently tugs your pants up for you. He kisses you, softer and sweeter than before, and smiles against your lips. “Ye were perfect, bonnie.”

You hum, shifting your legs so that your underwear doesn't press wrong against your oversensitive cunt. 

The door opens before you can respond, and the first person inside is Johnny’s coach, John Price. The two of you must have somehow missed the siren in the heat of your joint pleasure. The bearded man takes in the scene of the two of you standing so close, and the slick on Johnny’s flushed face, and a heavy sigh leaves his lungs. 

“Fucking hell, MacTavish.”

[hilsonamore]

hahaha yes yes 2004 medical malpractice show suuuuure, show me the cutest little episode full of hilson pranking each other and house fucking MELTING at the sight of wilson trying to trick him, suuuuure show me how much his eyes light up whenever his boy-bestie is near and suuuuuuure end the episode by showing house looking at his sword with his father’s name engraved on it and being on the verge of tears suuuuure David Shore thank you for destroying me suuuuuure ahaha

[wombywoo]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you would be willing to share how you go about finding the references for the injuries you depict in your work? Your pieces where the CoD boys are sporting injuries, fresh and old, are always so lifelike and to my untrained eye seem entirely medically correct.

I have been trying my hand at drawing the boys retired and resting as well, but I’m finding it difficult to decide what work injuries to add and how to find the respective references.

How do you decide what injuries to portray? And how do you go about finding the reference material?

Your huge fan, amustikas

Oooh ok ok! I'm gonna post my answer publically because I think others would find this interesting too!

To preface, I am definitely NOT a medical professional, and as such, a lot of the stuff I choose to depict in my art is not so much..ah, medically accurate as it is....aesthetically pleasing 🤭

I'll start with scars, as a lot of us enjoy slashing up Simon's face with them, lol. Generally, I'll do a cursory google image search for the type of scar I'm looking for (be warned, these can be graphic) with searches like 'burn scar' 'surgery scar' etc. But I find that for things like cuts and lacerations, real-life scars are a bit innocuous and lame 🤷‍♀️ Unfortunately not everyone's skin wants to retain that perfect slash look™️😔

So what I usually end up referencing are costume prosthetic scars ✨

As you can see, they're pretty gnarly:

And you definitely don't have to go this intense, but I find that the dramatic, carved-like appearance of these translate better to art than a realistically healed wound 🤙

The other thing to consider is the prevalence of injuries in the military. From what I've gathered, the most common will be back/shoulder/limb injuries, just a general fucking up of the whole musculoskeletal system in general due to constant overuse 🤕 Hearing loss, shrapnel/blast/burn injuries are also common, as well as all the negative psychological effects :') goooood times (not)

I think it's neat to look up real-life examples of these things, but it can get a bit intense if you're squeamish...

SafeSearch is OFF, the horrors are REal 😳

So yeah...I tend to tone things down, all things considered...😅

For this particular piece:

I researched broken humerus injuries and treatment 👍 Poor boy 🥺(Yes, I am aware that I consumed entire articles and did a shit ton of research about this just to go ahead and put a female's x-ray in this fucking picture sdfghjkl rip💀😭)

But here you can see the actual process for applying the brace for this particular injury:

Neat, eh?

When I draw Johnny with a knee brace, it's usually a real authentic one you can buy on amazon:

Product placement blast!!!💥✨ Bezos, where is my cut?? 🫰

As for ones like this:

I tend to just...scatter some wounds around and patch them up accordingly, lol. Bruising around the eyes is common with any head injury, and surgical stitching will offer a nice puckered skin effect mmm 👌 (I swear I'm normal abt this)

I'm sure the medical malpractice lawsuits are stacking up for me now, but again--it's usually more about the ✨visuals✨

My parting advice would be--go nuts! Feel free to maim and mutilate and mangle to your heart's content 🥰

Thank you for the question, Amustikas! I love your art as well 💗🫶

[himexyandere]

Yandere Headcanons Pt. 2

Content Warning(s): Obsessive behavior, malpractice, gaslighting, manipulation, drugging

A/N: These are just more yandere HC's that I thought of and wanted to post ^^ I haven't written anything here for a while, so I figured I'd post something! Not sure what my next post will be, honestly, I'll probably do a poll and ask what you guys would like to see. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! <3

Yandere!Doctor who keeps you in his hospital by occasionally slipping different harmless drugs into your meals that makes you a little lightheaded and exhibit signs of being feverish, thus extending your visit.

Had someone told you that you would be staying for a bit at a hospital with your favorite doctor, you probably would’ve been elated to hear such a thing!

That wasn’t necessarily the case, however — yes, he was your favorite doctor and he’d always called you his “star patient” when the two of you were alone, but you weren’t exactly a huge fan of hospitals 

Staying for more than a week was already too much for you, yet he still wouldn’t let you leave 

“My dear, you may not think your symptoms are worrying, but they certainly are. A fever that comes and goes at random is nothing to treat lightly. I will be extending your stay until you feel better.” 

During your first week, a male nurse was the one who came to bring you your food and medicine, occasionally striking up casual conversations with you to help you feel more comfortable in such a quiet, sterile place 

After another week or so, you hadn’t seen him again. Confused, you asked your doctor where the nurse went and he gave you a seemingly perturbed frown 

“I’m sorry, dear, but we had to let him go. One of the other nurses found him assaulting a comatose patient. Terrible, isn’t it? I’m just glad he’s gone now and is no longer a danger to anyone… Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Had a month gone by already? You honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Your doctor was the only one who visited your room, stating that visitation was on hold for a while due to some issue or another—

He’s the doctor so why would you question him? He only wants what’s best for his “star patient”, after all

You were originally in for a small health scare at work, but now…

Yandere!Househusband who clings to you, slightly causing a bit of concern amongst your friends and family, but you feel like his clinginess is normal... At first.

He acted like the two of you were still a newlywed couple or something 

He always, always, always craves your attention, wanting to be close to you whenever feasible

This meant that leaving home to go to your job every morning was a nearly impossible feat, considering he rarely ever let you escape his arms (at least not without some bribery first) 

“If you promise to spend the entire weekend with me here in our home, then I’ll let you leave for work. How’s that sound, darling?” 

This was a common occurrence, leading you to spend most, if not all, of your free time cuddling up with your husband at home, watching corny movies and eating snacks. 

Your friends and family started seeing less and less of you, prompting them to call and visit your home more often with questions about where you’ve been. You always tell them that you’re fine and you’ve just been spending some time relaxing with your hubby 

He was delighted by your replies and would later tell you after they left that he loves you so, so much 

He does get anxious at times, though, wondering constantly if you’re annoyed with him or if you secretly hate his clinginess and overwhelming adoration

After you told him that you would be going to hang out with your friends one evening, he nearly lost it in front of you. Fortunately, he managed to maintain a gentle smile as he encouraged you to go and have a good time 

When you got back later that night, your husband informed you that he’d scheduled a getaway for your upcoming anniversary! He’s already called your job and put in for PTO, so you don’t have to worry your little head—you’re going to have so much fun… Just the two of you.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Magic Touch

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 12: Anonymous Sex

Summary: Kane's an interesting patient.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). A massive thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for saving my butt yet again and beating. I've gone off topic really because I found it difficult and this is where the story seemed to want to go.

Warnings: hospitals, reader works in the medical profession, kissing, I'm gonna say a bit of dubious content (but everyone's into it, it's just the set up is a bit hmm), biting, touching, Kane making people come with just a touch, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2065

Kane’s reactions to you after his ‘rescue’ were… interesting. 

You were part of the medical team that had helped to keep him alive, spending your spare time while he laid comatose running blood work for the constant tests that were demanded by strict looking army officials. You never got to see the data. The whole team was just being used for the grunt work while faceless others got to assess and ponder over the results. 

You’d managed to figure out some things though, despite all the cloak and dagger. Often sharing knowing looks with your colleagues when new tests were ordered by your shadowy bosses. 

Things started to get strange, or stranger, when he woke up. 

Psychiatrist tests that you weren’t a part of. Constant interviews with high ranking members from all different government agencies. Throughout it all you were told Kane remained neutral, emotionless. Watching the people speaking to him like a spider would approach an insect. A cold glint in his eyes. 

It was obvious that he had come back different. Changed. Someone else. 

You didn’t really notice at first, the looks he gave you. Sure, you were there to do a job, but you also remembered to have some bedside manner. 

You’d chat with him a little, or more accurately, at him while you took blood and vitals. And he would watch you, listen, nod, say the occasional word here and there.

Honestly, other than his quiet disposition, you hadn’t thought anything was that strange. You’d seen weirder just working at A&E on a Saturday night. 

And there was something kind of nice about it, about how he would listen. As if every word that came out of your mouth was important. 

It wasn’t until you were called into a sudden meeting with your team’s supervisor’s supervisor’s supervisor that things were put into a bit of perspective. 

The man, ‘Karl’ he had said his name was, but you were sure that was as fake as the smile he had given you when you’d knocked and entered his office. His fingers had been cold when he shook your hand, his grip a little too hard to be friendly. 

‘Karl’ had made idle chit chat with you for a few minutes while your own anxieties grew like parasites in your stomach before he finally got to the point. 

“You tend to interact with Kane every shift, is that correct?” 

You’d nodded. “Yes, pretty much. I’d have to check the logs to be sure though.”

He’d hardly let you finish before he was speaking again, obviously already knowing your answer before you had even spoken. “Yes, we’ve noticed some… abnormalities from the recordings.”

“Wait,” you’d cut in. You knew about the constant surveillance, that wasn’t so much of an issue, but you assumed there was some kind of accusation of malpractice. “Everything I’ve done has been following guidelines to the letter, the wellbeing of the patient is my top priority, if you’re implying that-”

“No, no, no,” ‘Karl’ had held up his hands, another fake smile on his face. “Not those kind of abnormalities, nothing like that at all. I do apologise, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything of the sort.” He’d paused, breathing in and seemingly revelling in the moment of anticipation as you waited for his next words. 

“The abnormality is Kane’s reaction and interactions with you.” 

“What?” 

“He seems to… converse with you. Talk.”

You’d frowned. “A little.”

“A lot.” He’d put his hands together on the desk. “A lot more than he talks with anyone else. We have a proposition for you.”

You said nothing. 

“Have a conversation with him, 45 minutes, it’ll be monitored obviously. Whatever happens… happens. If he doesn’t talk to you, that’s fine.” 

“What do you want me to talk to him about?” 

“Doesn’t matter, anything you want.” He’d smiled. “You’ll be well compensated financially, of course.” 

You’d said yes when you’d seen the actual figure, you would be a fool not to. Though, there just had to be a catch, didn’t there? That kind of money to just talk for 45 minutes? Not even to ask any questions? 

. 

The room several guards led you to the following day was surprisingly nice. Carpeted, painted in a soft grey with plush sofas. 

Kane was already in there when they’d let you in, locking the room behind you and not even setting foot inside. Like they were pushing you into the lion’s den. 

He was sitting on one of the sofas, facing away from the door. He looked around straight away when you entered and gave you a small upwards twitch of his lips when he saw it was you. An expression that would have been cold and detached on anyone else, but you had become used to Kane over the past weeks. That small movement was a warm greeting.

“Hello Kane.” You say as you sit opposite him. 

“Good morning.” 

You shift a little to get comfortable. “You okay?” 

He nods once, “very well.” This was the same reply he would give you anytime you asked. 

For a moment you look around the room, trying to see if you could spot where the cameras were. You couldn’t. 

“It’s nice to see you.” He says flatly, but you smile.

“It’s nice to see you too.”

“I usually spend my time in here with other individuals.” 

You pause, trying to read anything on his stoic face. “Others?” 

“I often have meetings in here.” 

You nod, waiting to see if he’ll continue. He doesn’t. “You… like the meetings?” 

He takes a moment to answer, seemingly staring straight into your soul. “I feel indifferent towards them.” 

You smile. “That boring?” 

Kane cocks his head to the side, but says nothing. 

“Do they give you anything to do, anything fun to amuse yourself I mean?”

He continues to look at you for a moment. 

“Books, tv, games?” You shrug a little as you speak, “art supplies?” Surely the higher ups didn’t just leave him with no mental stimulation. 

“Something ‘fun’?” He repeats in the same tone and you nod.

“Yeah, like a hobby?” 

“Talking to you is ‘fun’.” He says plainly.

You can’t help the little smile that pulls at your lips. “Yeah?” 

He nods, and shifts a little in his seat. His hands pressed neatly together on his lap. “Being around you is ‘fun’ also.” You’re so used to his calm, even voice but you don’t pick up on the slight change in cadence to his tone.

Your smile widens a little, “that’s nice to hear.” 

He watches you, fixated, his line of sight seemingly glued in place as you glance around again. Once more trying to pinpoint the cameras. It made no sense for them to be concealed surely?

“They removed them.” He says plainly. 

You frown, quickly turning back to him. “I’m sorry?” 

“The cameras. That’s what you’re looking for, right?” It was a statement, not a question. “They’ve been removed.” 

“What?” Your frown deepens. You’re sure Kane’s not lying to you, part of you isn’t sure if he actually could. “Why? Karl said that-”

“He told you this would be monitored.” Kane nods simply. “I asked for them to be removed.”

“Why?” 

“I assumed it would be… uncomfortable for you.” 

There’s an icy touch on the back of your neck, a shiver at his words. Some deep down basic sense of self preservation being activated. “What?” 

“People grow uncomfortable under surveillance, they react differently.” 

“Well… sure. I mean, you’re not wrong, it’s just…”

He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly. “It’s just?” 

“I thought the whole point of us talking was for them to, you know, monitor.” You shrug, not sure how else to phrase it. 

Kane nods, not in agreement, but simply to show that he heard you.

There’s a pause as he seems to be thinking over your words carefully, choosing the right response with a level of precision. 

Instead he stands and sits down next to you, his leg resting against yours. You frown a little, swallowing and taking a breath to question him as you shift to the side to put a sliver of space between you. 

His hand on your cheek makes you pause, freeze as your words catch in your throat. His fingers are warm and gentle as he tilts your head up and towards him, his pressure light as if he was worried he could tear through you like spider silk. 

For a moment he just looks at you, observing your features as if he could decipher some lost hidden knowledge. 

He leans closer and you know what he’s going to do before he does it. You’re not stupid. But for some reason you can’t get your body to move, to raise a hand, to shift backwards. He presses a soft kiss to your lips. It’s sweet, gentle. The kind of soft first kisses that only exist in teenage romcoms. 

Your senses finally snap back into your mind and you pull back, breaking the kiss. “Kane, wha-”

He moves forward, his eyes seemingly expressionless as he kisses you again. His grip on your cheek tightens, halting your effort to pull away for a second time. 

The strength of his grip surprises you, the way his fingers slide around to squeeze at the back of your neck. You can’t do this, can’t let him do this. This is breaking every patient doctor code in the book. Not to mention that the room still could be monitored, you’d lose your job. And probably worse. 

You try again to move away, to break the kiss, but his hand tightens. The strong muscles of his arms contracting as he keeps you in place. 

Frustration bubbles under your skin, covering the deep down urge to just relax into the embrace, and you do the first thing that pops into your head. You bite his lip. Hard. 

He groans. 

“Again.” He mutters, his voice thick. He rubs the bridge of his nose against yours, practically vibrating as he leans close for another kiss. He moves closer, pressing his chest to yours and lightly pushing you back against the sofa.

“Kane, I…” You swallow, trying so hard not to get caught up in the feel of him, the intoxicating lidded look to his eyes, how his body feels against yours. “I hardly know you, I don’t know you.

“You do. You did.” He says simply.

You practically do a double take. “What?” 

Kane doesn’t answer, leaning down and mouthing at your neck, licking and sucking until you shiver and a small pant escapes your lips. 

He slips his hand under your clothes, ghosting his fingers along your skin. 

You jump, “Kane…” You wish you didn’t sound so needy, so breathless. 

“Hmm?” He hums against your neck and drags his hand down, sinking under your waistband. 

You pull lightly on his hair, getting enough space between you and him so that you can press your lips to his. 

He groans, kisses you back with a deep hunger that leaves you breathless. He licks into your mouth, rolling and teasing your tongue with his own until you're whining and bucking up against him. 

A damp patch is starting to form in your underwear, and when he lightly touches your clit over your panties you gasp, your back arching. 

You expect him to stroke, to move his fingers. But instead, he presses the very tip of his forefinger flat against your bundle of nerves, firm but gentle. 

And suddenly your world falls apart. 

You tense, moaning and panting as you come suddenly, pleasure exploding behind your eyes and robbing you of thought as you convulse in his arms. Your body pulses, sings and you can’t do anything but hold onto him for dear life. 

He moves his hand a fraction as you come down, taking his lips from yours and smiling ever so slightly as you breathe hard. Sweat beading on your forehead as aftershocks run through your nerves.

“What was that?” You pant. 

“An orgasm.” He smiles a little bashfully.

For a second you think he’s being serious, but you tut and giggle when you see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Let me show you again.” He mutters, leaning closer once more and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he slips his fingers under your underwear this time.

Thank you for reading!

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[knife-em0ji]

The really unfortunate thing about House, MD is that even with how fucking unhinged it is it's genuinely a very good show. Sometimes the writing is dated, but it's dated in a way that holds up. The amount of malpractice and crimes and HIPAA violations that go on pretty much continuously is laughable, but in a way it's also believable that the hospital never gets sued because House successfully diagnoses and treats conditions that would have otherwise caused his patients to die if they had been at any other hospital, since, in my experience, very few other doctors do B&Es as a regular part of their practice. House never gets fired because he has tenure and also he seems to be his boss's only friend other than Wilson. (Because as much as people say Wilson is House's best and only friend. We never see Cuddy have any other people in her personal life either.) .

Characters are rife with various -isms and casually participate in -phobias that seem natural and true to the time period and the type of person they are. But also they explicitly say the word bisexual in like every episode Thirteen is in. That would be considered a coup today. There are multiple main characters who are explicitly Jewish and all have different relationships with Judaism. The sense of place in that this hospital couldn't exist anywhere than Central Jersey (which yes, does exist) is incredible.

It's often stupid in a very fun and engaging way, and better yet, they're willing to break form to achieve maximum impact. The two episodes that end with Amber's death were actually phenomenal episodes of television. The reasons behind Kutner's death/suicide remaining unresolved felt poignant instead of lazy, especially since this is a show primarily about getting answers (also lol the meta reason for Kal Penn leaving because he was suddenly summoned to work in Obama's White House is hilarious, and I think they truly did the best they could with writing him off all of a sudden, and I'm not even mad with his permadeath since it would have been ~4 years until Penn could have returned, and by that time the show was done). The two episodes with him landing in a psych ward that have NO medical mysteries and end with him actually seeming to resolve to get better were genuinely uplifting.

Just! Hm! Much to think about. No wonder this show was so fucking popular, and no wonder that it's had such a resurgence the moment it landed on Netflix. Also I know they're hell to shoot but bring back the 22 45-minute episode TV season. I'm begging.

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 3

tw: explicit content, dubcon. 4k+ words. No curses AU. Kenjaku/reader (Kenkaju looks like Geto here). female!omega!reader, beta!Kenjaku, ftm!Kenjaku, we support both good and evil trans people on this blog. It is implied that Kenjaku is also a trans alpha.

Examination kink, praise kink, Kenjaku is an OBGYN, honestly he's not even trying to pretend he's normal, BIG medical malpractice, reader is Feeling Very Weird Things but is Into It, reader can tell Kenjaku is being Not Very Professional but gaslights the shit out of herself bc he’s hot, you go queen.

Prompt: An omega goes for a regular health checkup that leaves them weeping from all holes.

Kenjaku Itadori – formerly Kaori Itadori, you had heard – is a unique individual in his own right. You’d seen the pictures of him before and after transitioning, proudly displayed on his profile, and you can tell why.

It was quite the transformation. A pretty housewife with a bob and a strained smile, to a handsome gentleman who exuded confidence. His hair is actually longer now that he’s presenting as a man, his face broad but still possessed of a delicate nose and lips, a well-defined jawline.

There’s a scar going across his forehead dotted with what look like stitches; it looks like it’s been tattooed over to resemble a chain of stars. What kind of surgery left him with that? A cursory google reveals nothing, but it’s not a big deal anyways.

And those sharp, hooded eyes that always seemed to be smiling at you, in a way that would probably be a bit disturbing if he weren’t so handsome.

He's also an OBGYN, to whom your insurance had directed you. It’s a bit awkward; he may be a beta, but he’s obviously a man as soon as you lay eyes on him, and your heat is… somewhat close.

A low voice says your name, “It looks like this is your first time here, hm? Getting your yearly exam done?”

His tone is easy and conversational, smiling eyes half-lidded at you in a way that’s probably supposed to be reassuring.

You swallow. “Yes. Dr. Itadori, right?”

There’s a silence, but the doctor fills it quickly, “Kenjaku, if you don’t mind.”

You’re not really one to be familiar with people you’ve just met, but he’s transitioned, so it might be that he enjoys hearing his first name. It’s not like it matters either way.

“Nice to meet you, Kenjaku. So uh,” Your eyes glance all around the room, “What first?”

“How about the easy stuff first?” The smile he makes feels a touch too wide, but with kind eyes that nearly close when he grins, it still manages to be disarming.

“I’ll check your scent glands. If you’re uncomfortable, I can call for a female nurse.”

The self-awareness makes you self-conscious. You’d been overthinking this.

He’s just a doctor, a professional. There was nothing weird here.

When his eyes open up some more, it does look a touch… predatory. But his voice is nothing but warm, cooing, almost, in a way that sets you right at ease.

“Please, have no fear. I’m told I have very gentle hands.”

His smile softens as he lifts them up, fingers long and elegant, like a pianist.

You take a tiny sniff of the air again; he’s a beta. Of course he’s a beta. It was much simpler to transition as a beta than any other secondary gender, so that made sense. The tinge of sandalwood in the air was probably a cologne.

Maybe you should ask him what he uses.

With a nod, you slip off your jacket, pulling down the collar of your shirt. It’s a bit chilly in here; gooseflesh prickles over your exposed skin.

When he walks up to you, you’re warmed a little, and the heat of his nearby body radiates through the air.

He reaches his hands out to your neck. Ungloved.

You can’t help your heart racing as he traces over your throat. The swell of skin where your scent was strongest, right beneath his fingertips. It’s hard not to shiver at least a little.

“It’s kinda cold,” You murmur, quietly, just to fill the silence.

Dr. Kenjaku leans in. He’s got a wide frame – strong, broad. So warm you find yourself leaning back, just a little.

“Sorry about that,” His voice is deep, closer to you now. “It does get a bit drafty in here, doesn’t it?”

It’s hard to answer with your heart in your throat.

Stickiness makes itself known on your neck, a layer of secretions from the very gland he traces over. As soon as you realize how wet his fingertips have become your face flushes red.

Before you can open your mouth, he says, “Perfect, perfect, very good.” Something lurches in your chest at the praise, “Your glands are reacting to stimulus appropriately. Nothing wrong, there.”

Ah. Yes. Nothing wrong, he was just checking. Of course you would start leaking – your glands would start leaking, if he touched them like that. It was very rare to touch another person’s neck in daily life, much less the part where scenting glands were.

That’s why it was – it made you a bit antsy. But it’s fine, just an awkward examination. Something to get through.

“Nervous?” You give him a noncommittal hum and he sets a wide, reassuring palm over your shoulder.

“Doctor Kenjaku – ”

“Just Kenjaku, remember?” He squeezes your shoulder, and although the gesture is alarmingly familiar, you feel a little bit of the tension seep out of you, “Don’t worry, what you’re feeling isn’t unusual at all.”

He tilts his face to the side, painfully handsome with his bangs drifting lightly in front of his face.

“Just focus on relaxing for me. Can you do that?”

You take in a deep breath – louder than you would have liked – and let it go. Then you nod at him.

“Oh, we can do better than that. Let me help you.” Another hand on your other shoulder.

Pressing tightly to release the knotted muscle there, he clasps your shoulders with both hands. It’s close to your neck, thumbs edging underneath your scent glands, a tickle that unwinds something heavy in your chest.

Your heartbeat slows to a steady thrum, but there’s a pulse there that doesn’t entirely go away. A delicate throb that ebbs with the tension his hands are working out of you.

Kenjaku keeps going for a moment, humming as his fingertips press into a particularly rigid muscle, working closer into your neck and a bit into your back.

“There you go, very good…” His voice is soft – but that’s just because he’s close, so he doesn’t need to speak so loudly. Kenjaku leans in, “Feel it getting looser?”

It is – your shoulders are. But what was it he was asking about, again? Distantly, you think there’s something weird about this, it shouldn’t really be going like this, but – he’d been otherwise normal, right? Your eyes flick between his hands and his face.

“Just imagine that feeling dripping down your shoulders,” He guides you, hands massaging with his words.

You feel your body following suit. Easy, liquid relaxation pooling as the muscles in your shoulder melt into his touch, starting from your neck, flowing downward over the rest of you. You think for a moment you smell a warm, comforting sandalwood in the air.

Just when it’s about to go on so long you start to really wonder, Kenjaku pulls away.

“Excellent, just perfect.” He’s a bit too satisfied, but you’re too nervous to think more about it until he fetches something from the table.

A scent bursts into the air, artificial and sweet. He holds out something red – a hard candy.

His smile still seems a bit too wide. “A treat for being so good for me. Something to suck on to help you relax.”

The way he says it –

No. No, you’re imagining things. There’s a little slickness you feel gathering between your legs, but that’s just from being – being touched so much. Your glands. That’s why.

You reach out to grab it from him, but Kenjaku moves faster. Long, cool fingers delicately press the candy to your lips. It smells delectable.

Opening up to receive it, his fingers draw into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue with the candy pinched between them.

As your heart picks up, Kenjaku chuckles, “Say ahhh~. Thought I’d get this part over with real quick.”

It’s sour, so your whole mouth is watering. Sweet, too. Cherry flavored, with a heavy scent. At his gentle prompting, you open wider, even as you swallow away your drool.

He stares intently for a moment at the back of your throat, like there’s anything interesting back there, and pulls his fingers out. They’re sticky, dripping with your saliva, and you flush. Looking away in shame, even though he was the one who put them in there.

Why had he done that again? You’re not stupid, you know this is weird, but you just… for some reason it doesn’t seem like such a big deal. You don’t know. It’s weird.

You’re relaxed now, sure, but you can still feel a pulse in your neck where his hands had brushed against you. There’s a soft, distant throbbing lower down, which you’re trying not to think about.

Even without looking you can feel his cat-like eyes are boring into you, curved like they’re laughing.

But his hands are as gentle as he said they would be. His voice is even sweeter than the candy that’s still tingling on your tongue. You want to believe him. You want him to be… not bad.

“Everything looks good.” His hands are clean, but you didn’t see him wash them. “Are you sexually active?” Kenjaku asks.

“Sometimes,” You say, and then stop yourself from providing any more details.

Do his lips look a bit… wet?

No, no, you’ve got to stop being weird about this. Your thinking this is weird is what’s making this weird. Nothing hurt about the examination, nothing felt bad or uncomfortable or weird. He gave you candy!

The logic sounds a bit childish in your head but you can’t bring yourself to refute it.

And really, is it that important? Is it such a big deal, when you weren’t even that bothered by it? You just need to keep going with the examination. Kenjaku wouldn’t do anything bad.

“I see, I’ll do some extra examinations just to check everything’s okay.” There’s a smile you’d been expecting, a reassuring, comforting tone, no alpha male jealousy or anything, just professional care and consideration.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

He tells you to undress, and you do. Putting on the gown that opened from the front while he sat next to you patiently.

When you get your shirt off, he reaches out and you hand it to him without thinking. He folds it nicely and sets it on his lap, along with the rest of the clothes you hand him. There’s a little plastic bag he puts them in, zipping it up and setting it on the counter as you put on that gown that opens from the front.

You like watching him fold them. He’s so meticulous and graceful, utter domesticity in a lab coat. Handsome face utterly peaceful as he concentrates on his task.

With each article of clothing he passes it by his face as if to examine it before setting it down. You think you see him take a breath, but you’re not sure. It’s not a big deal, anyways.

While you turn in the chair, Kenjaku moves, reaching to help position your legs into the stirrups.

You knew this was coming, of course. You’d felt weird about shaving. On one hand, fuck shaving, no matter how new the blade or how many fancy products you used, you always seemed to get micro-cuts that stung when you washed everything off.

On the other hand, the thought of someone sifting through hair to part your pussy was pretty damn unbearable. The price of looking at any explicit content online was that most of the pussies you’d ever seen, in art or porn, were completely waxed.

Eugh. Maybe you should have gotten waxed. But for a medical exam? That would just be weird.

It’s you. This is all your nerves, you’re the one psyching yourself out. Kenjaku is being so helpful, so friendly, and you’re reading into everything he does. Sure, it’s a little inappropriate seeming in places, but it’s not like you’d protested. And he didn’t hurt you!

If there’s a light in his black eyes as his gaze settled between your legs, that’s probably just…

A normal reaction. You swallow again around the hard candy in your mouth, sourness still buzzing against your tongue. He’s a man, too, right? Any man could be expected to have a reaction. It’s not like you want him to have a reaction, though. Do you?

It occurs to you, as he spreads the lips of your cunt and the bare air meets it, that you are leaking slick.

Fire creeps up your neck, crackling across muscles that had been so carefully relaxed, and you stay still but it adds to the feeling of exposure. Skin wet and naked before his eyes.

Drip. Drip. You are painfully aware of the fact that you’re dripping.

Kenjaku hums, and it’s a pleased sound. This should relieve you, and maybe in some way it does, but you find yourself sucking extra hard against the candy, tempted to crush it between your teeth, as you feel another glob of lubrication slip from your entrance.

“Excellent,” He says lowly, “You’re doing so well, so relaxed for me.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It makes you feel better, you think, but you can’t tell, all your attention focused between your legs.

“Your slick response is really quite extraordinary… I assume you must be near your heat?”

“Yes,” You say.

“Omegas, such fascinating creatures. Your heats must be very productive. Your whole body preparing itself to be bred, in every conceivable way.”

He must hear you whimper, because he follows it with a chuckle, “Oh, don’t fuss. This is a perfectly natural reaction, you know. You’re healthy.”

Dark eyes meet yours. A smile stretching wide across his lips.

“It’s a good thing, don’t you agree? You want to be healthy, yes?”

Yes. Yes, of course you do. He makes another satisfied noise when you tell him so, but this isn’t quite a hum, it’s darker, more rumbly. Almost like a growl. Betas don’t do that, though.

The sandalwood is all gone, so it must have just been his perfume. All you can smell is artificial cherry, and you swallow again, flavored saliva like syrup down your throat.

 You hear him move some things around, glancing over at the table beside him. It’s hidden by your legs, a bit.

“I’m putting it in, now,” Kenjaku says.

The – the speculum. The instrument. That’s what he’s talking about. You know because it’s cool against you, metal sliding against your walls as he pushes it in. It’s not too uncomfortable, just… pressure.

“Now, relax for me, will you?” The way he says it, eyes meeting yours, smiling languidly, you feel your body loosen up at his words. You loosen, quivering under his gaze, “Very good.”

A little bit of extra slick drips out of you. You can feel it, but hopefully, he doesn’t notice. It’s so awkward. You’d never been turned on by these things.

Faintly you’re aware that he’s been too familiar with you this whole time, why should it be so strange for you to be aroused? He kept telling you how all this is perfectly natural, and it was.

Kenjaku is just trying to make you feel comfortable. This whole time he’s been nothing but good to you. He smiles at you even now, one large hand spread over your upper thigh, moving over it with soothing strokes.

“This will feel a little tight. Let me know if it feels like it’s pinching on anything. I’m going to spread you open now so I can see inside you.” There’s a heat in his voice, and eagerness, one that doesn’t help with your current situation.

You have to fight the urge to wiggle, and one of your legs actually does twitch in the stirrup – you’re so embarrassed. Somehow you feel like maybe you’re annoying him, getting in his way, making the exam more difficult for Kenjaku with all your apprehension and twitchiness.

He doesn’t deserve that. His handsome face is still smiling at you. It wriggles uncomfortably in your chest, just like your legs in the stirrups, the thought that you’re making things harder for this beautiful, caring man who just wants to help you.

Why are you so concerned with pleasing him? The question leaves your head as soon as he smiles that beautiful smile and opens his pretty mouth again.

“Oh, it must be difficult, staying still, hm?”

“Yes.” You don’t know why you whimper your answer. Omega instincts. Must be, must be…

“Never fear, my dear, I’ve a solution for that.” His eyes turn to crescents as his smile widens. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Somewhere there’s straps, ones he uses to tie your feet into place in the stirrups, and even further up, your thighs. That’s – easier, you think, now. You don’t have to worry about if you’re squirming too much or not.

His hand makes its way back to your thigh, draped over it like another one of the straps. Holding you secure so he can do what he needs. All normal. Everything is normal.

“All ready?” You nod, “Of course you are, what a perfect little patient you’ve been for me. Let’s get you opened nice and wide for me, hm?”

You take a low, shuddering breath. Kenjaku is beaming, so you must be doing really good for him. He’s so happy with you.

His hand is drifting closer to the base of your thigh, where it joins to your torso, just by your abdomen.

Heart racing in your chest, you faintly pick up on your lower half, a throbbing that never really went away. Tensing, trying to close, your legs strain against the straps. Good thing he strapped you in.

It only gets worse when he starts to dilate you, when you feel a pinch against your walls stretching you open, just like he’d said.

“Just like that, yes. You’re doing so well.”

That doesn’t help your racing heart, and in fact it makes it worse. Your entire face is burning as arousal, electric and coursing, races through you.

His eyes are focused on your sex, completely engrossed in his work. Kenjaku’s other hand drifts closer to help spread open your labia.

“There. Let me just take a look, hm? I’ll take a sample of your slick, too, for testing.”

His thumb settles at the crest of your labia, just by your clit. It starts to move, just a bit while his fingers adjust your folds, and then some more, slow, little circles that have your thighs trembling.

You’re leaking, you’re still leaking, so much, and your cunt is gaping between your legs, straining against the metal keeping it spread.

He’s looking at you, inside you, taking it all in, this part of yourself you’ve never seen before. There’s a thrill at the thought, something strange and exciting.

It’s hard not to clench against the speculum, but Kenjaku doesn’t say anything so it must be fine. Natural. His thumb rubs more against your clit, sparks of pleasure shooting up into you.

“Mmm, you’re leaking so well, now. What a good little omega you are. Time to check inside.”

You can feel his fingers drive into your gaping hole, just the warmth of them. They don’t stretch you. You’re already wide open, exposed and vulnerable to his touch, to his gaze, all bared for him to see and do with as he pleases.

“Very good, very good, so good for me. All wide open and letting me in, all dripping in welcome. Don’t fight it, now, there’s no point. My perfect little patient deserves to feel good.”

Helpless to the sensation rushing into your core from the friction rising at your clit. Heavy, lapping at you, pleasure awash –

With a whine and a careless jerk, you cum, cunt squeezing fruitlessly around the instrument as the aftershocks rumble through you.

There’s heat, finally, replacing the sting of humiliation as the bliss radiates through your entire form, letting you finally go lax.

A pressure, distant but firm, nurses at your clit, sending little shivers through you in waves. All you can do is stare at the ceiling, unable to even think of glancing at the doctor.  

But even then, the horror starts to creep in. Shame. The feeling of wetness bursting between your legs, like your brain melted and just dripped out with all your slick.

Did you really just cum? “I- I’m sorr-”

“Oh?” His tone is one of feigned interest, “Really, you should stop your fussing.” Shame trickles through you at his words. Like you’re upset about disappointing him. “I told you, these reactions are perfectly natural, you know.”

“I – uh. Okay, doctor – ” You can hear him correct you before he does, “I mean, okay, Kenjaku.”

It feels so strange to say, while the whole of your body is floating on air.

“Good. Let’s continue the exam, then, shall we? There’s just a little bit left.”

You try not to feel disappointed. You try not to listen to your heart pounding at continue.

“Do you ever engage in anal sex?” He gives you a reassuring smile at your awkward, stunned frown, “I only ask because certain activities expose you to different risks. Ideally, I could also examine you for any tearing.”

“Yes,” You say, even though you only tried it once, years ago.

It almost feels like you’re not saying these things at all, like you’re barely inside your own body. You just happen to be an observer from within.

“Here,” Kenjaku stands, undoing the straps on your legs, “This would be more comfortable on your stomach.”

Your heart, you think, is beating out of your chest.

Something primal within you trills at being put on your belly, having your legs strapped back in. Ass up, presented to another for their examination. Ready to be bred.

“I’ll just examine the entrance here, it’s unlikely you’d have any injuries further in without any external signs.”

The lubricant he uses is surprisingly warm and gooey, coating your hole with complete ease. The same thumb that rubbed over your clit spreads at the edge of your rim, pressing it outwards.

“There we go. You were producing so much slick, it would have been a shame to waste it, don’t you think?” He doesn’t pause for you to answer, “Really, you’re leaking now, too. Your heat may start as early as tomorrow.”

You can feel his eyes on you. Feel the stretch in your asshole as he works it open.

“You must be practicing very safely. I don’t see any signs of injury at all.” His finger traces around your rim, pressing, pressing, “So tight. Although, it’s a myth that these orifices can be stretched out. They’re muscles, you know, they can tense and relax.”

It occurs to you that Kenjaku really likes to hear himself talk. Then it occurs to you – much more startlingly – that you like to hear him talk, too. That you’re dripping the more you hear his voice.

“Let me feel inside, just a bit. I’ll squeeze more of this in so it isn't uncomfortable."

More of it? How much had he collected? But that thought fades out of focus quickly.

You whine as you feel your own slick gush into you like jelly, followed by a prodding fingertip. You can’t help but squeeze around him, and he just laughs.

“There, you see? So easy to flex.”

Then he takes the finger out. You blink.

“All done. Now, wasn’t that easy?” You can feel him undoing the straps around your legs as you lie there limply.

It was – it wasn’t – it was – it was – words fail you when you try to think –

Over? It’s over?

You can still feel everything down there, painfully wet, swollen, and throbbing.

“You may feel some discomfort, of course, but that’s only to be expected with your pre-heat. The important thing is that you’re totally healthy – in perfect breeding condition, really.”

Shivering, you sit up in the chair. Kenjaku hands you your clothes, one by one. After a moment of watching you, dazed, trying to put them on, he takes you by the hand and pulls you to standing.

He helps you dress, and you let him, stretching your arms out, holding still idly while he maneuvered you and slid on your clothes.

You step into your panties and he pulls them up for you, right against your still painfully wet cunt.

Hands on your shoulders, rubbing fondly when you shiver. “Excellent job, today. I’m so glad you came. Your health is very important to me.”

You believe him without even thinking about it.

Kenjaku guides you to the door with a hand on your waist, slipping your purse over your shoulder, steadying you. So attentive.

“Careful now,” His voice is low and steady and rumbles through you.

“You’re a beta, right, Doctor – Kenjaku?” You hear your voice ask.

“Well, I never said that,” Kenjaku gives you a wide, cryptic smile. “Alphas and omegas look just like betas until they present, male or female. There are many biological mechanisms connected to secondary sex development that are useful for gender affirmation therapies.”

“Oh,” You say, catching very little of his response.

A hand darts up to wipe some drool from the corner of your mouth. You can still taste the cherry.

You leave like that. Dripping from every hole.

Two days later when you’re just about to enter your heat, you get a call. Somehow, you’re right on the cusp of it, just barely coherent and able to converse.

“Hello there, my favorite patient. Your heat was so close, I was worried about you as your doctor. Do you have a partner for your heat, or do you need me to oversee your care?”

The answer leaves your lips before you know it –

“Please.”

[idyllic-affections]

So I JUST got this idea after reading your mist recent adoptive dad!Kaveh piece and now it WILL NOT leave my mind. You emphasized on how his child's emotions are his emotions and how he's much more empathetic when it comes to them. So naturally, as a connoisseur of all things angst, I keep thinking how Kaveh will handle it when his child has their first heartbreak! Being so emotional himself will he be able to hold up or will he cry with them? and I wonder what the rest of them will do, there's just so many possibilities

how is [name]'s first heartbreak handled?

summary. how does [name]'s platonic co-parenting family respond to their first breakup?

trigger & content warnings. gaslighting, tough breakups, abusive behavior, lots of tears, & medical malpractice (briefly and pretty non-seriously).

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. tighnari & reader, alhtiaham & reader, adoptive dad!kaveh & reader, cyno & reader, collei & reader. 1k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is an expansion of what if kaveh adopted a child?

author's thoughts. THIS IS SO TASTY THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS.... ive never been in this situation before nor do i really understand what heartbreak feels like so i just kind of went with the flow. focused mostly on what [name]'s lil family would do and how they'd all react. anyway keep sending me your adoptive dad!kaveh thoughts guys i love this kind of interaction haha &lt;3

tighnari is furious. alhaitham is level-headed and logical as usual, but not indifferent. kaveh cries with them. cyno is livid. collei is calm, comforting.

kaveh is very sensitive to his kid's mood; i have indeed emphasized this already. he knows when something is wrong. he senses the shift in their mood almost instantly. depending on where they are, he may or may not be the first to know.

do they return to gandharva ville after they break up with their first love (for the sake of angst, let's say it's because the ex-lover in question sought to abuse and take advantage of their selflessness, but [name] was not having it, and they were gaslit upon pointing it out and ended up being called needy)? if so, tighnari will know first.

archons forbid their ex ever show up at gandharva ville for any kind of treatment. tighnari will treat them, yes, but he will make it hell. he will make it worse before making it better. medical malpractice? no, that's not what it is, silly. he's not even a licensed doctor! how can he commit malpractice if he doesn't practice medicine in the first place?

...

tighnari can think all he wants about doing such a thing, but he really wouldn't. he couldn't do something like that. he'd have a guilty conscience forever if he did. however, that does not mean he won't give [name]'s ex attitude. oh archons, he has all the attitude in the world to spare for the asshole who hurt his nibling (a/n: that's the gn term for niece or nephew).

[name] is not needy. sensitive and clingy at times, perhaps, but needy? tighnari scoffs at the idea. they're self-sufficient, if anything. the simple truth is that [name] likes affection because they were spoiled with it when they were little. the fact that their first love gaslit them in such a disgusting way makes the forest watcher's blood boil.

"[name]..." he'd sigh, heart squeezing painfully in his chest as he held them against his chest, unable to do much of anything except listen to the way they sobbed. tighnari's tail instinctively curled around their waist. "it really is not your fault. some people are just... horrible like that. ultimately, you deserve better, so this is for the best. it may not feel that way right now, but one day, it will."

do they return to kaveh and alhaitham's shared home instead? is kaveh home? if not, then alhaitham will know first. it isn't improbable. kaveh is often away on work trips, so it isn't hard to imagine that the akademiya's scribe would know first.

alhaitham hates seeing kaveh cry. he wishes he would stop expending himself to a harmful extent for the sake of others.

he also hates seeing [name] cry. why should they spend time crying over a manipulative asshole who had no capacity to understand them as a person? they shouldn't, and yet... they are.

like tighnari, alhaitham sighs. he's stroking their hair away from their face with one hand, stopping every now and then to gently pat their tears dry, even though his efforts are fruitless; they end up crying more regardless of how many times he dries their face. their head is laid in his lap. it's the least the scribe can do until kaveh gets home.

"[name], they're not worth your time. you were raised to be kind and emotionally articulate. it isn't your fault that they tried to take advantage of that."

he sighs again.

"i'm proud that you refused to let them manipulate you."

alhaitham's blatant, clearly-worded praise is rare. it soothes their soul a little.

if kaveh is home, however...

they will be sobbing in his arms within the hour. he always knows when something is wrong, and when something is wrong? he's there to support and console them. that is what any good father would do. kaveh's heart shatters on their behalf when they manage to choke out between tears that their love had so callously tried to abuse the kindness they offered to all those around them.

kaveh undoubtedly cries with them, holding their figure tightly against his.

"honey, it—" he chokes, aggressively wiping his face with one hand while the other remains secured around their waist. "it's not you, okay? it's not your fault. people, they— they like to try and take advantage of things they don't have. kind people don't take advantage of kindness. good people don't take advantage of goodness. you did well. you handled it well."

cyno will always be the last to know, regardless of what order everyone else finds out in.

cyno is also the most furious.

it's probably in [name]'s ex's best interest to flee the country. the wrath of general mahamatra cyno is an utterly horrifying thing to be the target of. he won't physically hurt them, no (although he would have to put all of his self control into practice in order to not knock all of the kid's teeth out...), but he will make it very clear that he does not want them anywhere near his nibling ever again unless it's to apologize, and even then... he had better not see them lingering too long.

the next time he sees kaveh and his kid, cyno plants a firm hand on [name]'s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, saying, "they won't bother you again."

a slight chill runs up their spine at that. "...what did you do to them..?"

"don't worry about it."

anyway congrats to [name]'s manipulative ex! they have made enemies with four of the most influential people in sumeru <3

(and as a little bonus treat:

collei, now in her late teens, is some kind of mix between tighnari, alhaitham, and kaveh. she's not mad. she's just disappointed, really; she loves [name] like a little sibling and just doesn't understand why anyone would knowingly hurt them. she knows very well that such cruel people do exist—she was the victim of one such person, after all—but... it's so hard for her to fathom. collei is very gentle and understanding in this situation, letting them cry on her shoulder for as long as they need to. once their tears have dried, she takes them out on patrol with her.

she makes them fresh pita pockets over a fire and spends the afternoon laughing and joking around with them to help them feel better. she'll even tell one of cyno's awful jokes if it will make them smile. <3)

adoptive dad!kaveh taglist: @kaoyamamegami. send a non-anonymous ask to be added. please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[romana-after-dark]

Rooms on Fire: I Will Run To You

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Madonna learns more about her role and the dynamics of the household.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

Extra warnings for chapter: Mentions of medical malpractice, death in childbirth, mentions of male sexual assault via power dynamics, lots of complex feelings.

A/n: next chapter things ramp up.

3.1k words

A/N I gotta apologize y'all. this was meant to include so much more but I guess this chapter is getting split bc I just put so much Jonah lore. I hope y'all are formal about liking him. We finally get some backstory on the uprising, Tom, and Madonna's dad, who BTW, had a name change. JACK IS NOW MARCUS more info after the story!

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

One so young, so changed Should not be left alone Two in love should confess And not be left alone And I will run to you Down whatever road you choose Yes, I will follow you down I will run to you ~I Will Run to You, Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty

“You paint a lot of fire”

Jonah’s voice startled you, making you turn around but you relax when you see it’s just him. Reyansh was watching you outside your studio, and Jonah coming meant you must be summoned somewhere. 

You were painting a picture of a burning house, something you saw in a dream last night. Ben and Will treated you normally, fucking you but also spending time together. You supposed Francisco’s behavior was normal too, considering that he continued to treat you like you only existed to fuck when he had to fullfill his duty. He never touched you alone. In the week since you got your period Santi was ignoring you. He’d call you to his room, fuck you with your face pressed into the mattress, and then toss you out. Last night he shoved you into the hall with your dress still bundled up in your arms.

“I paint what I dream.” You mumble, tired and not totally there. You were terrified to sleep, and after a second visit from the succubus it was getting worse, forcing yourself to stay up later and later. Lack of sleep was making it difficult to be alert, and little noises make you jump.

Jonah approached where you stood, keeping a respectful distance. He’d been distant as well since the night you saw him, and you still were unsure what you did wrong and why Iris was so upset with you.

“You dream of houses burning?” His voice was gentle but curious.

You take a deep breath, too tired to fight off any questioning. It’s best not to lie, anyway. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of fire. I dreamed I was dancing in front of it. I dreamed I caused it, and it was out of my control and now I must dance in the smoke and watch as the flames consumed things that I loved.” A pause, tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. “Sometimes, he stood inside them.”

“He?”

“My father.”

Jonah drew in a sharp breath and you worried he thought you were sympathetic to his traitorous cause. You weren’t, you had remembered how betrayed you’d felt that he’d thrown everything away to follow Deacon Davis, the judas who had killed the Divine Mother. As per tradition, when someone is sentenced to death, they burn at the stake and the unmarried women are expected to dance. The closer you are to the individual, the closer you are to the fire. You had been Marcus’s only family, him and your mom having adopted you as an infant. He died in front of you as you danced, embers blowing in the wind and singeing your white dress and sensitive skin. You were only 12, but you knew right from wrong, and your father was wrong. Sometimes you woke up still smelling his burning corpse. You had danced longer than anyone, keeping all the energy your child body could give you until you passed out.

You turn to Jonah with tears in your eyes, “I hold no mercy in my heart for him, please know that. I am loyal to the Divine Mother, I am loyal to my husbands above all else! I don’t know why I didn’t get pregnant but know I’d die for them happily should it came to that!” Crying now, you desperately plead to him but it’s not Jonah you are speaking to, truely. You know Pope is questioning you right now, and you cannot bear the thought that he doubts you.

“Honey” Jonah’s voice is strained, pain anguishing him. “How much do you know about the uprising…”

Your face is wet with tears, almost shaking in fear and frustration. You didn’t know how you’d messed this up so badly so soon. You just wanted to be held, you don’t remember the last time you’d been held without sexual desire… it was probably your father, may he be damned.

“Deacon Davis… he was an advisor to the Divine Mother, a friend to my husbands… he and Deliliah conspired against the Divine Mother and her family. Dad- um, Marcus, was a part of the traitors and he allowed Deacon Davis into Divine Mother’s quarters where he murdered her. Deliliah was Will’s betrothed before. She had seduced him for information and, and betrayed her husband! I would never do that, Jonah!” You realize now why he was questioning you, he thought a traitorous blood ran in your veins. Had Pope sent him? Had Francisco seen the evil in your heart, the evil that was inviting a demon?? Or had Jonah simply seen you for what you were. “I would rather die than betray them! You have to believe me!” You sob, closing your eyes as you are no longer able to look into his in shame. Strong arms wrap around you, practically holding your body up. 

Jonah held you tightly and you cried into his shirt, so tired, so sleepy… You just wanted to feel peace again. Jonah allowed you your release, wetting his shirt with your tears until your breathing slowed. It occurred to you that you were hugging and being held by a man who was not your husband, so you take a step back looking down.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I haven't slept well-”

“It’s okay, honey.” His voice gently reassures you. “It’s okay to cry sometimes.”

You shake your head. “No… no I’m happy, I should be happy here, happy with my husbands, I am!” You’d shown weakness, surely Jonah would tell Pope that you were unhappy, that this was proof of your doubt, of unworthiness… Instead, Jonah pulled a sleeve down on his hand, stepping up to you once more. He ran the sleeve carefully under your eyes wiping the tears.

“There is nothing wrong with feeling what you feel. Your husbands are blessed with a kind, beautiful, artistic wife and they should be so lucky you sit at their table, nonetheless someone who cooks them dinners and paint them pictures. It is they who are unworthy, not you.”

You gasp at the blasphemy. “Jonah! No, no they are-”

“Gods, I know.” He wipes snot from your running nose. “But you… you’re like a daughter to me, and a father is allowed to place his children above Gods. Marcus may not… he may not have made the right choices, but he wanted nothing but good for you, just like I do. So please, for me, show him and yourself a little grace.”

With a little sniffle, you nod. “Thank you, Jonah.”

He gave you a smile, the bright one you like that made his eyes squint. “Good girl. Now, I got a surprise for you that I think will brighten your day.”

*

Jonah watched as you practically skipped down the hallway. When he told you Frankie wanted to take you out for a picnic, you perked up so fast it was like you hadn’t even been sobbing in his arms a moment ago. He wished he could be honest with you, he wished he could tell you the truth about Tom, Delilah, and most importantly, Marcus… but you were so brainwashed, there was no way for him to break through to you. He couldn’t simple tell you everything you’d know and believed whole heartedly, your religion, your life, the very thing that you chose above your father was a lie… not yet anyway. Maybe one day you’d doubt, you’d question, and the first people you’d go to would be Iris or him, maybe even Reyansh. Rey played the part well of a good soldier boy, he wasn’t as overt as Iris was but he knew you trusted him.

Despite being late already with the crying, you insisted on stoping in your room to grab a ribbon for your heart. Jonah’s heart hurt watching you put so much effort into this.

Will treated you well. Despite Jonah and Will’s… past, he couldn’t deny Will  was a good husband. He took care of you.

Ben was a little shithead and was absolutely going behind your back with women still he just couldn’t figure out who. Ben had to be more sneaky now. This didn’t stop him from very loud late night fucks with Frankie that it seemed only you and Santi weren’t aware of. Still, he gave you affection and spent time outside of sex with you.

Santiago, he expected nothing less. Santiago’s moods were unpredictable, they had been ever since he was a child. Jonah had known Santiago and Beatriz since he was young, when all this was fairly new and traction was growing more and more. Jonah didn’t exactly believe, but his wife Jess did. Maybe he did for a while, it was hard to not with the things he saw… Beatriz had taken an interest in him and thus, despite being married, he spent a lot of time at the mansion with her. Jonah felt like a hooker, like his body was a commodity and up for grabs from anyone, and the worst part was how okay Jessica was with it. She fucking encouraged it. “Its an honor!” It wasn’t such an honor when she died giving birth to Iris and was denied medical treatment. Doctor said it wouldn’t have helped. Jonah knew Beatriz had something to do with it. He was luck Irish lived. She was his only reason for living sometimes.

It was Frank he was surprised about. Jonah had known all four men for most of the 3 decades of their life, and next to Santi, he knew Frank the longest. Frankie was raised with Santiago, practically as brother. Beatriz couldn’t adopt him, because something something divine blood, but that didn’t matter when Santi pissed her off enough. Jonah had witnessed the lashings and beatings he had taken, but what seemed to hurt the teen the most was when Beatriz would hang his godhood over his head, saying that it should be Frankie who was the savior, not him. After Jess’s death, Jonah was moved into the mansion and promoted to captain of the guard. It was just an excuse for Beatriz to demand sex even more.

Frankie was a good kid, but he always followed Santi like a lost puppy. Santi became obsessed with Frankie, forcing Frankie to become more and more withdrawn. Still, the nice young man was in there somewhere, and Jonah would bring it out. After the girl came to his room crying about Frankie not loving her, Jonah spoke to him and said he needed to do better by her hence the picnic.

Rey was out at the stables by the time Jonah got there, preparing the three horses. He was there a lot, knowing a lot about horses. If he has any choice, Jonah was certain he’d have been a vet. Another life, he supposed. Jonah and Rey would accompany them since they were going out a ways.

“Hello, Francisco.” She spoke softly, but enthusiastic. For all he and Santi hurt her, she loved him.

Frank gave a small smile. “Hi, Madonna. I thought maybe we could take a picnic. Get away from… everything else.” He brushed the mane of the horse.

Everyone else, Jonah thought.

“That sounds wonderful!” You walk over to him. “What’s his name?”

“This is Cielo. And those two,” He points to the other horses being settled. “Are Estrella and Flora.”

“Will we be riding Cielo?” You ask, but Frank turns away.

“I’ll be riding alone.”

You look dejected again, so Jonah steps up, frustrated with Frankie. “C’mon, you can ride with me.” Jonah puts a put in a stirrup, launching a leg over the saddle and onto Flora, his favorite horse.

“Actually” Frankie interjects. “I think she should ride with Rey.”

Of course. 10 years later and everyone was still suspicious of him. Frankie climbed onto Cielo, and Jonah rode up to him, whispering. “Compliment her ribbon. She picked green just for you.”

*

Reyansh pulled you up and onto the saddle, allowing you to ride the side saddle to protect your modesty in the dress. If you knew you’d be riding a horse, you’d have worn pants. It wasn’t the most comfortable, and you feared falling, but Reynash’s arm was strong around you. He was careful to keep his hands at appropriate places, which you were thankful for. 

“How is your painting going?” He asks, as since Jonah leads the group and Francisco is in the middle still not keen on talking to you. Still, this was a step forward.

“It’s good, thank you. It’s nice and peaceful. I miss-” You stop yourself. What you missed was when Santi used to sit and watch you paint, drinking his wine and intent eyes on you. It had been a comfortable silence. “I do miss having company sometimes…” You missed your husband, you missed his laugh, his smile, his praise.

“Hey, I’d love to sit in on a session!” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was smiling. “I’d love to see a real artist at work!”

You laugh just a bit, “I’m not an artist, but if you’d like to watch, I'd like that.”

“Deal.”

*

You sat against a tree, legs bent modestly in your skirt and eating the sandwich Iris packed. She also packed apple juice, which you loved.

Francisco was silent. He’d thanked you for your help setting up the blanket and spoken as he served his food, but now he simply sat there. He looked sad, but even then he was handsome. Francosco sported a mustache, which had remained consistent the whole time you’d known him. Santiago was growing out his hair and beard, which was making your heart ache even more that you couldn’t kiss and touch him like you wanted to. Still, the silence wasn’t awkward. You had begun to wonder if he was just… quiet.

“Thank you for taking me out.” You say, speaking quietly. Jonah and Reynash were circling the parameter and you felt… watched. “I hadn’t realized how much time I spent inside until now.” Had you even left the house at all since your wedding? When was the last time you felt sunshine before today?

To your delight, while still looking down, he smiled. “I’m glad. Don’t like seeing you cooped up in that house all day.”

Your heart warmed at his concern for you. Feeling emboldened, you scooch close to him.

“It’s not cooped up with the men I love.”

This makes his eyes flick up to you. He narrows them suspiciously, but not angry “You… love… me?”

Your heart nearly shatters at the question, and you can’t help but find him so endearing. “But of course I do!!!” Careful, you place a hand on his face and feel the patchy bit of stubble. “You’re my beloved husband!”

“But… you had to marry me.”

You shake your head. “No, Francisco I chose you, I chose all of you and I love all of you. Is that why you’ve been distant? Is that why you’ve been so cold to me?”

“I-” He stutters over his words. “I don’t think this is good for you… I don’t think I’m good for you…”

If there were ever words you hadn’t expected from him, it wasn’t that. Francisco was a God, he was holy, good and righteous, how could he not be good for you. It didn’t matter. Clearly he was hurting, and as his wife, it was your duty to make him happy again. “Francisco Morales, you are my husband, you are the foster child of the Divine Mother, and the love of my life. I chose you before, I choose you now, and I will choose you in heaven, Divine Mother willing.” You bring your face closer to his. “I adore you, in all your God and human.” Feeling brave, you bring your mouth to him and tenderly take his pouty lower lip into your mouth, making him whimper. You liked that sound.

“You choose me?” He whispers, slowly kissing back. “Out in the open, no secrets?” His voice is slightly higher now, almost whining as he begins to chase your mouth. 

“Always” The desperation growing, you give him everything you have. You don’t care that it’s an open field surrounded by trees, you don’t care that Reyansh and Jonah could ride up at any point, and you don’t care who might see you. You were divine and if you wanted to make love to the god of nature in his own fucking land you will. You had Francisco Morales, demi-God, whimpering for your touch. You had HIM, finally had him and you weren’t going to waste it for one second. He wanted thing sout in the open, you would show him you weren’t ashamed to be seen getting filled by his seed. Before you, your husbands were not celibant, that much was known. The sex parties were stuff of rumors and you couldn’t decipher the truth from fact. However, it was clear that public sex was not off the table. Shame is a punishment for the sins of Adam and Eve, and for men born without original sin, there was no shame in sex. “I choose you, always.”

Frankie entangles his fingers into your hair, feeling the green tie in your locks. His other hand slides up to cup your breast.

“I love this ribbon, it suits you.”

*

“Whatcha think’n, old man.” Rey asks as he rides up to Jonah. Both are perched up on top of a hill overlooking the field you lay on and he watches you kiss Frankie. 

“I’m thinking,” Jonah turns to Rey, nodding his head back home. “That I got it here, and since the others are out, you should run back and try and sneak some time with Iris.”

Rey smiled at that, but hesitated. “You sure? Morales didn’t seem like he wanted her with either of you.” 

Jonah rolled his eyes, but it was good natured nonetheless. He liked Reynash, loved him even. He was a good kid. Iris was put in the position she was in, not any older than the girl was now, because of his shortcomings, his weaknesses. She was punished to punish him. She deserved all the good she could get, and Reyansh Saha was about the only bit off good left in this world, beside Iris and now Marcus’s kid he was looking after. He reminded Jonah of Delilah in a lot of ways. Always smiling. Always kind.

“Look at ‘em.” Jonah referenced the pair kissing below. “She’s going home on his lap.”

Rey laughed brightly, turning his horse. “Oh yeah, you’re quite the matchmaker!” And he road off, long dark hair wild behind him. Handsome devil.

The words matchmaker hung in the air. Was Jonah giving her false hope he wondered? Or was he giving her the time she had left and filling it with better memories. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was delaying the inevitable. It was always going to end one way for her. There was no way to live up to what Santiago wanted.

Because what Santiago wanted was Frankie with a womb.

SO MUCH JONAH HAPPENING!!!!!!!!

And poor madonna bc Jonah christ smelling your dad burn is a lot

So Marcus's face claim is David Habour, this came out of some chats with. @umnitsa in my romanaverse discord server. He is now your adopted father to keep things inclusive, but this is important as he has background info and ties in a lot. Think hopper in stranger things. Also May is already shipping him and Jonah so that ship name is Jonus lmfaooooo

If you are an active participant in one or more of my universes and have a discord (this means commenting or comment Reblogging, im looking for people who want to theorize and chit chat) dm me for a link! This is primarily focused on giving you extra content and sneak peaks but a lot of cool people are there too and you can share your work!

Please consider joining me in in donating to humanitarian aid in Rafah through Doctors Without Borders

LOVE YOU ALL!

How to keep up with the story!

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If I forgot someone or you'd like to be added/removed LMK!

[ma1dmer]

Elden Ring - White-Faced Varre NSFW

I am no longer ashamed of my medical malpractice kink

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he is very soft and nothing but diligent with his aftercare, he'll run you a warm bath, wash you gently and whisper praises in your ear as you relax.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): //fingers ,yes i am a comedian sometimes

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): absolutely adores the mess ,the filthier the better, he'll have you lick his fingers clean right after you or he cums on his hand.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): i think he’d be into some sort of dark roleplay, some cnc scenario where he acts as your corruptor and you give yourself freely to him, or maybe even put up a bit of a verbal fight.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): i think he has experience, knows exactly what makes things enjoyable and adjusts that knowledge to each person, its like a game trying to see which things click for each person. //I also believe it has to do with the fact he was a surgeon ,helping him know your body better than you know it as an ex doctor

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): he likes the basics when it comes to the actual deed, he especially likes doggy where he can shove your face to the ground and tease you about how willing you are to get down on your knees and get filthy for him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he makes you laugh just so he can hear your voice crack into a moan or a gasp of pain/pleasure when he has you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): He keeps everything nicely trimmed.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he’ll woo you before bedding you, brush your hair out of your face with gentle gloved fingers, compliment you, lay down roses for you, foreplay matters a lot and its even sweeter when he can debauch you right after making your heart flutter, the way your eyes shine with adoration even when he might be dragging a blade down your body, its addicting.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): why should he do so when he can have you instead.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): dacryphilia, knife play, blood play, humiliation, sadomasochism etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): everywhere ,he truly is shameless in this regard, its both as a way to claim you, and because he loves the idea of you wanting this so much you are willing to do it everywhere, he'll tease you about being so naughty even if he himself made sure you are so into it

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): submission, having you fully put your trust in him , letting him guide you or indulging in his more “unsavory” interests. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): there is probably not a lot that he wouldn’t do or have you do.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he likes giving as much as receiving ,but does have a preference for having you beg for him while he torments you with his tongue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): torturously slow but not necessarily gentle.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): he mostly does quickies as a way to punish you in a way, have you fast and hard ,finishing before you and leaving so you have to think of him and seek him out, plead with him to help you out, and if he is feeling kind that day who knows, he might help you after all he can't deny your sweet pleas

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): very into experimenting and especially good at convincing you to try out things, loves pushing you out of your comfort zone and always makes sure you are thoroughly rewarded for it

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): he paces himself very well, almost always enjoys the heavy petting sessions as much as being inside you so its always a very long round, just one though , and always spaced out, so you have to seek him out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he does, a large variety that has him always so indecisive ,what should he use next, how should he torment his sweet little lambkin, so many possibilities so many paths to take

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is horrible, he loves teasing you, he'll push you to tell him everything you want him to do to you while being entirely still inside you until you finally talk, and spill every embarrassing desire and fantasy you have

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): very very quiet, besides some gasps when he finishes and the things be tells you throughout to tease you, he is very quiet, unnervingly so

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): i totally think he’d be into hate sex, having you angry and shouting at him, claiming to hate him while your body betrays your needs and wants

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): he is on the longer side with a slight curve that always hits your best spots, very cocky about it too

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he yearns a lot, but likes to keep himself in control of his needs, wants you to come to him rather than him having to chase you

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he likes watching you, at your more relaxed when you are this comfortable next to him, it's truly a testament to your trust and he is honored, he spends hours simply watching yo and, running his fingers through your hair

[cherryblossomchronicles]

You know one thing that truly was a happy surprise in Queen of Tears? Hyun Woo's friendships and the loyalty they carried.

I've seen a lot of people praising Secretary Na but you also have to acknowledge that Hyun Woo has some really amazing and steadfast friends.

At the start of the show, all his friends were playing the russian roulette of who will handle his divorce case. It was given that it will be one of them, it was also given that they will have to withstand the might of the entire Hong family, which isn't something anyone can survive. But. Although they were scared, they didn't drop it or flee to save their career. They understood that it was something you do for your friend, even if you want to kill the said friend for putting you in the situation. There was also the scene where Yang Ki legitimately wanted to flee in the face of Vincenzo as opposing attorney, but just cursed and went after Hyun Woo. He was really scared of the situation and wanted to be anywhere but there but refrained from fleeing only to support his friend. Then there is also the scene where all his three friends come as his attorney to defend Hyun Woo in the company's hearing for malpractice case. They combined all their specialization to figure out something to get him out of the situation. This is specially monumental because we can see in the show, how every friend or family member related to the Hong's abandoned them in the time of need. Them still sticking with Hyun Woo while he is in middle of such scandal says a lot about them and how much they value loyalty. Yes, there were times where we wanted to bash Yang Ki's head for straying Hyun Woo when it came to Hae In but he did come through as a true friend what with him helping Hyun Woo all the time throughout the investigation.

It's a refreshing counterpoint to the negativity that often surrounds Hyun Woo. In a world where self-interest seems to reign supreme, his friends demonstrate the power of genuine loyalty.