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wooziorgans · 3 months ago

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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.

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koishiro · 1 year ago

Text

# - 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 📍

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : originally planning to sit through hours of pain by the hands of a blond tattoo artist - who you know is very well off limits - bakugo finds a way to calm your nerves

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : smut

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : aged up!characters, oral (f!receiving), doggy style + missionary, SLIGHT nipple play

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : tattoo artist!bakugo x f!reader

masterlist | bnha masterlist

“Fucking - shit!”

You'd started just after a late lunch, and the day was drawing to a close. This was your second sitting too; there was a lot of detail in this one and you'd probably be back anyway. A couple of hours was all you could handle, realistically – otherwise you'd stand up from the couch and fall straight back down again.

The first time you tentatively opened the door, you were pretty nervous. Everyone had been raving about the place, and it felt intimidating – not in a grimy way, but more like out-of-your-depth. It was so clean – spotless even – professional and artistic. There were some incredible pieces of art on the walls and retro tattoos everywhere. The other artists were hipster types with beards, rimless glasses and flesh tunnels in their ears.

This time you weren't quite so unnerved. It was busier when you returned for the second appointment, but livelier too – three or four artists working on clients, everyone talking, the artists laughing and their subjects trying not to for fear of moving.

You stood on a chair as he applied the stencil to your lower leg. You watched from high up as the blond carefully positioned it just-so, his head bowed over his work, his own tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, creeping up his neck. He blew a lock of blond hair away from his face as he straightened, telling you to lie face down on the padded massage couch.

It hurt like hell on the back of your calf. More than the first time, when he'd worked around the side and over your shinbone. You distracted yourself with your phone, checking your Instagram account, emails- anything really. You noticed last time that he hadn't been much of a talker. You tried to engage in conversation, curious about the man who was leaving permanent marks on you and while he was perfectly polite, it seemed like he didn't want to chat.

"Smacks on that bit, huh," he'd said, as you took a break for a moment to adjust your position. You had done your best to stay still, but joked as you started that you'd have to make a real effort not to kick him in the face. After a while you had to fidget, because you had held yourself up on your elbows and were starting to tire.

"Too right," you sigh. "Ah well, it'll be worth it in the end”

He'd laughed with his colleagues but didn't seem to want to make small talk with you. As you lay back down, you glanced backward, appreciating how he looked as he concentrated on changing the needle in the tattoo gun. You went back to your phone, quickly squashing your thoughts. His girlfriend had been there, spending the last of her lunchbreak with him. And you had your own man at home. You were quite happy. Nothing wrong with appreciation though, you thought. No-

The sting on your leg made it hard to think anyway, so you looked around the room. One of the tattoo designs on the wall depicted a buxom young woman bent over a sailor's knee, taking a spanking, her heels flailing in the air. You wondered who'd drawn that one, and entertained the faint hope that it was one of yours. That you liked the idea.

The afternoon was drawing in and you'd almost finished. The other artists had completed working on their clients and all but one had disappeared for the afternoon. The read-head dude in the drainpipe jeans.

"Oi Bakugo, you almost done there?" Red-headed guy called over.

"Yeah, just some highlights and a bit of shading to go. You head off. I'll lock up”

"You sure? Thanks man. She doesn't look like the mugging-for-the-takings type," Red-head-dude grinned at you. "In fact she's been as quiet as a mouse”

"I didn't shut up first time round," you smiled back. "Nerves I guess”

"Ah, you got no reason to be nervous now though," smiled your artist. "Pro now, aren't ya? See you in the morning, dude," the man you now know as Bakugo, raised a hand in farewell to his colleague, and the bell on the door rattled as he closed it.

You laughed quietly.

"What?"

"You, taking the piss out of me. Just because it's only my second tattoo, and you're covered…”

"I wasn't!" he protested in mock horror. "Besides, these have been collected over years”

It was odd, you noticed, but as the needle burned on your skin, you felt Bakugo’s gloved fingers as he pulled the skin taut. He was gentle, but where his fingers made contact, you could feel the same burning sensation as where the needle buzzed. Like it was transferring pain. How strange that it should feel that way.

"Where'd it hurt most on you, then?" You asked, feeling a need to fill the silence of the shop.

"Hmm..." he tried to recall. "Probably the same place – or ribs, I think. That's always sore”

"It's transient though isn't it," you mused. "I'd still rather do this than be pierced. This hurts less”

Bakugo laughed. "I guess that depends on where you're pierced though. And piercing's quicker. Come on then, own up... Where?"

He was more talkative when there was no-one else around. You chuckled and dropped your head between your arms, onto the couch.

"Oh, now you're asking!"

"Ohhh... One of those, was it?"

"Yup. It's weird, sitting there fully clothed from the waist up, while someone's bending over your nether regions with a fucking great needle”

"Oh… Oh! Shit! I thought you were gonna say nipple!"

"Erm, no. I'm told that's bloody agony, although I do kinda fancy it. No, this was… well… they call it a VCH" you were pretty sure he'd know exactly where that went.

"Takes all sorts, I suppose. You don't look the type," he said.

"Is there a type..? I didn't keep it anyway. It was really annoying. What about you?"

"Oh.. um.. no. I stick to ink"

You could see that. Bakugo wore long army type pants but you could already guess that his lower legs were covered, as were his arms, and you noted that there must have been something across his shoulders at least. Still, that seemed to be par for the course – you never met a tattooist that didn't have shitloads of the damn things themselves.

"Okay.. just about done here. You did well – no wriggling. Wanna look?"

You sat up slowly. you go and look in the mirror, and decided to get moving. you dropped your feet to the floor and stood up, but it must have been too fast. Your head spun.

"Woah, easy there!" He grabbed your shoulders before you’d fallen, and you found yourself blinking up at his concerned face. You were too wobbly to trust yourself and just stayed there for a moment, half on the bench, half standing, with Bakugo supporting you. You felt like an utter twit. And you felt acutely aware of his proximity.

"Smooth huh?" You giggled weakly.

"It's okay, don't worry. It happens a lot. Even people who have had loads of tats still get cocky and overdo it”

He had strong hands. Big, and warm on your shoulders. You shook your head to clear it.

"You okay yet?" He still looked concerned. Fucking hell, you wished he wasn't touching you right now. Sure, he'd spent the last couple of hours touching you, but that was different. You were weirdly giddy. Like being slightly drunk, you thought. Your mouth ran away with you and you nodded toward the spanked girl on the wall, blurting out:

"One of yours?"

He withdrew, and looked sheepish. You eased yourself off the bench, standing on you’re own. Shaky, but standing.

"Ah. Ha.. Yeah. Yeah, that's mine”

He was rummaging in a cupboard behind the counter. You could see just a mop of spiky blonde hair, and then his eyes, as he rootled around.

"Don't normally do this but I reckon you could use it..."

He had found a small bottle of Jack and poured a slug into a disposable cup, passing it to you. With a shrug, he poured one for himself. You weren’t sure why – it wasn't like he'd got the shakes, was it? No, definitely not – his hands were as deft as ever as he covered the new tattoo, gently wiping away excess ink and blood, carefully wrapping your leg with clingfilm. You wished you were as steady.

You narrowed your eyes at Bakugo over the rim of the cup as you sipped gingerly.

"Don't give much away, do you?"

"Huh?" he was baffled.

"The… You know, the girl. So you distract me with hard liquor rather than risk me asking about her,"

Fucking hell, that'd be bravado from the whiskey, plus the close call from nearly hitting the floor. In a detached sort of way, you could imagine your sensible side looking down at your recklessness and sighing.

Bakugo bit his lip, which made something low down in your stomach twist, so you downed the rest of the booze because it seemed like a better alternative than staring at him. You’d almost forgotten the sting in your leg in favour of an ache - Yep, you thought, that kind of ache – in your nipples, and between your legs. So bloody typical, really... here you were, no makeup, ratty old jeans with one leg rolled up, socks with holes in, in front of an inexplicably attractive man who'd just spent a good couple of hours making you suffer.

You almost spat it straight back out again when you heard him say quietly "Yep... Gotta love giving a good spanking. Don't get the chance much these days, the girlfriend doesn't go in for it, but…”

Jesus, jesus, jesus. You didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to imagine being bent over his knee. Didn't want to imagine how the texture of his clothes would feel against your bare skin. Or what his hands would feel like. Oh fuck, big hands. Big, clever, rough hands. Bakugo must have seen how your skin flushed, how you licked your lips, because he stepped closer to you again. He took the plastic cup from you. You backed up, the small of your back bumping into the couch.

He followed. He was just an inch or two from you and you were sure he could see how your breathing had changed. You looked up at him.

"Shame," you murmured.

And Bakugo moved like lightning, his mouth crushing yours, one hand flying to the back of your head. You opened your mouth for him, and his tongue pushed, hard and insistent. You whimpered at the sensation of being so wanted, and he kissed you even harder than you thought possible, growling as he pushed one warm hand under your shirt, tugging roughly at the cup of your bra. He tasted of whiskey, with the slightest hint of cinnamon. His tongue was so hot it almost burned.

The couch banged up against the counter as he pushed you against it. His fingers found your nipple and twisted, hard. You squealed into his mouth and he laughed, pulling away just enough to catch a breath.

"Like that, is it? Thought so..."

You just looked at him, your swollen lips parted, breathing hard and fast. He held your gaze, his clear vermillion eyes unflinching. He was smiling, a small wry smile that spoke volumes. He knew what was happening just as well as you did.

You moved your own hands up, slowly, not daring to race. Twisted your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulled him down again, and kissed him again. Slower, at first. This was the chance you’d given him – a moment to withdraw that he'd not taken. They both knew that they shouldn't have even been in the same room alone together, not really. But it was between the two of them, now. He hadn't run for the hills. Your blood sang with the thrill of realisation; he wanted you, right now. You moved your other hand up the side of his body, enjoying the warmth of him, but now you slipped it under the waist of his shirt, to feel his patterned skin. He groaned into your mouth and his tongue slipped deeper, taking over.

His hand fell to your jeans, pressing right there between your thighs, cupping you. The heel of Bakugo’s hand was hard against your clit through the thick denim and you were breathless. Jesus fucking christ on a bike... You dared to daydream, and here it was – a fantasy from your own faithless imagination. Your mind was spinning, so close to losing all reason and functioning on instinct alone. Fuck… The smell of him!

He tore at your t-shirt, dragging it over your head, and scrabbled at your bra. 99% of men you’d ever been with were useless with these things, you mused, and yet suddenly it was on the floor with your shirt. He unbuttoned your jeans and shoved them down, then caught himself mid-action, easing them over your sore leg gently. It put his head right next to your pussy, covered only by a pair of unsexily practical plain panties. He breathed in through his nose, his eyes closed... Then looked up at you with a downright mischievous look playing over his face.

"On the bench," he directed. You hopped up, your legs swinging like a small child. He'd found one of the low rolling stools, and sat down in front of you. He pushed your knees apart. A wet spot darkened your cotton panties, and you blushed despite herself. You weren't quite sure of his intentions until the blond brandished a pair of scissors at you – and you must have looked worried half to death, because he cocked one eyebrow: "Safe hands, come on..."

Before you knew it he'd snipped the underwear away. You were exposed completely.

He dipped his face towards your pussy and breathed you in again. You leaned back on the couch, supporting yourself up on one elbow, wanting to watch his face – but automatically closing your eyes in shocked bliss as that searing hot tongue licked you from bottom to top, spreading your lips apart, giving away just how wet you were.

"Fuck," you breathed. You were incoherent – now wasn't the time for intelligent conversation.

His thumbs held you, spread wide, and he lapped at your clit, drawing it into his mouth, nipping unbelievably gently with his teeth. You shuddered. You opened your eyes and saw him watching you, and he was smiling again. He dipped back down and this time his tongue pushed into you. Your back arched and you grabbed the back of his head, hissing at the extremity of the sensation.

You were disbelieving of it. You’d never known a man to do this... to eat pussy with such clear enjoyment. The sensation was amazing – the warmth of his breath, the smooth slickness of his tongue on your hot flesh, the scrape of his barely noticeable stubble on your thighs a harsh counterpoint.

You couldn't help but push yourself against his face, wanting more, murmuring words that didn't make any sense. You yelled out as he pushed a finger into you, teasing you, knowing exactly where to touch. He added another and you gasped. You could hear yourself! Christ, you were so soaking wet that as his hand moved, your cunt made obscene noises. Worse, you loved it. He lifted his face, still finger-fucking you with three fingers now, his thumb running over your clit.

"I think you needed this, didn't ya?"

You could only groan in agreement. Oh, you definitely did, but you sure as hell hadn't expected it. Bakugo laughed that quiet, knowing little laugh again and pinched your clit with one hand, while fingering you faster with the other. You squealed and your hips lifted, wriggling as you felt an orgasm building. You were amazed – it wasn't normally so easy to make you come – and you managed to gasp out a warning just before your whole body stiffened and shook.

He dragged his fingers from your pulsing cunt and strummed your clit hard, making you wail aloud as your pussy squirted hot liquid over the bench. He exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and delight, and pushed his fingers back into you more slowly now, dragging them over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your juice over his hand. Your head dropped back to the bench, your chest heaving. You were spaced out and stunned – you didn't think you’d ever cum that violently before.

"Holy fuck," you murmured, more to yourself than anything. Then you realised what a mess you’d made. "Sorry! Ah shit.. Dammit..." you sat up, about to scout around for paper to clean up. He laughed at you and grabbed your arm.

"No chance, babe," he smiled wickedly. "Get over here. Right now"

Bakugo helped you stand, shakily, and led you towards the chestnut-brown buttoned chesterfield sofa that waiting clients would normally loll on. You half tumbled onto the cushions and landed, naked, staring up at him. He flung his own shirt into a corner and tugged his jeans over his hips. You stared dumbly, drinking in the sight of his lean, inked torso. The patterns, words, pictures, life stories you supposed... they carried on downwards, over his hipbones, to meet the tattoos that ran up his legs.

His cock was rock-hard and he stroked it, not taking his eyes off you.

"Get on all fours," he said. You complied, your forearms resting on the arm of the sofa. He sat slowly behind you, running his hands over your ass, grabbing it and spreading you wide. He abruptly buried his face in your pussy, tongue diving inside. He came up for air and gasped, "Fucking hell, you taste so good..."

You felt him manouvre behind you, his hands still on your ass, his thumb occasionally drifting over the pucker of your hole, and then suddenly he was inside you. His cock slid into you smoothly, opening you up, stretching your cunt, and he kept on going until you were utterly full of dick. You squealed as his cockhead nudged your sensitive cervix. He withdrew achingly slowly, letting you get used to the sensation, and then rammed himself home hard and fast.

You felt his hand twist into your hair, tugging your head upwards, and arched your back. The pain of the pull on your scalp was exquisite, ebbing and flowing as he pounded you from behind.

"That's it, babe," he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice. "Come on, lemme hear you”

You couldn't help yourself – you were squeaking in pain each time his dick slammed into you, but you adored it. You heard the smack of skin on skin as his hips met yours, and your cunt was making deliciously obscene wet sounds.

"Please," you gasped out. "Please, please, please..."

Bakugo didn't cease his movement, groaning in pleasure. "Ah... Please what? Do you want more? Fuck, your pussy's so damn tight round my cock... Don't ask me to stop now”

"No, not stop,". you could hardly get your words straight. "I want to see..."

"Oh!" He understood you breathless gabble, and pulled himself free of your tight hole. The air felt cool on your lips and you savoured it briefly, before he pulled your hips back and helped you lie back on the couch. You looked up, wanting to watch his expression as he pushed himself back inside you.

He did so slowly, his eyes closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You squeezed his cock, once, as hard as you could, using your pussy muscles to show him just how hard you could work it. His eyes flew open and it was his turn to cry out.

"Fuck, babe... Do that again and I won't last five minutes”

You met his gaze, and held it as he began to move, more slowly now. He bent forwards and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth – then released it and moved his mouth to yours, kissing you, opening you up with his tongue as he opened your cunt with his cock. You dared to tangle a hand in his hair, now, and moaned your need into his mouth.

He sat back, and pushed his thumb between your lips, wetting it, then dragged it over your clit, watching your face for a reaction. You tensed and a red flush began to creep over your chest. A faint smile played over his face and he moved faster, fucking you a little harder, massaging his thumb in circles around your stiff clit, flicking it hard and feeling your body respond.

Your eyes had drifted closed as you enjoyed the sensations, but he wasn't having that.

"Look at me," he said softly. "I want to watch your face when you cum for me”

Christ. Just those words were enough, but he sped up, moving faster and harder. You hadn't been fucked like this for a long, long time – with a lot of guys it was all over in minutes, but he was too damn good for that. His thumb pushed your clit against your pelvic bone and you screamed. Your entire body was rigid as you came, your cunt muscles bearing down hard, trying to force his cock out of you. He pushed hard and deep into you though, prolonging your agony, and true to his word he was watching your face, only pulling his cock out right at the last second – and you wailed, loud and unbelieving, as your orgasm peaked, your cunt walls squeezing tight, and again – again! At some level you marvelled – a rush of hot fluid soaked your thighs as you squirted.

You sagged backwards, breathing fast, and put an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

Bakugo tugged it away, gently, smiling wryly.

"Oh no. Not gonna have you feeling all self-conscious about that. That was... amazing”

And he slid himself inside you again. He was close to coming, so close, you could see it in the lines of tension on his face. It was your turn to encourage him.

"Come on then," you murmured. You cupped your tits with you hands, tweaking your nipples hard, offering him a target – you expected him to unload all over your chest, but he growled, grabbed your hips, and surged forwards. You looked him in the eye and was met with a piercing, almost animal stare as he roared with the release. You felt the heat of his cum deep inside, as he punctuated his final few thrusts with words.

"Holy… fucking… hell," he uttered between clenched teeth. He sat up, and swiped at a sheen of sweat on his forehead. A worried look flashed across his face and your own smile vanished – oh, god, now he'd realised what he'd done, hadn't he?

He leaned down and checked the dressing on your leg. Then raised an eyebrow at you.

"Don't look so worried, it's fine," he grinned. He unfolded himself from the sofa and started to dress, throwing your clothes over for you to do the same. It was weird, you thought, that you could expose your most private places to someone, do the filthiest things, and then only afterwards did you feel awkward.

Bakugo passed you a glass of water, which you gulped greedily at, still slightly out of breath and still slightly disbelieving. "I've… well, I have to... Get home, you know..." you blathered.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "Really. I'm not saying anything" He kissed you, softly, slow and sweet.

"Message me though, when you want to book in again. That leg piece will need a couple more hours work”

—

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

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literary-motif · 1 month ago

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Act III — Titanic

Scene iii — The Spy

previous scene // overview // read on ao3 // next scene

Warnings: guns and violence, character death(s)

“However pressing this might be,” Asirel said, glancing at the flashing lights — blinking red slowly turning to white instead as Dove typed — “There are other things that require our attention. These mythics—”

His voice faded into the background as you picked up your phone, intent to call Tara’s husband — the widower — and talk him out of whatever fit of sorrow he was sure to have combusted in. This was the time to reach out, tie the noose around his neck, and tug him along and away from the ruins of his broken heart.

You had a missed call from Mr. Rhoades.

Too late, you thought bitterly, sure he had intended to inform you about the tragedy in Fresno. You saw had sent you a picture.

You could only guess how many resources were poured into making that picture disappear, bury it in the darkest corner of archives and cataloged history, and you felt a wave of pride at having Mr. Rhoades — perhaps the best private investigator in this sector of the galaxy — on your side.

This pleasure of triumph was short-lived, as the implications of the snapshot hit you like a bullet, turning your chest to ice.

It was a picture of two men, shaking hands before the shining sign of a newly opened logistics airline company. One of them wore a crooked smile, his receding hairline making him seem older than he was. Behind the small, round glasses were stormy blue eyes that fixed on you twice a month behind a black door. The man next to him was slightly shorter, his face partly hidden by the angle of the photograph. You could see his gelled, black hair and rimless spectacles, hiding gray eyes that were glaring at Asirel.

A silver ring stuck to the ring finger of their right hand, the mocking proof of their entanglement with the Collective plain as they stood before the company the Trimedian used to ship away mythics.

You raised your head slowly, seeing the very same ring on Ackroyd’s finger. He played with it impatiently, anticipating something as he looked at Asirel unfazed.

Your brain came to a standstill as you heard static.

Ackroyd was part of the Trimedian.

The revelation made the breath catch in your throat, and you could not help the feeling of being weightless for a moment — a careful second at the precipice that made you rise slightly, nearly floating, nearly flying before gravity would pull you down again, dragging you back towards the world and your feelings as you looked at your colleague, the traitor, the fucking spy!

The golden door was thrown open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash that made you think the door handle had embedded itself in the stone.

Dove jumped. Bashir rose to her feet instinctively as she turned to face the intruder. Asirel snapped his mouth shut, looking over his shoulder toward the lanky man in the doorway.

His dirty blond hair was a mess, strands falling into his drawn face and obscuring his dark eyes. He stood tall but seemed to slouch regardless. The red of his unbuttoned coat clashed with the blue of the plastic card in his hand.

“You sure took your sweet time,” Ackroyd sneered, breaking the hush that had settled over the room. He made no move to get up.

“Richard, this is one of yours?” Bashir asked, looking between them. She was uncertain, on edge about the unfolding events. “What’s going on?”

“I was held up,” the man said, surprisingly soft-spoken despite his gloomy appearance. He shifted uncomfortably under Ackroyd’s glare. “Your calling was not exactly scheduled—”

You rose to your feet in a daze. Ackroyd glanced at you, and for the first time, you wished you had a gun to shoot the smugness off his face. “You!” you roared, voice rich with the anger that was boiling up in your chest. “You goddamn Judas, you parasite! You fucking spy!”

He chuckled. “Figured it out, did you?” he said condescendingly. “What’s going on, Meryem, is that I've grown tired of you.” He leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup of cold coffee. “You’ve snooped enough. You know things you shouldn’t. Now please” — he motioned to his acquaintance — “bite. And you all, do me a favor and die.”

The man spurred into action, darting to the center of the room with superhuman speed. This was no man you realized as he gripped Bashir, fast enough she did not even have a moment to think about pulling out her gun.

Vampire.

Dove leaped to her feet, smashing her laptop over his head with a cry to get him to let go. It did not work. The vampire growled, pushing Bashir aside harshly to turn to Dove instead. Her eyes widened, the broken parts of her laptop slipping from her grasp as she shuffled back in panic.

Asirel was twisting around hastily, searching for something — something sharp, something deadly, anything — as you took a step closer to the creature to lure its attention.

“Doing his bidding?” you asked, scoffing with as much contempt you could muster despite hearing your voice shake, heart hammering in your chest as the possibilities to get out of this alive narrowed. “What a disgrace for your kind, following the orders from a human! Pathetic!”

His head turned towards you, tired eyes staring into yours for a moment as he opened his mouth to answer.

“Kill them, you halfwit,” Ackroyd snapped. “Don’t forget your place. Don’t forget what I can do to you if you don’tobey.”

The vampire snapped his mouth shut, faltering as he curled into himself more. “Yes, Master,” he said quietly, baring his fangs as he turned towards Dove.

Bashir launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck to choke him. He was unfazed, simply tilting his head and sinking his fangs into her arm. She gasped, gripping his hair to pull his head away from her. He turned it sharply, tearing a large gash into her arm that bled freely. “Shit,” she cursed, hissing in pain as she wriggled out of his grip.

Dove had pulled out her gun, raising it towards the vampire. She gave no warning, shooting him twice in the chest.

He winced, throwing off Bashir. She fell to the ground clutching her arm. He advanced towards Dove again, the bullets that would have killed a human useless against a mythic.

You saw Asirel move slowly, breaking his shock to shrug off his suit jacket to staunch the bleeding. You gripped the coffee table next to you, your untouched cup of tea crashing to the ground as you lifted it in the air, swinging it at the vampire with full force. The wood splintered. Dove cried out, flinching back as pieces of wood flew towards her.

The vampire stumbled, burning eyes snapping towards you an instant later — like a predator finding its prey.

You had half a second to feel instant regret before your feet lifted off the ground, the vampire holding you up by your throat as he snarled. You gripped his wrist instinctively, clawing at his hands to get him to loosen his grip, letting you breathe. You kicked him hard to no avail.

“Pathetic,” he hissed, echoing your words before he flung you away with all his force.

The air rushed past you, and you had a heartbeat of utter calm — watching the vampire turn away from you towards Dove, watching the scene unfold as you drifted further away as if you were merely a spectator to your reality — before your back crashed against the screen hanging on the wall behind you.

It cracked with a sickening sound, glass shattering. You grimaced in pain, sliding to the ground breathlessly as the broken shards rained down on you.

Your ears were ringing, your vision spotty and dark at the edges. Distantly, you thought you could hear someone screaming your name, but it was hard to make out. You blinked your eyes open, not realizing you had closed them. Thoughts of duty and responsibility swam in your mind, worry twisting somewhere inside of you.

The room tilted strangely. You moved your arm to push yourself up. You found it was not the room, it was you.

Dove was on the ground, slumped against the wall with wide eyes, her face deathly pale. She was gasping violently, scratching at her chest as her upper body twisted, spasming with coughs. Her gun lay on the ground beside her.

Asirel was the last one standing. The vampire approached him with measured steps as he scrambled back, nearly tripping over the armchair in his haste to get away.

Panic cut through the haze in your mind, an overwhelming sense of danger gripping your heart with icy clearness that reminded you of duty, loyalty, and promises.

“Stop,” you gasped out. No matter how responsible you felt for him, there was not much you could do against a vampire, even if you were not kneeling on the ground, bracing yourself against it in an effort not to topple over. Nausea overtook you as you attempted to get up, only to crumble to the ground again, defeated. “No, leave him alone.”

Pathetic.

Ackroyd raised an eyebrow, finishing his coffee. You thought you had never felt such blinding, murderous fury as you did then, seeing the satisfied smirk on his face while you heard Asirel’s sharp intake of breath, the vampire looming over him, ready to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck.

You did not hear the gun cocking, but the gunshot that followed. It echoed through the room and the empty hallway long after the mythic flinched, clutching his chest with a frown before his eyes widened — realizing the bullet that hit him was tampered with — and falling to the ground, dead.

Vic surveyed the room, lowering his gun slowly. His gaze swept over Asirel to check if he was alright. Finding him unharmed, they darted around again, until they settled on your hunched figure.

You heaved a sigh of relief that sounded more like a dry cough. Vic’s expression twisted, his eyes widening as he looked at the shattered screen above you, horror in his gaze. You raised a hand in the air weakly, intent to soothe away some of his worry.

He moved towards you regardless, his attention caught.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ackroyd move. He rose to his feet, reaching into his suit jacket.

He would pull out a gun. You were sure of it.

You turned towards Dove, lips parted to tell her to shoot him, but you found the gun already next to you.

Lurching to the side, you ignored the stabbing pain in your back and grabbed it, aiming it at the spy and pulling the trigger with a sick satisfaction before he could properly aim at your friend.

Vic turned, watching Ackroyd stagger as the gun slipped from his hand. He was caught off guard, pristine white shirt taking on a spreading dark red where you had shot him. His eyes went blank as he fell backward, collapsing into his armchair. His head lulled to the side, chest still. He was dead.

You did not know what twist of fate to thank for the fact that he had still been human — flesh and bone that could be killed by a flying bullet.

The following silence was deafening, only broken by the faint dripping of blood onto the tiles.

Bashir pushed herself up unsteadily, clutching her arm as she leaned against her armchair. She was paler than you had ever seen her, her face a sickly, dark gray color.

Vic had paused his advance towards you, frozen in place as he stared at Ackroyd. Asirel moved to grip the back of his armchair, blood-stained fingers digging into the red cushions.

You turned to Dove. The praise for her quick thinking died on your tongue. She was dead, unseeing eyes half-lidded, strands of blonde hair turned red, blue coat littered with specks of blood. One of her hands was stretched out unnaturally, the silver ring on her finger stained.

She had pushed her gun towards you with her dying breath.

#a tragedy in five acts #asirel cain x reader #asirel cain

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vague-bisexual-crimes · 4 months ago

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Friday - “it is true I wished to escape; and so I wish still; is not this not lawful for all prisoners?”

Angel is putting here parents through it with the back and forth is then isn’t coming home now.

God she hates Mac so much <3

But my hand closes around something else instead. Jimmy’s knife.

I glance to one side at Rowan. He’s spaced out, staring into the air. Holding his guitar like a soldier with a gun against his chest. He looks worse than he has all week. Sometimes I look at Rowan and can’t remember what he used to look like. We were in primary school when we first met. We were placed next to each other in class and told to learn five facts about the person sitting next to you. All I remember about Rowan’s was that his favorite band was Duran Duran. All he remembers about mine was that I’d never broken a bone. He had rimless glasses and short tight curls. His jumper was way too big for him. As soon as we both learned that we each wanted to be in a band, we were best friends. The boy next to me no isn’t anything like that boy. Not bright-eyed and excited to tell me about the new guitar he got for his birthday. Not dragging me to the music block go show me he could play the bass line for a Vaccines song. No laughter. No wonder. We got hay we wanted in the end, though. Didn’t we? We wanted to be in a band. Hang on, hang on, I need a sec oh my god. I’d like to once again say THEYRE BEST FRIENDS!!! CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS!!!!! ALL THEY WANTED WAS TO BE IN A BAND!!!!!!! EVERYTHING THEY EVER WANTED AND IT COULDN’T BE WORSE!!!!!!!!!!! secondly, NO LAUGHTER. NO WONDER.

Thinking about how fast Rowan signs the contract where Jimmy and Lister hesitate. How he knows it’ll be worse, less time to do anything but the band, to see his family, his girlfriend, to have a life, but this is what he’s supposed to do, this is what will make them successful, and eventually it’ll get better.

I think I’m losing it. Going off the wall. Is this why celebrities eventually get addicted to drugs? Because it all gets a bit too much? Sometimes I think about taking drugs. Sometimes I think it might help. When I see Lister smoke and drink, I know it’s bad, but I understand why he does it. It’s so he doesn’t have to think. I hate thinking.

oh Lister :(

“Do you ever imagine what would happen if we just…ran away?” asks Lister suddenly. I glance at him. He’s looking at the window too. […] “I think about it all the time,” I say. RUN!!RUN!!RUN!!!!! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lister you can’t be surprised when he climbs out the window you suggested climbing out the window and running away from your responsibilities. Jimmy meant business (is actively having a breakdown)

Do you ever wonder why Lister didn’t just follow Jimmy? Like I get it, he’s freaking out cause he didn’t think Jimmy was serious but man you could’ve just like followed him. Pretty easily.

I need to talk to Juliet. Jimmy will have to wait. I can message him on Twitter later. He’ll probably never see it anyway. Juliet is the priority today. I need to talk to her. I need to repair the mess I made. Nothing good ever comes from Twitter. Also, ANGEL YOU WERE SO CLOSE!!!!! YOU WERE GOING TO CHOOSE JULIET!!!!!

Angel is very enthusiastic about this, for some reason. I thought she’d be annoyed at having to go out of her way to give me back the knife. I didn’t think she’d still be a fan of me after seeing me have a meltdown yesterday. They don’t like seeing you sad.

Another group appear—boys and girls. A woman and her daughter. A group of men in their twenties. I just start posing for selfies. Like it’s a fucking reflex. I can’t just leave. I can’t just say no. I get it, but you actually can and frankly I think you should start being mean to them 🤷‍♀️

Jimmy clinging to the sleeve of Angel’s hoodie like a child. Angel taking care of the main part of the thing that has given her a will to live for the past five years. :(

Jimmy, you’re already taking her to your grandad’s house I don’t think telling her the address is going to give away the location.

Personally I love Angel’s Jimmy’s gonna murder her bit. Jimmy just doesn’t get it

I can’t with Jimmy’s family. I NEED to know about his relationship with his sister desperately.

I go to the front of the pews and sit, and for the first time in weeks, months, I don’t know how long, reach out to God. He’s waiting. He always is. No matter how long I go, no matter how shit it all gets, at least I have one or two things waiting for me. God doesn’t care whether I have one pound or one hundred million. God doesn’t care if I make a mistake, if I fuck yo again and again and again. God asks me, “How are you?” and I just start crying. I try to be white but I can hear my sniffs echoing from the stone walls. God says, “Say something,” and I tell Him that u don’t know what to say, and He says, “Anything you’ve got.” But I just cry some more. God tells me, “Everything that happens is making you stronger,” and I want to believe Him but I can’t. “I love you anyway,” He tells me. At least someone does.

I decide to stop and visit my grandmas grave. The gravestone still looks relatively new compared to the huge old stones around it, despite it being over five years old now. Grandma didn’t see any of this band shit happen to me. For some reason, that makes me glad. Joan :’(

Joan of Arc :(( Joan Ricci :(((( his grandma :(((((((

Piero isn’t buying any of this bs

“You would give your lives for these boys. You cling to them like you’re reaching out to a god. They practically keep you alive. But beneath that, and if you took all that away, you fundamentally do not value yourself.” He sighs. “All your love is given away. You leave nothing for yourself.” “I—I don’t think we’re all like that,” I stammer. “But I think you are,” says Piero, looking directly at me. SHOTS FIRED!!!

“I know he asked you for help,” says Piero, “but the trouble is, while asking for help is always good, it’s impossible to keep relying on others to solve your problems for you. There comes a point where you have to help yourself. Believe in yourself. “Are you talking about Jimmy or are you talking about me?” I say. He smiles and says, “You tell me.”

I’ve done something stupid, coming here. Just to have a little cry on my grandad’s shoulder. My own little pity party. He done something even more stupid, asking some fangirl to come with me, just because people on trains scare me and I thought she was a nice person. But there is one thing I am sure of. One thing I know is the right decision now. Not stupid. Not sad. Not pitiful. I’m freeing myself I’m leaving The Ark. !!! GO JIMMY GO!!!!!!!

#iwbft #i was born for this #iwbftreread2024 #alice oseman #jimmy kaga ricci #lister bird #rowan omondi #the ark #juliet schwartz #angel rahimi #fereshteh rahimi #Mac Anderson #Piero Ricci #Joan Ricci #:((((

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voolfman · 10 months ago

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Bring Out the Dead Man

Sctir fanfic multi-chapter fic posted on ao3 by voolfman

Chapter 4

Anxiously, Yoojin drummed his fingers in a tight and fast tattoo against the top of his knee as he waited for the eternity to end and for the doctor to come back so that Yoojin could check up on that Myeongwoo and make sure someone else had not in fact bled out in front of him and well on him in the span of less than a week-

“Mr. Han,” and wow, Yoojin had not even noticed the doctor entering the room. Maybe he had used more mana than he had intended. “You have a clean bill of health,” the aging doctor monotoned, fixing his rimless bifocals, “There’s no no need to make another appointment unless something else comes up. Thank you and have a pleasant rest of your day.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Yoojin called to the quickly retreating man, grabbing his crutches and meeting Sunghan right outside the doorway. “Shall we go check on our fallen rockstar?”

Sunghan quirked his eyebrow up at Yoojin. “He’s two floors up in room 649. He’d lost a lot of blood and was pretty dehydrated, but they expect him to make a full recovery.” He pressed the elevator button and Yoojin let out a pent up breath as they were lifted to the injured man’s floor.

As they stopped in front of Myeongwoo’s door, Yoojin hesitated as he internally debated the wisdom of what he was about to do, but he clenched his fist, his nails threatening to bite into his skin, and knocked on the door.

For what felt like five years, but could have only been five seconds, Yoojin’s stomach roiled anxiously before a thin, reedy voice called out, “Come in.”

Yoojin gently slid the door open, “Hello! Glad to hear you’re going to be on the mend…Myeongwoo?”

The hunter, who was now sitting up somewhat in the bed in the brightly lit hospital room, raised his eyebrows almost up to his hairline as his fingers gripped the sheet. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“Ah, personally? I doubt it,” Yoojin chuckled quietly and somewhat derisively, “But I did happen to catch you before you tried to kiss the pavement?”

Myeongwoo’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, and, when not hidden by the stringy carpet of hair, Yoojin thought that he had nice eyes. Kind eyes. “You..helped me?”

“Well-” Yoojin scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide the slight redness that was creeping up it - “Mr. Kim here did most of the heavy lifting, really, I just became a cushion…”

“Thank you!”

“Whoa! You don’t need to bow-”

“Thank you-”sniff- “really!”

Panicking slightly, Yoojin scrambled up to the crying man’s bedside, “Hey! Uhh hey-hey, it! It’s okay! Don’t cry! You’ll open your stitches! I’ll uhh I’ll be back tomorrow…”

That got the watery mess to calm down. Wiping his tears and blowing his nose into the handkerchiefs Yoojin was handing him, he finally choked out a response. “Really?”

Internally heaving a massive sigh of relief at the fact that Myeongwoo was no longer sobbing his eyes out over an act of general, human decency, Yoojin grabbed his crutches and ruffled the man’s hair before it occurred to him that Myeongwoo was probably the same age as him (old habits die hard) and did his best to act casual despite his faux pas. “Yeah, really. Rest up, eat well, and we can talk tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Myeongwoo.”

A starstruck gaze stared up at Yoojin similar to the likes of a kid doing his best to stay up in the hopes of meeting Santa Claus. “It was nice to meet you, too…?”

“Yoojin,” dripped hesitantly off of his tongue.

“...Yoojin,” Myeongwoo mumbled as his eyes drooped and he fell asleep.

Turning to Sunghan, Yoojin put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and silently hustled the two of them out to the hallway.

“Phew,” Yoojin leaned against the wall, “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind if we come back tomorrow? I mean, I’m sure he’ll be alright, but…”

In the silence that followed, Yoojin was sure that Sunghan was thinking of a way to bring down the hammer of Yoohyun’s absolute rule. Honestly, if this kept up, Yoojin loved the kid, but there really was a limit - "I… would like to apologize.” It was a low rumble, a quiet admission, a gut punch that stole the breath from Yoojin as his weight was kept hold by the wall and his crutches. “I may have misjudged you.”

"...nah, I acted outta line at some points.” Wild how your whole perspective can do a 180° once you find out that your only remaining family member didn't immediately abandon you as soon as they possibly could. "Thanks for looking out for Yoohyun, though. He's always been a quiet kid, so appreciate your taking care of him."

An ever so slight smirk snuck onto Sunghan’s face as the two started to pick their way back to the car, “I only picked up where you left off. I can see where the Guildmaster picked up some of his more… unique quirks.”

“Yoohyun was a perfect child! What are you inferring?” Yoojin smashed the elevator button grumpily. Yoohyun was just a little emotionally stunted, that was all.

Instead of answering, Sunghan only chuckled and stated that Yoohyun was a very good Guildmaser and that he was incredibly lucky to be a part of the Hayeon Guild. Which was an obvious sentiment because of course Yoohyun was running Hayeon well, he was Yoojin’s perfect little brother who was standing in the kitchen cooking when they arrived back at the apartment.

“Why’re you here?” Yoojin gasped and raced across the apartment as fast as his crutches could carry him. The kid had at least five more days until he was supposed to have finished the dungeon.

Yoohyun turned away from whatever he was frying in the pan to speak to his brother.“I live here-” the spatula dropped from his hand and splattered sauce all around the stovetop. “Hyung! You’re covered in blood! Mr. Kim-!”

“It’s fine. It’s not mine.” Yoojin brushed away his concerns to pull Yoohyun close and examine him, pulling back his sweater’s sleeves and reaching up to tilt his brother’s face this way and that. “Not the point. Did you rest at all in that dungeon? It looks like you’ve got quite a pair of eyebags-” Yoojin bit his bottom lip, “You should’ve been in there for at least a week longer!”

“It wasn’t a difficult dungeon.” Yoohyun squinted in mild annoyance at Yoojin brushing off his own concern only to absolutely baby Yoohyun. Hypocrite.

“It wasn’t- It was S- rank!”

“An easy S-rank.” Yoojin called bullshit on that lame excuse.

“...an easy-!” No, Yoojin was going to step back. Yoohyun was 25 now. He was 25 and alive and Yoojin was still going to worry, wasn’t he? “ Anyway, while you are resting up, Yoohyun-” and you are going to rest was unspoken “- I’m gonna have to head out tomorrow.”

“No.” And that’s final, was left unspoken for him.

“Yoohyun,” Yoojin shook his head, it wasn’t like he was requesting to go into a dungeon, “I’m going to visit a friend I saw in the hospital.”

The disbelief was abhorrently evident on Yoohyun’s generally impassive face. “You … have a friend in the hospital?”

The silence following the question could have been compared to the vast, unknowable solitude of of the universe, only broken by the gentle and playful sizzle made by the oil in the pan. “You know what? That’s so rude. I have friends.”

“...” Yoohyun seemed to think that silence was the better part of valor in this scenario and pushed around the pork belly so as not to let it burn.

Refusing to back down, Yoojin turned to the man who had been accompanying him all day and to all of his past trips to the hospital for the past couple of weeks. “Mr. Kim, back me up.”

Sunghan, however, would never lie to his Guildmaster. “You met today.”

“And I saved his life, hence the blood,” Yoojin gestured to his ruined clothes, “ his blood. We’re friends.”

Yoohyun shot his Second in Command a concerned look before turning all of his worry towards his brother.“Hyung…”

“Mr. Kim will be with me, and Myeongwoo’s an F- rank, so it’s fine.”

“Fine.” Yoohyun could tell that Yoojin would not back down with this. He’d let him go, just this once, though. “Just be careful and be back before dark.”

Oh, how the tables turned, or at least that’s what Yoohyun thought. Really, was he that naive? Yoojin was 30. He was an adult. “Are you giving me, your older brother who raised you, a curfew?”

“I made lunch, Hyung-” the adorable little bastard had plated the food and it looked divine, holding it out to Yoojin.

“Your attempt at changing the subject is successful for the sole reason that I don’t want to fight, but I am going to the hospital tomorrow. You have work to do anyway. And for pity’s sake, make sure those under your care are alright after going through an S-rank dungeon at such a reckless speed.”

#sctir #han yoojin #s classes that i raised #han yoohyun #tsctir #the s classes that i raised #ao3 #yoo myeongwoo #kim sunghan #bring out the dead man #chapter 4

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honourablejester · 1 year ago

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I went back to play through Tyrant of Zhentil Keep again, because it’s been a week and I just wanted to relax, and also try playing a sorcerer this time. So I rolled up an aasimar clockwork soul sorcerer name Rilya Manalar, investigator background (she has warm metallic rose gold skin and white hair, because we’re riffing strongly off Mechanus and it goes nicely with the clockwork soul ‘clock hands moving in your eyes when you cast spells’, and also she had goggles of night from the previous book Death Knight’s Squire which I’m picturing as less goggles and more dainty little rimless sunglasses on a silver chain. She’s decidedly less hardboiled PI and much more gentlewoman sleuth). And I set her off into Zhentil Keep.

Some thoughts:

AOEs are a girl’s best friend. When in doubt, thunderwave. People not to gang up on in the cramped hold of a ship while everyone on her side is behind her: a sorcerer with thunderwave.

Flight is also a girl’s best friend. It’s a 3rd level adventure, so Rilya had the aasimar Radiant Soul feature, 1min of flight a day, and she used it to completely cheese a fight with an earth elemental whose longest ranged attack was 60ft. So she just went straight up for three rounds and then picked it off with Chill Touch.

This was partly in vengeance for the previous encounter, which was with a swooping gargoyle, and omg, most annoying fight ever! Not because it did dangerous damage to her, she came out around half hp, but because it just kept picking her up and dropping her 10ft. It had a chance to grapple attack based on a d6 roll, and it got fives and sixes literally every turn, so all it did was swoop, grab, and drop her next turn when it took damage. And she has feather fall, but she also has 6 spell slots total and accidentally booked her whole evening to do two separate sidequests after this, so she can’t spend them. So she’s just taking fall damage the entire time. And avoiding the grab is a Strength save, and she’s a sorcerer, so … yeah. So annoying.

(And yes, I could have had the gargoyle get tired of the game and try different tactics, but I think both the gargoyle and Rilya just got locked into this tunnel vision of it very determinedly trying to grab her and keep her, and Rilya getting dropped repeatedly and wanting to smash its head in as a result, and it was just a battle of attrition between two extremely frustrated enemies who’d tunnelled all the way down to one tactic apiece).

Next note: I love dwarves! One of the sidequests is teaming up with a crippled dwarf investigator and his nephew to rescue some slaves from a ship. He opens the planning session with: much as I would love to do this the dwarf way and just hack our way in there, I think we should have some strategy here. His nephew, immediately upset: Aww! But. Okay. Once we’ve snuck onto the boat, what happens if we get caught before we can find and rescue the kid? Uncle: then you go full dwarf and hack your way out of there. Grabbing the kid en route, of course. Nephew: Yay!

Which we then promptly did, courtesy of the above thunderwave, which bounced a Banite paladin and two slavers off the back wall of the hull, killing one slaver outright. It was very satisfying. Of course, the paladin promptly healed himself almost all the way back to full, because of course he did, but I’m still taking the win.

Moral of the story: strategy first, but when all else fails, always go full dwarf!

I also keep forgetting to cast mage armour, so she’s squeaked through by the skin of her teeth several times now. 12 AC is … not fun. But I was really trying to ration spell slots, because a massive chunk of this adventure is one single day and she has 6 slots total to work with, and I should have cast it that morning with extended spell, because she has that, but I forgot. And then kept going … but what if I need a chaos bolt? Cantrips don’t do pissing damage! So I semi-accidentally played her as a complete glass cannon, where she dished decent damage, but one good hit and she was in deep shit.

But hey! She didn’t die? Mostly because several NPCs brought healing potions, but again. I’ll take it. Heh.

The thing I do notice, though, the more I play the gamebooks/solo adventures, is how much you really do wish there was a live GM. There were so many moments where I’d have liked to do something different, or ask different questions, or see if there was a ruined building I could get into so the gargoyle couldn’t fucking swoop me. You know. Little things. I’d love to see someone run these books with a DM. But. If you’re just wanted an evening to chill by yourself, they’re a good time.

#d&d #5e gamebooks #tyrant of zhentil keep #sorcerers #i think i like sorcerers?#clerics still win #but i'm having fun

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