#does this count as a clinical study

[pathologicalreid]

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

[jupiterpilgrim]

The Pleasure Equation: When the Nerd Solves Everything, Including You

Nayeon x Male Reader

word count: 8.2k

a/n: Yo, my first published smut. I hope you like it. Feel free to tell me what you think.

—

You're lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering why, in the 21st century, universities still think pairing people for projects is a good idea. Plus, you're terrible at this subject. Advanced Calculus? They might as well call it "How to Ruin My Weekend." The only saving grace is that your partner, Nayeon, the biggest nerd in class, will handle most of it. For you, it seems like a golden ticket: she does the work, and you pretend you helped. It was the perfect plan. What could go wrong?

The doorbell rings. Of course, it’s her. You were expecting it—you could almost time Nayeon's nerdy punctuality. And, as always, she looks like the picture-perfect good girl—cardigan, glasses, skirt, that innocent, serious air of someone more interested in spreadsheets than in people. The kind of girl most guys wouldn't look at twice. But you, well, you had to look. It was obligatory since she was going to carry your weight in this project.

You open the door, and there she is, laptop under her arm, shy smile and everything you imagined. The nerd who's here to save your semester.

What you didn’t know—and God knew you were about to find out—is that Nayeon had planned a different type of study for this project.

She walks in with that confident stride that only people who are either extremely smart or who know the subject is your lifeline have. And honestly, you’re not ready for the energy she brings.

“Hi,” she says, glancing around your house, skipping any small talk.

“Hey, Nayeon. Nice to have you here.” You try to sound more enthusiastic than you really are. “Want anything? Water, juice, tea?” you offer, hoping to buy yourself a few more minutes of procrastination before facing the project.

“No, thanks.” She looks at you over her glasses, almost as if she’s analyzing your soul. “I think we should just get started. The sooner we finish, the better.”

“Yeah, better,” you think. And with that, off you go to your bedroom. Yes, the bedroom, because it’s the only place in the house that seems even remotely presentable. There are piles of books (that you haven’t read, just skimmed for the basics), notebooks with ridiculously short notes you took, some clothes scattered here and there... oh, and your unmade but perfectly comfortable bed, where you sit on the edge. It was a clinically tidy room compared to the living room or the kitchen.

Nayeon doesn't seem to care about anything. She sits at the desk chair and opens her laptop.

The project, of course, is about "Modeling Algebraic Functions for the Optimization of Industrial Processes." Or something equally mind-numbing that only Nayeon seems to understand. You’re more lost than someone trying to solve a Rubik's cube in the dark. And it’s all because of your dad, who, in his non-threatening way, persuaded you to follow the family career path. Damn Engineering (and tradition).

Nayeon, as always, is already deep into the work, fingers flying over the keyboard while her glasses slip to the tip of her nose, balancing dangerously between focused nerd and, well... ¿sexy? nerd?

Not that you’d admit that.

She glances at you, and for a second, you almost feel like she expects you to say something useful. Which, of course, would be a grave miscalculation. Literally.

“So, I thought you could start with the part about differential equations,” she says, making the suggestion with the ease of someone asking you to hold a cup, when what she’s really offering is a grand piano. “And then the graphs…”

You pretend to be genuinely interested. Which means nodding in a way that could be mistaken for understanding if someone looked quickly, but in reality, you're utterly lost.

“Oh, sure, differential equations…” you repeat, as if the words held any special meaning. They don’t.

Nayeon sighs and goes back to typing, clearly aware of the level of uselessness you're operating at. She’s probably already mentally dividing the entire project, calculating how many extra hours she'll need to cover for the fact that you're, essentially, dead weight.

“Maybe you could review the introduction,” she suggests, polite but with the patience of someone talking to a child who still doesn’t know the difference between shapes.

You scratch your head, pretending to read the introduction she’s already written. One, two lines. Everything looks very... professional. You attempt to seem helpful:

“You know, I think you’re... um... doing great with this. Maybe... maybe I should focus more on the creative part of the project, like... the presentation design?” you suggest, smiling, as if making a PowerPoint full of silly animations was an undervalued talent in academia.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Design?” Nayeon asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “In an Advanced Calculus project? You want to fill the presentation with glitter and stars, is that it?”

“Hey, glitter makes everything better,” you reply, defensive, but unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe throw in some memes to lighten the mood… People love memes... I guess.”

“I’m not sure if you're joking or if you've completely given up on life,” Nayeon mutters, with a short, dry laugh, returning to the keyboard.

You shift on the bed, trying to find a position that seems less like a desperate student and more like someone slightly focused on the project. The silence is broken only by the sound of her typing and your occasional murmur of fake approval: “Hmm, sure, that makes sense…”

It doesn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, Nayeon looks at you again, but this time with a different kind of curiosity. There’s something in her eyes, something that goes beyond pure calculation—and we’re not talking about the equations.

“You live alone, right?” The question comes casually, almost innocently. Almost.

“Uh, yeah, I do,” you answer, a bit confused by the sudden shift. “Why?”

“Just... curious,” she replies, but the smile she gives is far from innocent. “It must be nice living alone. I bet you can do whatever you want, right? No one around to hear...”

“Yeah, kind of,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “Like... I can have pizza for breakfast without being judged. And play video games late. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

Nayeon laughs, but in a way that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable, like she knows something you don’t.

“And... what do you mean by ‘do whatever you want’?” you ask, hesitant but unable to resist the curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, looking away for a second. “Just thinking... it must be interesting. Having that kind of freedom.”

She pauses and looks directly at you again, her fingers sliding slowly across the keyboard, as if the project was now the last thing on her mind.

“Tell me something... what’s your type?” The question lands like a stone thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples of confusion through you.

You almost choke.

“My... type?” you repeat, as if it’s a math problem with too many variables.

“Yeah, like... what do you find attractive in someone?” Nayeon continues, her voice far too casual for the situation. She leans forward slightly, her eyes locked on yours.

“Well, I dunno.” You shift uncomfortably. “I guess... someone fun, you know? Someone who can make me laugh.”

“Hmm. And me?” Nayeon tilts her head, her glasses now low enough to reveal her sharp eyes behind them. “Do I make you laugh?”

You freeze, because the right answer to this feels like a trap.

Sure, Nayeon’s made you laugh plenty of times, especially when she freaks out over losing half a point on a test. But that doesn’t seem like the kind of "laugh" she’s asking about.

“Uh, yeah, of course!” you respond, quickly. “I mean, in a good way. Not that I’m laughing *at* you, but... you know what I mean, right?”

She smiles, and you’re not sure if she’s satisfied with your answer or just amused by your nervousness.

“You know,” Nayeon continues, “I think I prefer guys who... know what they want. Guys with attitude.”

You nod, trying to process what’s happening.

“Oh, sure. Attitude is always good, right?” you reply, having no idea where this conversation is heading.

She looks at you in a way that feels almost predatory, and you realize that, somehow, whatever control you thought you had over this situation (even a little) now belongs entirely to her.

“Do you have it?” she asks. “Attitude?”

At that moment, you realize two things: first, Nayeon isn’t interested in solving differential equations today. And second, you probably should’ve agreed to do the graphs.

You feel the pressure of the question like a multiple-choice exam where all the answers seem wrong.

"Now?" you stammer, as if time itself is about to collapse. "Uh… I don’t know, I think we’re in the middle of a project, right? I wouldn’t want to interrupt…"

"Interrupt?" She lets out a short laugh. "I think work went out the window a long time ago, don’t you?"

With that, she stands up, closing the laptop, and starts walking slowly around the room, as if inspecting the space, or maybe just teasing you on purpose. Every step she takes seems more choreographed than anything you’ve ever seen on stage.

Suddenly, she stops, untying her hair and shaking it loose.

"You know," she continues, turning her gaze back to you, "I thought of a way to make things more interesting."

Your brain, of course, is already in full panic mode, but your mouth, as always, insists on trying to sound casual.

"Really? Interesting how?" you ask, hoping the answer isn’t something like "Russian roulette."

She crosses her arms. You realize that, at some point, you completely lost any chance of controlling your own fate.

"A game," Nayeon says, with a sly smile. "Let’s play a game. What do you say?"

"What kind of game?" you ask, already regretting letting curiosity win over survival instinct.

"Oh, don’t worry, nothing too crazy," she replies, shrugging as if the suggestion were perfectly innocent. "Something fun, to relax, since the project clearly isn’t going anywhere today."

She steps closer to you, with that conspiratorial air of someone about to suggest something really dangerous.

"What do you think?" she whispers, lowering her voice. "You up for playing with me?"

"Err... depends on the game, right?" you reply, trying to sound laid-back.

Her eyes gleam behind her glasses, and the smile on her lips is pure provocation.

"Let’s see… How about something simple?" she suggests, her eyes never leaving yours. "Questions and answers. To test what you've been learning in the course."

"Just that?" you ask, half skeptical, half curious.

She speaks with a lightness that contrasts the intensity of her proposal:

"Of course not. For every question you get right, I’ll take off a piece of clothing."

You blink. Blink again. And then a third time, just to make sure you heard correctly.

"What?" you blurt out, a laugh escaping before you can control it. "You’re kidding, right?"

Nayeon crosses her arms, that crafty smile still on her face. Apparently, she’s not kidding.

"I’m dead serious. And if you manage to make me take off everything, I’ll give you a prize."

"A prize?" You try to keep your composure, but all you can think about is that maybe studying Calculus isn’t so bad after all. "What kind of prize?"

Nayeon doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she lifts her skirt just enough to reveal a glimpse of her panties — white, of course, because even in this, she has to be precise and teasing.

You swallow hard, your eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Suddenly, the temperature in the room rises by five degrees, and it has nothing to do with global warming.

"Hm... okay, let’s go," you respond, trying to sound casual, but in reality, your mind is a complete mess. Who knew the class nerd had this side to her?

"Great." Nayeon giggles before adjusting her glasses and kicking off her shoes to, let’s say, get more comfortable. "First question: What’s the basic principle of algebraic function modeling applied to industrial process optimization?"

You stare at her. Of course, it wasn’t going to be an easy game. Your brain tries, with herculean effort, to remember what the hell that means.

"Hm… I think… it’s using equations to simplify a complex process?" you guess.

She smiles.

"Well, close enough. You got the general concept," she says.

She starts with the most innocent pieces, of course. The cardigan that you barely noticed she was wearing, because let’s be honest, your focus was more on the project — or on how not to do it... Well, at least that’s what you thought. Now, the focus has definitely changed. Every button that opens feels like a small personal victory. And before you know it, the cardigan is on the floor. She looks at you with a sly smile.

"Shall we continue?"

"Damn right, I’m enjoying this!"

"How do you define an improper integral?"

You blink. Of course, she’d come up with one of those questions you never knew the answer to.

"An… improbable integral?"

She laughs, a clear, almost musical sound that fills the room. If Nayeon were the type of person who enjoyed academically torturing others, she was definitely on the right track.

"I’ll give you a hint," she leans forward, just enough for you to see part of the top underneath her perfectly white blouse. "It has something to do with limits."

Limits. Of course. Yours are being tested in a different way. You vaguely remember the professor mentioning something about this, between naps.

"Oh, right! It’s when the interval goes to infinity, right?" you venture, your heart already beating faster.

"Correct!" She claps her hands, feigning innocent excitement that definitely doesn’t match the way her hands move toward the buttons of her blouse. One button, two, three... and soon, Nayeon’s blouse is off, revealing a black camisole, tight enough to show that she had planned all of this meticulously.

You exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Now, you’re invested in the game.

"Next question: What are the three most common methods to solve a system of linear equations?"

Linear equations? Of course, you slept through that class. But then… things start to click.

"Elimination, substitution, and… matrices."

"You’re getting the hang of it, huh?" she says, her voice almost a purr.

Without hesitation, she leans back a little and, with a slow, sensual gesture, removes the black camisole, now revealing a delicate white bra, almost the same shade as her skin.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, but somehow, you’re starting to enjoy the game, and oddly enough, math too. Well, this is definitely a more rewarding way to learn something you don’t like.

"Now an easier one," she teases, as if giving you a break. "How do you calculate the area under a curve?"

You swallow hard, not because of the question, but because Nayeon is crossing her arms in a way that’s far from casual, emphasizing even more what’s... well, on display.

"Definite integrals," you answer quickly, perhaps with more enthusiasm than necessary.

She gives a small round of applause, but this time doesn’t make any immediate move to take off anything else.

"Very good! But... are you sure you want to continue?" she asks, tilting her head, as her fingers rest on the zipper of her skirt.

You’re not sure if you want to continue the game or skip straight to the “prize,” but whatever it is, you need this girl naked. But for that you need to concentrate, but how would you do it? It's certainly not easy. Not when she runs her fingers, provocatively slow, to the zipper of her skirt.

“Alright, just one more, then,” she says, with a false lightness that only adds to the tension in the air, “a simpler one, I promise. If you get it right, I’ll take off one more piece. If you get it wrong… the game’s over.”

Your mind is racing, a mix of nerves and pure curiosity. After all, how did you end up here, being quizzed by Nayeon, The Nerd™? And now, The Nerd™ was about to strip.

Weird world.

“Okay… ask the question,” you say, trying to seem calm. Just trying.

Nayeon raises an eyebrow, still toying with the zipper of her skirt, but not pulling it down at all, just… waiting. “What’s Stokes' theorem?” she asks.

You almost laugh. Not really, more like a nervous chuckle that escapes before you realize… crap, you actually don’t remember.

“Erm…” you begin, desperately searching for some vague memory of a class you definitely slept through.

Nayeon doesn’t miss the look of panic on your face.

“Ah, struggling?” she asks, her voice sweetly sadistic. “How about a hint?” She leans in, the skirt still untouched, but in a deliberate move, she adjusts her bra, already more revealing than it should be, giving you a clear view of her generous cleavage.

You clear your throat, dying a little inside but trying to maintain your composure.

“Uh, it has to do with surface integrals, right? Something about flows… and vectors…”

“Exactly! Flows and vectors,” she repeats, satisfied. And then, in an almost innocent gesture, as if she were merely taking off an uncomfortable shoe after a long day, she pulls the zipper of the skirt, which slides down her legs, hitting the floor like it didn’t even matter, revealing her bare legs and white panties. Her thighs are even more perfect than you imagined—toned, lightly defined. Your throat dries up as if you’ve just run a marathon, but the only thing racing is your heart.

Honestly, you’re never really prepared for every time she gets more and more exposed. She places a hand on her hip, looking at you with that expression that makes you wonder how you never realized this before—that yes, Nayeon, the “nerd” of the class, was a girl far more complex than any Stokes theorem.

“So, what now? Want to continue or… are you satisfied?” She pouts adorably, challenging you, and you know, at that moment, that she wants you to keep going. After all, she’s having way too much fun.

You take a deep breath, determined, even though your mind is light-years away from any coherent thought.

“Sure. Next question. I’m going to win my prize.”

“What a determined guy,” Nayeon chuckles softly, with that teasing air, as if you were on a quiz show and not in some sort of erotically torturous strip game for the brave. “Alright then… explain the principle of superposition.”

She knew you had no idea. You knew that she knew. But what did it matter? What mattered was that your eyes were glued to every movement she made. She tilted her head, playing with the strap of her bra.

You think for a moment. Superposition… electric fields… sure, you got this.

“It’s when, hmm…” your voice cracks, but you force yourself to sound confident. “It’s when the sum of the effects of multiple causes is equal to the sum of the individual causes. Each field acts like the others aren’t even there.”

She leans in, subtly, fiddling with the strap of her bra, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Exactly,” she says, letting the strap fall with a slow motion from one shoulder. And then, from the other. “Congratulations.”

The bra falls to the floor.

You try, honestly try, to keep your focus on what’s happening, but there’s a problem. Actually, two, and both of them are right in front of you, fully exposed. No matter how much your mind insists that you need to concentrate on the game… you simply can’t.

“J-just one more question, right?” You stammer, desperately trying to focus on your shoes, the wall, anything but… well, Nayeon, and the fact that she was now practically naked.

She leans forward slightly, arms “casually” crossed, and you’re convinced she did this just to make sure your brain imploded. One of her breasts lightly brushes against her arm, and your mind screams something between HELP and THANK YOU.

"Exactly,” she says, and there’s a hint of malice in her voice, that tone that indicates she knows by now you’re one step away from a complete meltdown. “One last question. If you get it right… you win your prize. If you get it wrong… you’ll do the entire project alone.”

Your head throbs, struggling to focus on anything besides her smooth skin and the hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

“Alone?” you repeat, dumbfounded. A simple word, but you can barely get it out.

She bites her lip, enjoying herself. And then, in the most seductive voice possible, she drops the bomb:

“Of course… if you mess up now in the final minutes, you’ll have to do it all on your own. But if you get it right, you’ll see what’s under this,” she pulls at the side of her white panties slightly, just enough to let your imagination spin. “And who knows what else…” Her voice is a caress wrapped in pure temptation.

Yeah, it’s worth the risk.

Focus, you tell yourself, as if that’s remotely possible. Here you are, in a state of complete mental confusion, and Nayeon is there, almost naked, suggesting there’s just one question left before… well, paradise. And hell, too, because clearly, you wouldn’t survive doing this fucked-up project alone.

“Alright, let’s go,” you force the words out. “What’s the last question?”

Nayeon smiles in a way that says, I got you. And of course, she did. She leans in again, this time closer, her panties still firmly in place, but for how long?

“Ready for this?” she murmurs, with the tone of a final temptation. “What law of electromagnetism describes the relationship between the circulation of a magnetic field along a closed path and the electric current passing through the surface enclosed by that path?”

You freeze. Your mind is almost there, trying to grab the answer from some corner not focused on the fact that Nayeon is practically naked in front of you.

“Uh…” you begin, Nayeon sways her hips as she waits. “It’s… it’s…” you struggle. Nothing. Your mind is completely blank, a screen of static.

Nayeon sighs, as if she’s genuinely disappointed. Of course she’s not. She’s having way too much fun for that.

“Need a hint?” she offers, with a smile as sweet as it is devastating.

You nod desperately. Anything, for God’s sake, anything to help!

She whispers softly, “This law introduced the concept of ‘displacement current.’”

You blink, and then, as if by some miracle, the answer comes to you. But before you can speak it aloud, Nayeon leans in again and your traitorous eyes glance at her exposed breasts.

You almost forget the answer entirely, but a slip or whatever that was makes you say, “Ampère-Maxwell’s Law,” your voice trembling, unsure if physics is about to save you or be the last nail in the coffin of your sanity.

Nayeon looks you up and down.

She approved.

Slowly, as if savoring the moment, in a exaggeratedly calculated movement, she pulls her panties down, revealing everything.

Her curves are so smooth they seem hand-carved by some Renaissance artist with a thing for naughty nerd girls. Her entire body is a work of art, every inch of her pure perfection, and as she moves closer, you feel like you’re about to lose control for good.

Nayeon sits beside you, her legs slightly apart so you can see her tight little pussy. She looks you up and down, the same look that used to seem like someone fully focused on her studies, now carrying much more obvious intentions.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks, her voice low and seductive.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem as out of control as you really are.

"Yeah... Very much..." you respond, your voice rougher than usual, and before you know it, Nayeon is leaning in closer, her body heat practically radiating onto you.

"What are you waiting for, then?" she whispers, her lips just inches from yours. The suggestion lingers in the air, and your body seems to move on its own. Your hand rises, hesitant, until it reaches her breasts, your fingers feeling the smoothness of her skin and the firmness that makes you forget about any equation or college project. You squeeze lightly, and Nayeon lets out a soft sigh that drives you even crazier.

She leans in more, her lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. When she pulls away, her eyes are gleaming.

"I’ve always liked you, you know?" she confesses, lightly biting her lower lip as her hand slides down your chest. "I've always thought you were really hot… and smart, too. You just needed a little help focusing on what matters. You’ve got potential, you just need to get rid of the distractions."

You chuckle nervously, still trying to process what’s happening.

"I never imagined you were like this… You always seemed so… well-behaved." The words come out with difficulty, your mind still reeling between what you thought you knew about Nayeon and what you're discovering now.

She laughs softly, amused, her eyes half-closed as she replies.

"You can’t judge a book by its cover," she says, her voice almost a whispered secret, as if she’s letting you in on something few people are privileged to know.

She then pulls your hand to her waist, and you squeeze, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body under your fingers. Nayeon’s body fits against yours in a way that feels almost orchestrated. Her hands, agile and confident, slide down to your thigh, in a way that makes your breathing quicken even more.

And then you feel her touch on your groin. It’s a slow tease, and she looks into your eyes with a smile that’s almost victorious.

"Do you want me to suck you off?" she asks, her voice thick with desire.

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think of a coherent response, but you nod, without hesitation.

"I do." The word escapes your lips, more of a groan than a response.

Nayeon smiles, that wicked smile you would never have associated with the girl who sat in the front row of the class.

"I’ve been dying to," she murmurs, the heat between you two rising with each second, promising much more than just an intellectual debate.

Nayeon kneels between your legs and prepares to take off her glasses. At that moment, it seems like the last facade of the “well-behaved nerd” is about to fall along with them. But you, in a sudden impulse of something even Freud would hesitate to analyze, reach out and say, almost automatically, “No, leave the glasses on. I like you like that.”

She stops, her fingers still hovering over the frames, and smiles in a way only someone about to change your fate could.

"Really?" She tilts her head, clearly liking the idea. Not just liking it—loving it. The kind of smile she gives you is one of someone who’s just gained a new strategic advantage in the game.

"Can you… do it… with the glasses on?" you ask, and honestly, now that the words are in the air, the question seems less weird than it should.

"Of course. If that’s what you want," Nayeon replies, the smile gaining an edge of provocation that makes you wonder if she hadn’t planned this all along.

She reaches for your pants and pulls them down along with your underwear. Nayeon touches your cock, and the sensation makes you realize how small her hands are. With incredibly soft fingers, she grips it firmly, as if evaluating something rare, a treasure she’s just found. Her eyes, still behind the lenses, look up at you.

"Wow..." she murmurs, impressed. "It’s so… big and thick.”

If you had any chance of keeping your composure, it vanished with that sentence.

"Your hand… is so soft," you manage to say, your brain desperately trying to keep up with what’s happening.

Nayeon smiles.

"Oh, if you liked that, just wait until I put it in my mouth."

And that’s exactly what she does. Nayeon spits into her palm, the quick, indecent sound echoing in the room, and starts stroking you, her touch now sliding with the ease of something well-lubricated, almost clinical—if it weren’t absolutely pornographic.

And then, with little warning, she swallows.

Just like that. As if she’d been trained at some secret school of forbidden pleasure, her mouth wraps around your cock, warm, wet, and with a desire bordering on voracious. She looks up at you from below, her glasses still firmly in place.

You writhe in pleasure. Nothing else matters. Not the project, not life’s worries. Just Nayeon, and the way she sucks, kisses, and takes you deep, with a dedication that would make anyone believe she’s indeed “studying” something.

"I’m going to use my breasts now," she says, stopping briefly, her voice slightly hoarse, as she adjusts her breasts, squeezing them around your cock.

Ah, Nayeon’s breasts. Warm, soft, and incredibly seductive, they create the perfect “pillow” as she starts giving you a titjob. And the glasses? Still there, perfectly framing her face, turning this whole thing into an improbable, yet wonderful fantasy.

The sensation of her breasts pressing against your cock is a next-level delight. Nayeon, with a mischievous look and a voice barely above a whisper, asks, "Are you enjoying this, babe?"

You can only groan in response, the sensation so intense that words refuse to form properly. Her breasts move up and down, creating a warm, sweaty pressure that’s almost indescribable. She adjusts the rhythm.

"This is..." you manage to say, your voice hoarse and breaking. "Fuck, this is amazing."

The pleasure builds, a rising heat that seems to have a life of its own as Nayeon keeps working her magic. Her breasts, pressing and rubbing with delicious intensity, create waves of pleasure that only get stronger.

As the rhythm quickens, Nayeon gives a satisfied smile. Her breasts continue to move up and down, the sensation around your cock hot and wet, and you feel the pressure and heat mounting.

You start to squirm, the sensations growing more and more intense. The pleasure is so overwhelming it feels like your body is on the verge of exploding. Nayeon adjusts the pressure and pace, making every touch and movement you feel even more intense.

“Am I making you feel good?” Nayeon asks.

You can only nod, the feeling of being on the brink of climax almost overwhelming. Your moans become more frequent, and you can feel yourself nearing the point of no return... something Nayeon hadn’t anticipated.

Then, just as the pleasure reaches an almost unbearable level, you cum. The first spurt surprises her, landing on her face. She stays there, wide-eyed and gasping, her glasses now smeared with your semen. She accepts what happened and keeps stroking you, and the second, weaker spurt drips down onto her breasts, slowly trickling. She finishes the job by rubbing your cock on her chest, spreading your cum all over her breasts until they’re thoroughly messy. When she stops, you exhale, feeling like you’re in paradise.

“Fuck… that was so damn good, Nayeon…”

She stays still for a moment, her expression a mix of surprise and indignation. The intensity of your orgasm seems to have caught her so off guard that even she needs a moment to process it.

“Why did you cum?!” Nayeon asks, removing her glasses, her voice filled with a mix of irritation and unfulfilled desire. “You haven’t even fucked me yet!”

Breathless and slightly embarrassed, you try to defuse the situation.

“Well, take it as a compliment,” you say, a sheepish smile forming on your face. “You’re just too hot for me to handle.”

Luckily for you, this makes Nayeon smile, the irritation melting into a flush. She relaxes, though still with a teasing edge.

“Tsk. But next time, don’t cum on my glasses,” she says, her voice softer now. “But if it felt good for you, I guess I can forgive it. Just know that I’ll make sure you get hard for me again,” she says with an authority that makes her even more irresistible.

Nayeon moves closer, slowly, like a predator about to capture its prey, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of challenge and mischief. You feel the air shift as she approaches, as though the entire room is holding its breath for what’s about to happen.

“Take off your clothes,” she commands, her voice low but filled with an authority that makes you obey without hesitation.

In an instant, you’re naked, sitting on the bed, vulnerable, your heart pounding faster. Nayeon watches you, a smile spreading across her lips, like she’s admiring a masterpiece she’s about to perfect. She sits beside you with a calculated calm, and before you know it, her lips are on yours—soft at first, then more intense, as if she’s learning every inch of your mouth.

Between kisses, her hand starts exploring your body, moving slowly, until it reaches exactly where you want it most. Her fingers wrap around your cock, and the touch is... electrifying. It’s not just any touch; it’s the kind that knows exactly what it’s doing. She strokes you lightly, almost teasingly, while her lips pull away just enough for her to whisper in your ear:

“Remember that time in class when the professor asked me to help you with an assignment?” She pauses, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you to fuck me until I came.”

The effect of her words is immediate. Your entire body reacts before your mind can even catch up. Your cock pulses hard in her hand, almost as if it’s following an unspoken command. She feels it and giggles softly, a sound just as provocative as every move of her fingers.

“Look at you…” she says, her voice full of amusement and a hint of mockery. “You’re getting hard for me again, aren’t you? What a naughty boy.”

Your heart races, and you can hardly respond. All you can do is gaze at her while your desire skyrockets. Her hand moves slowly and deliberately, teasing every part of you, while her eyes stay locked on yours, as if savoring every second.

“How badly do you want to fuck me?” Nayeon asks, her voice soft but filled with a promise you know she’ll fulfill.

“So much,” you reply, almost breathless, anticipation taking over every inch of your being.

She smirks—that dangerous smile that says, "Exactly what I wanted to hear." Her lips return to yours, but this time there’s more urgency, a hunger building with every passing moment. Her hand moves with more intention now, and your excitement grows at an unimaginable rate.

“I knew you were like this…” she murmurs between kisses, her lips nearly glued to yours. “Such a horny little thing, always wanting more.”

She tightens her grip slightly, making you squirm, the pleasure coursing through you with every squeeze, every word whispered like a secret shared only with you.

“You like this, don’t you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her eyes glint as her hand continues its strategic work. “You like me teasing you.”

“Yes,” you manage to say, your voice shaky with desire.

Nayeon pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her smile blending amusement with seduction.

“Good, because I love teasing you…” she says, then leans down, as if she’s about to do something even more daring. Her lips brush against your neck, lightly biting as her hand slides lower, teasing and gripping, leaving you on the edge of collapse.

“Think you can handle another round?” she asks, her voice now full of challenge.

“There’s only one way to find out,” you respond, trying to keep your composure but knowing you’re completely at her mercy.

“Let’s see then,” she whispers against your skin, and before you know it, she’s moving down, her lips traveling across your body, and you lean back onto the bed. She leaves a trail of kisses and bites along your chest and stomach, making her way lower.

She looks up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and with one final mischievous smile, she leans back up just enough to brush her lips against yours without fully kissing.

“Are you ready to fuck me now?” she asks.

And without a doubt, you are.

Nayeon lies back on the bed, slowly pulling you on top of her until you feel the warmth of her body against yours. The way she molds perfectly beneath you feels like she was made for this. Your hands trace the contours of her breasts, fingers pressing gently against her skin as you slide into her slowly, savoring every second. Your lips meet hers in a slow, intense kiss, tongues moving in sync with the rhythm of your hips—thrusting in and out, deepening with each stroke.

She moans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through your whole body, making you speed up a little while still keeping control. Nayeon breaks the kiss, throwing her head back, eyes closed, and you take the chance to kiss her neck, tasting the salty sheen of sweat. "You like this, don't you?" you whisper in her ear, your voice low and husky as you keep thrusting, feeling how tightly she clenches around you.

"Fuck… yes," she breathes out, her nails now digging into your back, scratching you with a mix of pain and pleasure. "Fuck me harder."

You obey without thinking, picking up the pace, each thrust deeper and more deliberate. Her moans grow louder, almost turning into screams, and it only drives you to go harder. You kiss her again, this time with more urgency, sucking her lower lip between yours as your hips move in a nearly frantic rhythm. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixed with her broken moans and your own heavy breathing.

"You're so fucking hot," you say between kisses, softly biting along her jawline as you lose yourself in the sensation. "So tight… fuck, Nayeon."

She opens her eyes, looking at you with a mix of challenge and pleasure, her face flushed and sweaty. "Come on, fuck me harder… don’t stop," she pleads, pulling you down for another kiss, this one desperate, as if she needs every touch of yours to survive. You oblige, thrusting harder, while her moans turn into muffled cries as your mouths stay connected.

But then, you decide to switch positions. Science, after all, is about experimentation. You position her at the edge of the bed, Nayeon's legs lifted and spread wide, her pussy on full display—pink and pulsing, inviting. The sight makes you lose control for a moment as you grab her thighs, pulling her closer to you. With one hand, you line up your cock, the tip already slick with excitement, before sliding it inside, feeling the warmth wrap around you completely. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with both your moans.

Nayeon looks up at you, a wild gleam in her eyes, completely different from the girl everyone thinks they know. "You're such a filthy pervert," she growls through gritted teeth, her voice low and dripping with lust. "Fucking your study partner like this, so dirty… Do you see what you've done to me? The little nerd everyone thinks is so innocent, and look where I am now, all spread out for you…"

The sound of her voice, the moans slipping out as you fuck her harder and deeper, only makes you lose more control. "Innocent?" you mutter, your breathing ragged. "You pretend to be the good little student, but with me, you love being a slut, don’t you?"

She lets out a wicked laugh, cut off by a louder moan as you thrust even deeper. "I fucking love it. I love how you make me forget everything… I love being your little slut. I’m all yours, and you can do whatever you want to me."

Your movements grow faster, each thrust pulling louder moans from her. You grip her thighs tight, pulling her into you with each thrust, your eyes fixed on the sight of your cock sliding in and out, completely soaked. "Look at you," you growl, your voice dripping with taunt. "So depraved… No one would guess that the nerdy girl from class is here, begging to be fucked like a whore."

Nayeon lets out a long, drawn-out moan, almost a scream, her body arching beneath you, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. "Yes! Fuck me harder, fuck! I want you to know this is what I love… I love being the little nerd only you can fuck like this. Faster, harder!"

You don't hesitate, your hips slamming against hers in a frenzied pace, the heat and pressure of every thrust consuming you both. Her legs tremble, and you keep pounding with force and precision. "Admit it, Nayeon," you say through gritted teeth, picking up the pace. "You love being my little slut…"

She opens her eyes, staring at you with an almost possessive intensity. "Fuck, yes! I’m your slut. Fuck me more, fuck my pussy like I’m only yours…" You lower yourself onto her, kissing her hard, pouring every bit of your heat into her through the kiss as you keep thrusting, and between desperate, erratic kisses, she gasps, "Take me from behind now. I want you deep inside me, you filthy pervert!”

You pull away from her, and Nayeon promptly positions herself on your messy bed, arching her back, ready. Your approach is almost reverent. You position yourself behind her as you lower your head slowly, your eyes tracing the sight she offers—her wet pussy, swollen with excitement, and just above, her tight little ass, teasing you. She’s so exposed, so vulnerable, yet there’s a confidence in her, like she’s fully aware of what’s coming. And that’s exactly what turns her on.

Before making a move, you let your warm breath brush against her skin, sending shivers through her body. Nayeon lets out a shaky sigh, and her back arches even more. “Don’t make me wait…” she murmurs, a mix of urgency and need in her voice.

With a sly grin, you lower your mouth, and your tongue finally touches the slick entrance of her pussy. The taste is addictive, just as you suspected. You start with soft, long licks, gliding along the length of her lips, savoring every drop of her juices. Nayeon responds immediately, letting out quiet moans, her breathing already quickening.

“You… know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” she asks, her voice broken by little gasps.

You chuckle lightly between licks but don’t answer. Your hands firmly grip Nayeon’s ass, keeping her in place as your tongue slides deeper, exploring her sensitive folds. Each time you graze the entrance of her pussy, it clenches, almost begging to be filled, but you refuse to give her everything at once. Instead, you decide to tease her even more.

Sliding your tongue upward, you slowly trace circles around her tight little asshole, making it wet with your saliva. The reaction is instant—Nayeon’s body trembles, and her moans intensify. “Oh my God… keep going… please…” she whispers, her voice a desperate plea.

You alternate between quick, gentle licks, sometimes focusing on her swollen, slick pussy, other times on her sensitive ass, driving her to the brink of losing control. Your tongue dances between the two spots, teasing and pleasing her at the same time. With every new touch, Nayeon’s moans grow louder, more urgent.

“You… you like this, don’t you, you pervert?” she asks with a muffled voice, her hands gripping the bed sheets tightly.

“I love how you taste,” you murmur against her skin.

She lets out a breathy laugh, somewhere between pleasure and disbelief. “Of course you do, I’m… delicious.” And you can’t help but agree. Your tongue continues to explore, licking deep into her pussy and then sliding up to her ass, enjoying the way her body reacts to every touch. Your fingers dig into her ass cheeks harder, leaving red marks on her pale skin.

Nayeon’s moans mix with uncontrollable whispers, each word escaping between ragged breaths. “Please… you’re killing me,” she begs, her voice thick with pleasure, her eyes half-closed in pure lust. “Fuck me… just fuck me already!”

Her plea is desperate, loaded with an almost imperious urgency, and you, with a mischievous smile, position yourself behind her, watching as she pushes her ass higher, her slick pussy begging for more. “You sure you can take it?” you tease, your hands already gripping her hips, but before she can even respond, you pull her back, aligning yourself with precision, the head of your cock brushing against her lips.

“Just do it, fuck,” Nayeon shouts, her tone commanding but dripping with so much desire that you can’t resist. In one swift motion, you thrust into her, and the wet heat of her pussy envelops you completely. Pleasure shoots through you like an electric current, and she arches her back, pushing against you, as if begging you to go deeper, faster.

You start slowly, savoring each thrust, each inch sliding in and out of her, but soon the pace picks up, driven by the uncontrollable moans pouring out of Nayeon. “Faster… harder,” she moans, her voice faltering with each deeper thrust, and you don’t hesitate. Your hands sink into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her steady as you speed up, the thrusts becoming more intense, more brutal.

“Look at you, so prim and proper in class, but here…” you say between thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Here you’re just my little slut. The nerd who loves being fucked like a whore.”

Nayeon moans loudly, her voice breaking into wicked laughter. “Is that what you want, huh? To know the nerd loves being fucked like this, like a depraved little slut… Make me scream, fuck!”

With each slap to her ass, she moans louder, her pale skin turning red with every hit. “Hit me harder,” she begs, her eyes gleaming with pleasure, her voice a mix of desperation and ecstasy. And you oblige, slapping her harder, leaving red marks as you bury yourself deeper inside her.

“You’re an unbelievable slut,” you growl, picking up the pace, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate moans from her. “You pretend to be so good, but look at you now… begging for more.”

“I’m your slut,” she screams, pushing her ass back against you even harder. “Do whatever you want with me… I love being fucked like this, fuck! Make me yours, make me cum.”

You keep going, your thrusts becoming frenzied, your hips moving with an uncontrollable speed and intensity. “Fuck, look at you,” you taunt, feeling your own pleasure building. “You love being treated like this, like a desperate little whore. Scream for me, Nayeon.”

“Yes, yes!” she screams, her voice thick with pleasure, almost hoarse. “Fuck me until I can’t take it anymore, babe!”

Her body trembling as her climax approaches. Suddenly, she arches her back, pushing her ass harder against you, and her voice cracks as she screams, “I’m... going... to cum!”

Her pussy clenches tightly around your cock, pulsing and shaking as she’s overtaken by the orgasm, her whole body shuddering in ecstasy while your relentless thrusts continue. But you don't stop. Her pleasure only drives you further, each thrust pulling everything out of her, Nayeon’s body writhing, each scream feeding your own growing desire.

“Yeah… Fuck me, make me yours,” she keeps begging, even in the middle of her own climax, completely surrendered to the sensation.

You can feel your own orgasm building, heat rising fast, pressure mounting. “I’m going to cum,” you warn, your voice rough and broken, unable to stop as the final thrusts send you both over the edge.

The feeling of her pulsating pussy around your cock pushes you to the brink, and with one last frustrated groan, you pull out. Nayeon gasps for a moment, recovering from her orgasm as she kneels down on the floor, almost like she already knows what to do – and, honestly, she does. Her eyes lock on you, her face slightly flushed, and her mouth already open, waiting eagerly like the diligent student she is.

You grip your cock with one hand, still throbbing, and bring it to her lips. With her mouth wide, Nayeon wraps her lips around you once more, sucking softly with a gentleness that almost belies the fevered desire etched across her face. You pull out of her mouth, stroking yourself quickly, feeling the pressure mounting further.

Nayeon waits, obedient, with her tongue stretched out, her eyes hungry and fixed on you, knowing exactly the effect that has on you. When the moment hits, the first spurt of cum lands on her warm tongue, and Nayeon doesn’t even blink. She takes it all in with pleasure, as you empty yourself into her mouth, your body shuddering, nearly out of control.

She keeps her mouth open the entire time, her tongue coated in your cum, and when you finally finish, she closes her lips, licking them as the taste spreads. With perfect manners, she shows you her full mouth, eyes full of playful mischief, and then, without breaking eye contact, she swallows it all in one gulp, her throat moving slowly.

“See?” she says with a satisfied smile, as if she’d just passed a test with flying colors. “I swallowed it all without spilling a drop.”

But, of course, Nayeon, ever the overachiever, wasn’t finished. Before you can catch your breath, she leans in again, taking your sensitive cock into her mouth, sucking with an intensity that makes you moan involuntarily. The jolt of pleasure is so sharp that you try to pull away, your body trembling, but she holds you firmly, her mouth working at a pace that borders on cruel.

“Fuck!... I can’t take any more!” you try to protest, your voice breaking, but Nayeon just hums in response, pulling you out only long enough to say, “Not yet,” before closing her lips around you again, sucking you until, finally, she decides she’s satisfied.

When she releases you, you’re left gasping, almost paralyzed from the intensity of it all. Nayeon smiles sweetly, victorious, wiping the corner of her mouth with her fingers before saying with calm satisfaction, “Mmm, Now that was delicious.”

—

As you desperately gulp water from your bottle, the silence that follows your impromptu "study session" lingers heavily in the air, a strange return to reality. Nayeon had stood up, her hair still slightly messy and a small smile playing on her lips, before heading to the bathroom. She walked with the confidence of someone who had just solved a particularly tricky math problem.

And now you're here, staring at the bathroom door, listening to the sound of water as she washes her face and cleans her glasses, removing any trace of... well, *you*. Then, because life loves to remind you that nothing is ever simple, your mind starts to wander. What, exactly, just happened? Oh, right. You were working on a project. A project that, incidentally, hasn’t moved an inch forward.

Nayeon steps out of the bathroom, picking up the discarded clothes from the floor, dressing herself piece by piece, taking her time, like you were a couple with decades of shared intimacy. She finishes by adjusting her glasses, almost like she’s putting a crown back on after a victorious battle. She sits back down in her chair, opens the laptop as if nothing had happened, and lets out a satisfied but determined sigh.

“Alright,” she says, as if she hadn’t just left you weak-kneed. “Let’s get back to the project.”

You stare at her, incredulous. As if it were possible to get back to the project after that.

And then you realize you’re still naked. You quickly slip on your boxers and pants.

“To be honest, I don’t think I can focus on my part right now,” you admit, your voice still a bit hoarse.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” She smiles that smile—a mix of mischief and... surprisingly efficient academic prowess. “As long as you keep fucking me, of course. I have to be rewarded somehow.”

You’re speechless for a moment, because, well... you don’t exactly have a counterargument. In fact, it seems like the best deal you’ve ever made in your life.

“Deal,” you say, trying to sound cool, as if you weren’t absolutely thrilled by the arrangement.

Inside, though, you’re jumping for joy.

She adjusts her glasses, watching you for a moment, and you notice that glint in her eyes—a mix of ego, intelligence, and... something else that makes your heart race. Or maybe it’s just the recent sex.

Hard to say.

“But,” she cuts through your thoughts with a serious tone, “no one can know about this. We have to meet in secret. No telling anyone.”

“I swear I won’t tell.”

You wonder how you ended up in this situation, but the answer seems obvious. Who in their right mind would turn down a request like that?

She smiles, satisfied, and turns her attention back to the laptop, as if everything were perfectly resolved.

“Besides,” Nayeon adds, without looking up, “if you need help with any other subject, you can count on me. After all, I think we work well together, don’t we?”

You just nod, but there’s something about her—something between the proud nerd and the bold confidence—that drives you wild. Wild with desire, of course, but also something deeper. And as you watch her, so focused, adjusting her glasses like she’s planning the next phase of a secret mission, you realize that you’re falling for the class nerd.

Yes, she’s hot. Yes, she has a way of disarming you at every turn.

But it’s more than that. It’s as if every time she looks at you with that “know-it-all” air or talks about a complicated academic concept, your mind equates it with something incredibly sexy. And suddenly, your love life has turned into an equation you can’t—and don’t want to—solve.

And, of course, the fact that she’s amazing in bed doesn’t hurt, either.

“Should we meet tomorrow?” you ask casually.

Nayeon doesn’t even look up, just gives a small “mm-hmm” of confirmation, her fingers still typing away.

“Your place again. Same time. Clean up your room... And answer the door in your boxers.”

She glances at you slightly, smiling, and you know exactly what that smile means. And, well, you’re not in any position to complain. In fact, if studying had always been like this, maybe you'd have been the best student in class.

—

As you walk Nayeon to the door, you can’t help but think that maybe you’ve uncovered the true secret to academic success. And who would have thought it was a sexy nerd with glasses who secretly turned out to be a naughty girl who liked sneaking off for sex?

As she leaves, you can’t help but smile when your eyes meet one last time. Not just because of the deal you’ve just made, but because, for the first time in a long while, you’re genuinely excited to "study" with someone. Suddenly, the academic world seems a lot more interesting.

You close the door, but something lingers in the air. Maybe it’s the smell of your sweat—you still haven’t showered, after all. Maybe it’s the trace of Nayeon’s perfume. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of one of the most unexpectedly erotic adventures of your life.

-----------

A/n: Please forgive any typos or grammatical errors, English is not my first language. Thanks for reading.

[petalruesimblr]

SimCare Medical Clinic

Sim File Share (currently slow due to traffic/site errors. I will keep trying to upload so check my Downloads page for updates.) Dropbox

Our SimCare team is dedicated to nurturing your health through proactive care and patient-centered treatment - whether you're seeking routine check-ups or specialized care. We’re here to support your journey toward a healthier life and ensure that you receive the best support for your health, every step of the way.

Price: 184, 065 Lot Size: 30x20 Lot Type: No Visitors Allowed Store Content: Click here CC Used: Click here File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Pets (buydebug object), LN (elevator, floor, wallpaper), Ambitions, Generations, Seasons Simlish Clinic Signs (Add-on CC): Price: 1500 Environment: 7 HLOD: 122‬ Features: Shiftable, Frame is CASTable Category: Buy > Decor > Wall Decor Room: Living, Dining, Bedroom, Study EA Mesh Used: Painting Ranch 2x1 from The Sims 3 File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Late Night

Hello and welcome back to my blog!

It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Life got in the way and honestly, I’ve been taking my sweet time with this new build. It also didn’t help that the Sim File Share site kept giving me errors whenever I tried to upload it and I was supposed to post this last month.

Even now, I’m still dealing with errors on the site and after some frustration, I’ve decided to look into alternative sites for uploading content in the future. But after all the setbacks, it’s finally ready!

Thanks for sticking around and I really appreciate all the likes/reblogs, you all are the best! 💜

Click on the ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures on this lot.

📣 Right-click on a picture and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view.

This clinic is designed to give a real-life feeling of visiting a healthcare facility. Inside, you’ll find a: reception area, consultation/exam rooms, pharmacy, laboratory, x-ray/radiology, restroom, locker room, staff break room, doctors office and a large empty room for the rabbit hole rug/door. Now, a couple of things to keep in mind - the layout is designed with a small staff in mind but you can use the extra space in the second floor, where the rabbit hole rug/door is placed, if you want to add more offices or any other services. Just make sure that there is enough space for the rabbit hole rug/door to avoid routing issues. I had to get creative with the signs for this build as I couldn’t find anything that felt right or any CCs that matches the layout of the clinic so I made my own directory signs. It is included in the download file and I’ve posted the details along with this post as it is an add-on for the clinic. I’m using a font called Simlish Deja Vu by gazifu@MTS for the signs and I’ve also included translations in the picture above. It’s not perfect but you know what? It does the job! I have also placed a big sign shown on the clinic that translates to 'Pharmacy' and I know it might seem a bit out of place but honestly, it’s the only large sign I liked that fit the building aesthetic I was going for. 📣 Please note that the CC included in the lot are not included on the download file. I’ve compiled a list for those interested in downloading them separately (please click the links above or go to WCIF Navigation page) but those are not required and will be automatically replaced in the game. Any expansion packs with build items listed in the Details section above may be required for this lot to show up in your game. This clinic has been such a fun build to put together and I hope you all enjoy the build. This lot has been play-tested and let me know if you experience any problems on your end!

TSR Tutorial - Create Custom Paintings Sims Wiki - Poly Counts for Creators TSR Workshop Simlish Deja Vu font by gazifu Pixabay

[snzunii]

love wins all | chapter two ( satoru g. )

from childhood summers and petty high school banters, to the endless college lectures—med school and the chaos of residency, you've been through it all. you've built everything together. you're each other's home—everything. but what if your relationship breaks beyond repair? what if the one thing you couldn't save was each other? can your love still win it all?

neurosurgeon!gojo x trauma surgeon!reader

warnings. romance, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, fluff, medical au, established relationships, high school sweethearts, unresolved feelings, unresolved issues, grief, emotional repression, mutual pining, emotional trauma, childhood trauma, explicit sexual content | eighteen plus only!

word count. 5k

masterlist.

note. chapter two because my brain is working this weekend. lol

CHAPTER TWO: FAVORITE CRIME

─── MARCH, 2009 ───

You stared blankly at the papers scattered in front of you because none of it made sense anymore. Between studying geriatrics and pediatrics, you’ve got no space for the one you hated the most: neurology. It’s a wonder how Satoru loved this, well, maybe because he’s been around neurology ever since he was a kid. Both his parents are neurosurgeons, it’s been set in stone that he’s going to love neuro too, isn’t it?

“I’m actually going to fail this.” you say as soon as you hear the front door open, staring at the flashcards in your hands like you’re burning holes in it. “Wanna bet?”

Satoru chuckles, keys clattering on the table as he settles the coffees he bought on the counter. He sits beside you, knees bumping into yours. “You’re not going to fail.”

You pouted, staring at him with those glossy eyes, as if you’ve been stopping yourself from crying. “What if I did?”

“You’re not going to.” he repeats, getting the flashcards from you, he clears his throat. “Here. Motor function is preserved below the neurological level, at least half of the key muscles below have a muscle grade of greater than or equal to three?”

“ASIA Scale D.” you answered, “I know all that.”

Then he shows you a smug but proud grin, discarding the flashcards on the table and putting it face down. “Okay, well then, your patient had a complete lesion above T6, he has profuse sweating and is restless. Complains of pounding headache. His blood pressure is 210/110, what’s your diagnosis?”

You glare at him with the sudden clinical question—heart fluttering with the way he’s looking at you with those damn pretty eyes. He smiles, “Come on, love. You know this.”

You furrow your brows, racking your brain for the answer. “Uhm. Autonomic Dysreflexia?”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

You scowl, slightly glaring at him for being the pretentious ass that he is, but hey, he’s your pretentious ass. He chuckles, raising his eyebrow, waiting for your answer. “It’s Autonomic Dysreflexia.”

“Yes!” he claps suddenly, causing you to jump a bit. My god, where does he get this kind of energy when the two of you have been studying for hours? “What do you do next?”

“Stabilize the blood pressure. Sit the patient in an upright position then loosen their clothing. Uhm…” you paused, “Look for the possible triggers and notify the medical team.”

“And then document everything.” he says, “See? You’re ready. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You got this, love. You always do.”

You smiled—staring at your boyfriend’s face, god, what would you do without him? 

You’ve had a habit of always doubting yourself—putting yourself on a pedestal. You’re always overthinking things and somehow always convinced that you’re falling short. But Satoru’s always been your anchor. When your thoughts overwhelms you, he grounds you. With him—breathing is a much easier task, and everything doesn’t feel like it’s caving in. 

“Something on my face?”

“Yes,” you moved closer and sat on his lap, you anchored your arm around his neck and before he could even speak, you pressed your lips into his. Kissing him slowly—deliberately, like you got all the time in your hands.

You feel him smile before pulling you closer, his hands palming your hips before deepening the kiss. Then you pulled away, “Me, I’m on your face.”

He laughs, tilting his head slightly as he stares at you like he’s got the universe in his arms. 

“You’re distracting me, you know that right?” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear, his thumb swiping your cheek lightly. 

“Hmm, but you love me anyway.” you mumble, leaning your forehead into his. 

He hums, circling his arms around your waist. “Yeah, I really do.”

And just like that all your doubts dissipated into thin air, nothing mattered anymore. It didn’t matter that time moved too fast—it didn’t matter that you’re going to have a probably grueling clinical exam tomorrow—it didn’t matter anymore, because you’re with him.

Because with him, everything slowed down. Everything was easier, comfortable.

“Okay, now.” he says, prying your hair away from your shoulders. “Dermatomes.”

You groan in protest and he just laughs, he kisses your shoulder just above the acromioclavicular joint, “Answer?”

You giggled, the contact making you slightly shiver but you answered anyway. “C4.”

“That’s right.” his kisses went to your neck and down, just above your collarbone—his soft lips sucking on your skin, “Here?”

You hummed, grasping his hair in between your fingers “C3.”

“See, you’re doing good.”

—

Satoru leaned against the wall of the clinical exam hall rooms, hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. Waiting for that one door to open. 

The clinical exam passed by in a blur for everyone, but for him, time moved agonizingly slow like he'd been waiting for hours. Of course, he’d done exceedingly well but he wasn’t thinking about that one bit.

Because all he was thinking about was you. Were you doing okay? Were you overthinking again?

His train of thoughts halted when the door opened—then, came, you—your hair in a slight haze, your kit slung carelessly on your shoulder.

He straightened his posture, trying to read the look on your face but relief washed over him when he saw a big smile etched on your face as soon as you saw him.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” you repeated endlessly, almost hopping into his direction, not hesitating to throw yourself into his arms. “I passed—not just passed, I aced it! Fuck, I didn’t think I’d make it.”

Satoru caught you without any hesitations, spinning you a bit before settling you down, “Of course you did. I told you so.”

“God, I almost blanked but then I remembered all that you said,” you smiled, “And you?”

He smirks, getting your bag from your shoulder, “Do you really have to ask?”

You roll your eyes jokingly—still with a smile on your face, “Right. Silly me, I just had to ask, huh?”

He laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder, “Come on. Suguru and Shoko are waiting for us downstairs.”

─── JULY, 2016 ───

You walked for what feels like an hour just to find your husband. It’s been two months since you were married but it still feels surreal saying that Satoru is your husband. 

And there he was—your husband, sitting on the floor with his knees pressed on his chest, staring blankly at the wall, and your heart clutched at the sight. “Hey, stranger.”

He looked up, a faint smile on his face. You sat beside him, “You okay?”

From the outside, he looked calm, maybe even a little bit bored. That’s how he’s always been. But you know him, you’ve been with him for ten years, you mastered the slight furrow in between his brows—the subtle quiver in his lip, you know it all. 

“Uh-huh.” he answered, “Just… playing by the surgery in my mind.”

“You’re spiraling.” you say softly, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.

He huffed out a breath, almost laughing. “I’m not.”

Well, you couldn’t blame him. If you’re in his position, you’d probably be worse than him right now. It’s his first solo surgery—well, not totally, because there’s an attending watching him, ready to step in. But he’ll be the primary.

Of course, Dr. Satoru Gojo, he’d show promising results just a month into the internship. You couldn’t be more proud but you couldn’t help but worry.

Satoru isn’t the type to show his feelings that well, he’d rather not worry you. Always showing you that he’s the strongest. 

But the strong ones get to falter sometimes, right?

“You are.” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulders, tilting your head a bit to look at him, “Maybe a little. But you got this, you always do.”

He turned to look at you, his cerulean eyes looking straight into yours and suddenly, this moment suspended in time. His heartbeat slowed down, all the storm inside his head died down.

You squeezed his hand, “You’re the best surgeon I know.”

“I love you.” he says, “I know I could do everything because you’re here.”

Before you could answer, the OR door swung open, “Gojo. Scrub in.”

You gave him a smile, patting his back. “I love you. You can do this.”

—

You squeezed yourself in the gallery, sitting beside Shoko and Suguru in the front row. “Really, you brought snacks?”

“Uh-huh.” Ieiri says, munching on the chips, “Want one?”

You just ignored her and looked at your husband below the operating room. There he was—standing tall, confidently. You can see it, this was made for him—and you couldn’t imagine him anywhere else.

Satoru Gojo was meant to be here, saving lives.

You flash him a smile when he looks up, his eyes immediately find you in the sea of interns, residents and attendings. And even though he’s wearing that mask, you know he’s giving you that smile—making your chest ache just a little because of how much love you feel for him.

─── APRIL, 2025 (PRESENT) ───

You open your eyes, your breath heaved as you look up at the glass, and there he was. The beeping of the machines slowly blurred into the background, the lights were suddenly not too bright. Somehow, everything felt a little bit easier. He’d always been like that—even though you’ve caused him pain, he still made things easier for you.

You could feel the tremble in your hands, the way your heart sits heavy on your chest.

You’re still looking at him, as if asking him to save you from this—in a way, he kind of did, by giving you that same smile nine years ago. That same smile saying that he’s there, that he’s always going to be. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked down and laid your hand out, “Scalpel.”

—

“Satoru! Where are you—” Suguru didn’t have the chance to finish what he was saying when Satoru bumped into his shoulder, but he didn’t care.

Nothing mattered except you.

He didn’t care who was looking—who was watching, when he slammed his fist into your father’s—Chief of Surgery’s—face. Barely giving him a chance to look at him. 

It’s like the whole hallway stopped, the nurses and the passersby watched nervously as the scene unfolds before them. How often do you see an attending punch another doctor, much less, his Chief?

“You knew!” Satoru shouted—his voice shaking in anger, “You fucking knew how this would affect her! You knew she wasn’t ready for this but you pushed her!”

Your father looked at him, unflinching. His face was slightly bruised in the part where Satoru had hit him. “She’s a surgeon, isn’t she? She made her choice.”

Satoru’s hands shook at his side, getting ready to hit him again but Suguru held his arm before he could even take another step forward. “Satoru, that’s enough.”

“You know what she’s been through,” his voice now low, still laced with anger and guilt—that he couldn’t protect you—from your father, from yourself. “You knew and you still forced her, you knew and you threw her into the corner. What kind of father are you?”

The Chief’s jaw tightened, but still he remained unmoved. He didn’t need to say anything for Satoru to see that he never really cared about you or what you felt. This bastard.

Suguru tugged at him, “Enough. Let’s go.”

Satoru’s whole body was shaking in anger but he let himself be dragged away. Because he doesn’t know what else he could do if he didn’t leave.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Suguru muttered when he pulled Satoru in a much secluded area in the hospital, “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even know. Fuck, he knows this’ll hurt you. But when it comes to you, all the reasons came flying out the window.

What did he just do? 

“Do you want to get suspended? You want to leave her alone here?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, goddamn. I wasn’t thinking.” he leaned on the wall, closing his eyes with a little bit of pressure. He was still seething with rage, to think, with everything that happened—and what it has done to your marriage—especially, to you, you’d think your father wouldn’t put you in that position. 

“Yeah, you weren’t thinking.” Suguru says a little calmly now, leaning on the wall beside him. “Just hope he won't hold this against you.”

He took a deep breath, looking down. “You know she filed for a divorce.”

“What? When?”

He laughs breathlessly—bitterly. The words seemed sharp against his tongue, “Three weeks ago.”

Suguru watched him carefully, “You didn’t tell me.”

“What’s the point?” his thumb hovers his wedding ring, “She’s still wearing her ring, that seems to me, she doesn’t really want to leave. And it’s not like I plan to let her go.”

—

“She just came out, I think ten minutes ago.” Nurse Tanaka says, pointing at the on-call room. “She’s in there.”

Satoru thanked her quietly and carefully opened the door, the moment he stepped foot inside, his heart sank. There you were, curled up to your side, the blanket hastily thrown on your body.

He quietly closes the door behind him. You looked so worn out—like you have been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, when you shouldn’t have—he should’ve been carrying your burdens with you.

But why won’t you let him?

He kneels down to your level, his fingers hovering over your face hesitantly before pushing your hair out of your face. You stirred, eyelids fluttering open, your voice hoarse from exhaustion and probably because of your crying. “Satoru?”

He smiled faintly, you could see the tenderness on his face. His thumb brushes over your cheeks, then he presses his lips on your forehead. “Go get some sleep. I’ll be in my lab.”

But you reached for him before he could even turn away. Your fingers grasp his wrist loosely, your voice almost a whisper. “Stay with me.” 

For a moment he stopped, he could only stare at you like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. Without a word, he sat down on the edge of the cot, and you moved to give him space. 

Carefully, he slipped beside you, your head resting on his arms as you closed your eyes. You squeezed yourself closer to him without any qualms. His hands softly tapping your back to lull you back to sleep then you whispered, “I saved her.”

“I know.” he answers, “You did good.”

“I know.” he chuckles at your response, resting his cheeks on your head. “She’s… she’s going to be okay. And I… I did that. I saved her and her…”

Just say it. Say the word.

Satoru pulled you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory that’s creeping in, from that pain that was trying to destroy you over and over again. “You did, you gave her another chance.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when tears fall from the side of your eyes—here it is again, the feeling that you were trying to escape from. This feeling that you’re saving Satoru from.

God, what are you doing? Why are you asking him to do this again? Why are you letting him in again? 

You tried to blink the tears away but it keeps on spilling, one after another. He pulls back just enough to see your face, his hands cradling your face gently, his thumb swiping your tears away. His heart felt like it snapped into two, he hated seeing you like this. And he hated it more that he couldn’t do anything to keep you from hurting.

And then you said it, again. “Just sign the papers. And let’s stop this—”

“Are you hearing yourself?” you couldn’t hear the anger from his voice, but you recognize the hurt. You recognize the way he’s breaking and it was because of you, again. 

You tried to look away but he held your face, “I’m so tired of feeling this way. I’m so tired of bringing you down with me—”

“You aren’t! It hurt me as much as it hurt you, and you think signing a piece of paper erases everything?” he pauses, “But I could do it, YN. I can handle it. Put everything on me. But losing you would break me. I couldn’t handle that.”

He pulled away from you, and he sat up. He presses his face against his palm—frustrations sinks in, “I don’t want out, YN. I would never want that. You could push me away—you could ignore me, but I’m still here. I’m never going to leave.”

You sat beside him, wiping your tears. You were about to open your mouth when you saw his hand, you reached for it and Satoru flinched, almost forgetting that there is evidence of his outburst for you to see. “What happened?”

He tried to pull it away but you didn’t budge, your thumb swiftly brushing on top of his red knuckles. “What did you do, Satoru?”

“It’s nothing.” he mutters, you shake your head, your throat tightens as your chest aches unbearably—it’s never nothing, you probably know what he had done, you just couldn’t fathom that he’d done that for you. 

That’s how he is. He loves you so deeply that it consumes him—that he’s willing to lose it all just for you and you don’t know if you deserved that. 

─── MARCH, 2010 ───

“Seriously?” you say, picking up the clothes from the floor and shooting them right to the laundry basket, “Seriously, Satoru? Didn’t you listen?”

“What?” his voice was low, you looked at him and something boiled inside you—he was just there on the couch, lying with his arm covering his eyes—you slammed the basket on the floor a little harder than you intended to but you didn’t care. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Pick up your clothes! Are you fucking blind? Can’t you see the basket? Do I have to spell everything out for you? God! And the dishes too! And the trash! I told you to take the trash—”

“I get it!” he says, irritation laced in his voice. “I said I’ll do it later.”

You scoffed, “You said that yesterday. Nevermind, I’ll do it myself.”

You hear Satoru exhaling loudly and then you stop—Satoru seemed to catch on so he lifted his head a bit, peeking in your direction,, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I irritating you?”

“Fuck you.” you say before marching into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you. And if he didn’t have a headache pounding into his head right now, he’ll follow you. 

Everything’s just a lot. For the two of you—he gets it, why you’re acting that way right now—both of you are tired. Nonstop exams and review for board exams, then endless clinical rotations. 

He kept on thinking if this physical therapy internship is hard enough—how about med school? And the actual internship for when you become doctors? Would you two keep on fighting like this?

He doesn’t want to, so despite his headache—he stands up and walks to your shared bedroom, but you open the door before he does. Then he sees you, with a backpack slung over your shoulder.

“I’ll stay with Ieiri for a few days. I can’t do this, Satoru. I can’t keep on fighting—”

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes!” you answer, picking up your scattered notes on the dining table, “Look, I don’t want to say some things that’ll hurt you. It’s better if we just take a break. Just for a few days. This is too much for me.”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He just watched you as you picked your things up—it’s okay, you’re just taking a breather. You aren’t leaving him, you’re not breaking up… right?

Before you could walk out the door, he called your name. “You’re not… are you? We’re just taking a break?”

“Yeah.” you say.

You were tired—of everything, besides him. You wouldn’t know what to do if you said some things that could hurt him, you could never do that to him. So, you’re distancing yourself—to clear your head.

“I could never leave you, Satoru.” you reassure him, voice cracking despite trying to hold it together.  “I’m always yours. We just need a break from each other.”

He stared at your face like this is going to be the last time he’ll see you. The silence filled the air, then he just nodded. Barely.

You mustered all your strength and turned away, because if you didn’t you might’ve stayed—and you both know, you needed this. 

The door closed softly behind you and Satoru sank back into the couch, running his fingers through his hair as the suffocating silence envelops him.

—

It was two days later. You still aren’t coming home. He sees you on the campus, you did the academic rotations for the second year class together yesterday but you’re barely talking.

He couldn’t take this. He’ll probably see you right now for your rotation. He’s already convinced himself to talk to you because this break is driving him insane. 

He was about to head inside when his phone buzzed. He looked at the phone—it was his mother. What is she calling about now? 

“Mom? I’m about to head to—”

“Satoru, honey.” his mother’s voice just didn’t sit right with him. Why is this unsettling him? His heart pounds in his chest gradually, he peeks at the window inside the room, and you weren’t there. Shoko and Suguru were there but you weren’t. “Satoru.”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” he asked, voice slightly quivering. “Did something happen?”

“It’s YN’s mom. She passed this morning. Are you with her?”

And suddenly, the skies fell on him. He couldn’t think straight—he couldn’t think of anything else but you. “She… what? I’m… I’ll look for her.”

He didn’t wait for his mother to speak and then he walked into the room, “Ieiri.”

Shoko looks up at him, “Hey. YN said she’s not going to attend today, is something wrong? You haven’t made up ye—”

“Where is she?”

“She said she’s going home—hey, where are you going?!” Shoko shouts, she and Suguru just looked at each other with puzzled looks on their faces when Satoru sprinted out of the room, nearly bumping into the students along the way but he didn’t care.

He needed to get to you. 

The door was unlocked when he got there. He rushed inside and he saw you on the couch, staring at the turned off TV. Your bag’s on the floor—you’re still wearing your light blue scrubs, your hair disheveled. 

You looked so empty—devoid of emotions. 

“I’m here, love.” he says softly, walking towards you, “I’m so sorry.”

The couch sank beside you, you could feel his arms circling around you and that’s when you felt all of it—you sobbed uncontrollably, like you’ve been holding on to it for a long time. 

It just hit you all at once. The endless exams, rotations, your break from Satoru and your mother. You don’t even know you’re crying like this. 

You and your mother… It was complicated. It’s not like she loved you so much. It’s not like she held you like this when you cried. 

No. 

She taught you to be quiet. To be strong—without ever asking for help, that was your mother. The brilliant, cold, surgeon who taught you that you had to work hard for everything—even for her love and praise. 

The woman who raised you in a perfectly clean house, shiny floors. In a household where your achievements mattered the most—where certificates hung on the walls instead of photographs.

And now, she’s gone.

How do you mourn someone who never really saw you?

How do you mourn someone who just… resented you?

Then it hit you. 

“Why aren’t you at rotations?” you pulled away from him, “You know you can’t miss that. You’ll get demerits, Satoru.”

You see the furrow in his brows, “I don’t care about that shit, YN. You need me here. Besides I can make up for that—”

“You don’t know that!” you stood up, voice a bit high. “You can’t miss rotations for me, Satoru! You’ll lose everything you’ve worked for!”

“And I worked hard for us too!” he fired back, frustration seeping into his voice, “Do you think I care more about a damn rotation than you? You’re more important to me, YN!”

No. He can’t do this. He can’t keep on throwing away important things for you. You don’t deserve him like that. He’d work hard for everything—you can’t just watch him throw that away for someone like… you.

You don’t want him to resent you. Not him. 

“You have to think about your dreams, Satoru! You couldn’t do that! This rotation is important and you know it! You can’t keep choosing me over your future! You’ll just…”

“What?” he snapped back, “Why can’t I? You are my dream! None of this will make sense when you’re not here, do you get me?! Why can’t you just let me?”

“Because I love you!” your voice cracked, tears falling once again, “You can’t do this. I can’t watch you fall apart because of me, Satoru.”

For a moment, you both stayed silent. Then you said the words that you don’t know if you’ll regret.

“Let’s just… break up.”

Satoru froze.

He’s great at a lot of things—ask him about neurology? Go ahead, he’s always got something to say. He always has the answers… but this? For you? 

He’s got none.

He had no idea how to answer this. 

“No.” he stepped forward, his hands reaching out for you, “You’re just… upset. Let’s just cool down.”

“Satoru. I love you so much that it’s suffocating me.” Every word that’s coming out of your mouth was like a knife to his chest. Your tears falling endlessly, “And I’m so scared. So scared that if I just let you choose me over and over again, you’ll lose yourself. And you’ll hate me.”

You can’t watch him lose his spark in your shadows. He’s meant to shine brightly.

“I can’t hate you.” he whispers, “I could never…”

“You don’t know that.” 

─── APRIL, 2010 ───

Shoko | 4:55 PM

I’ll just finish some of this stuff here in the lab. Wait for me at the cafe.

You’ve been staring at Ieiri’s text for about five minutes now, contemplating whether to just go to the lab—and risk seeing him there or just wait for Shoko at the cafe.

It has been almost a month since you two broke up. You barely see him at campus because you’ve been rotating at different hospitals. Well, you see him every Saturday for your boards review class.

And that was it.

You’ve been crashing at Ieiri’s place because you didn’t want to go back to your father’s house. If your mother was unbearable, your father is… much more complicated.

The universe didn’t really give you a chance, huh?

So far, it has been… really shit. Everything was shit. That’s all the word you have for it. You didn’t know how to function without Satoru—maybe, you could, a little.

But everyday, you were hoping for it to get better—they say it gets better but it doesn’t. Everyday you wake up with a heavier heart than yesterday, if that was possible. How do you get over someone you’ve been with for four years—no, scratch that, for twelve years?

You’ve known Satoru since you were eight—he’s the kid who annoys you whenever your mother brings you to the hospital—he’s the kid who you see at your family functions even though he isn’t family. 

He made your high school life bearable. He was your best friend. 

How do you get over that?

You’ve basically spent your whole life with him and now, you suddenly don’t? You just stop?

My god, you were stupid. Sorry, are. Was this a mistake? Satoru loves you. He loves you without a doubt, and you just… throw that away? What? For something that you’re not sure is going to happen?

Do you not have faith in him? Is the years that you’ve been together not enough to show you that he’s here… even if you’re broken, as you say.

But what if he moved on? What if he… doesn’t want to take you back anymore?

Your chest was heavy with every step that you take to the coffee shop. Your mind was spiraling so fast that you didn't notice that you’re already in front of the shop. You took a deep breath, clutching on the books in your arms. 

You stepped inside, searching for a table for you and Ieiri. You scan your eyes across the room and then… you see him. 

Fucking hell.

He looked like he hadn't slept for a year. His hair was a mess, his white hoodie slightly askew. He lifted his head and his eyes landed on you. 

You bite your lip and you look away, your grasp on the books tighten. You immediately went out the shop because you don’t know how else to—

“YN!”

You stop. God, you missed that voice.

You don’t move, you don’t turn but even so, he was in front of you. His mouth slightly ajar, like he wanted to say something but he couldn’t. 

“You look like shit.” you say, and that made him laugh—one for the first time in almost a month. 

“Yeah. You too.” you give him a small smile. 

You just stared at each other for a moment. You both probably looked so stupid, standing in front of the coffee shop, not saying anything—just looking. 

Longing.

“I thought it would hurt less if I left.” 

“But it didn't.” he answered, “Can we please just… stop this madness?”

You didn’t answer, instead your books clattered to the floor, you stood on your tiptoes and reached for the hood of his hoodie on each side and pulled on it to make him lean closer, pressing your lips into his.

And for almost a month—you could finally breathe again.

His hand instantly finds its way to your waist, pulling you close to deepen the kiss. You both pulled away with a smile on your faces, “We’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, you guys are.” you both looked at Suguru, and there’s Shoko beside him. 

A frown formed on your forehead when you realized what your friends just did. “Did you guys set us up?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

Well, they had to do something. You were hopeless without each other. (And Suguru’s tired of hearing Satoru bitch about you.)

[legney]

𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 (𝑘𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑥 𝑔𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

The longest one till now, but is worth of reading I swear 🥹

I think kuras has probably found reincarnations of his past lovers, fell for them, and lose them again, countless times

I don't think there's warnings for this one, just a little angst.

Summery: someone "stole" your key and you couldn’t find leander. You asked kuras to stay in his home tonight.

Words count: 11.7k

It was late at night when you found yourself once again in Kuras’s home. Technically, you were here because someone had “stolen” your key and Leander was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t entirely true. You could have looked a little harder, asked around more insistently—but you didn’t.

The truth was, you wanted to be here.

Your relationship with Kuras was... complicated. He was gentle, endlessly kind, the only one who never recoiled at the sight of your cursed hands. He had never once regarded them as a flaw, never suggested you hide them—at least, not from him. You knew he cared, Mhin’s occasional complaints about how much Kuras spoke of you made that clear. And yet, every time you thought he might finally stop restraining himself, that he might let himself close the distance between you, he would simply pat your head, smile in that unreadable way of his, and change the subject.

As soon as you stepped inside, the scent of aged wood and old paper enveloped you. His home was an extension of him—warm yet enigmatic, inviting yet distant. The furniture bore the marks of centuries, each piece carefully maintained. There were intricate carvings on the dark mahogany tables, their edges lined with delicate gold filigree. High-backed chairs with worn but luxurious velvet cushions sat near the grand bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Deep browns, aged whites, and ink-black tones dominated the space, with only sparse accents of silver catching the dim candlelight. It felt timeless, almost like stepping into a preserved memory rather than a home.

“This place is really nice, Kuras. Thank you for letting me stay here tonight… I hope I’m not intruding.”

Your voice was soft, and it made him smile.

He inclined his head slightly, that ever-present warmth in his golden eyes. “I am pleased that you find it to your liking. And do not worry—your presence could never be an intrusion. There is a guest room at the end of the hall. Should you require anything, I will be attending to my paperwork.”

“Paperwork? You still work even when you're not at the clinic?”

Kuras exhaled a quiet sigh, turning to face you fully. His long brown hair slipped over his shoulder like silk.

“The duty of a physician does not end when he steps away from his patients.” He smiled, the expression almost teasing—almost. “A doctor’s work is never truly finished.”

You flinched slightly. You had wanted to spend time with him, but instead of saying so, you simply nodded.

“Is there something else on your mind?”

You almost felt like he could see through you, as if his gaze alone could unravel the things you left unsaid. It was embarrassing. You shook your head, brushing it off, and moved to sit in the living room as he disappeared down the hall.

But patience had never been your strong suit.

After a few minutes, you stood from the couch, curiosity getting the better of you. You wandered through the house, taking in every detail. You paused outside his study, peeking through the slightly open door. Kuras sat at his desk, his back to you, a candle flickering beside the stacks of parchment. His posture was relaxed, but his hand never stopped moving, pen gliding over paper with practiced ease.

You wondered if he ever allowed himself to rest.

You moved on, passing through various rooms until you reached the last one in the hallway—a library.

The sheer number of books was almost overwhelming. The shelves stretched high, their spines worn from use. Paintings and old photographs lined the walls, remnants of people and places long past. As you stepped further inside, your gaze fell on a small, unassuming cage on the floor. Its lock was undone, the door slightly ajar.

You knelt, brushing your fingers against the cool metal before murmuring, “Just a little peek… it won’t hurt, right?”

Inside were books. Not the ancient tomes you expected, but something else. You reached for one that looked less worn than the others and flipped it open.

Names.

Pages upon pages filled with names, each written in a different hand. Some had notes scribbled in the margins—words meant for Kuras, messages from people long gone. Others bore ink stains, as if written in haste or emotion. Your fingers traced over them, your breath catching in your throat.You knew Kuras was old. But this—this was something else.

He kept them. Every name, every life he had touched, every person he had lost.

Perhaps this was why he never let things between you deepen—why he always held himself back.

Too many records. Too many names. Too many sins to bear.

You shut the book carefully, exhaling as you stood. The moment you did, you heard footsteps in the hall.

Kuras.

You steeled yourself, forcing the sadness from your expression as you stepped out to meet him.

“Finished with your paperwork?” you asked.

He studied you for a moment before responding. “I simply wished to check on you… and to inform you that I bought some cookies yesterday. If you haven't eaten yet, you are welcome to”

You hesitated.

You seem troubled. Did something happen?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, nothing to worry about. I was just looking around… I hope that doesn’t bother you. And, um—about the cookies—you bought them, right? You didn’t… cook them yourself?”

His lips quirked up in amusement.

“Your lack of faith in my culinary skills wounds me.”

He stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His touch was gentle, grounding. You looked up, meeting his gaze.

“You know you may speak your mind, sweetheart.” His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. Your breath hitched—this was closer, closer than usual. For a moment, you thought—And then, just like always, he pulled away, ruffling your hair instead.

“I noticed the guest room needs cleaning,” he said, shifting the subject effortlessly. “Would you prefer to stay there? I have no qualms with dusting it.”

You hesitated before shaking your head. Maybe—just maybe—you could use this as an excuse to be closer to him tonight.

You followed him back to his room, as he settled onto the couch with you, his hand searching yours. The silence between you both stretched on, heavy but laden with meanings neither of you dared to name. Kuras still held your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, as if that simple motion could dispel the sadness creeping into the moment.

His golden eyes searched yours, studying every flicker of emotion reflected in them. Then, with a slight tilt of his head and the faintest of smiles, he broke the quiet with an unexpected question:

"Would you dance with me?

You were caught off guard, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. Kuras had always been like this—when sorrow threatened to take hold, he found a way to soften it, to reshape it into something gentler. This time, his remedy was a dance.

You didn’t need to answer with words. He already had his hand extended, inviting you closer. You placed yours over his, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin. You both moved to the balcony.

At first, his movements were slow, almost practiced, as if a single misstep could shatter the fragile atmosphere surrounding you both. His fingers slid carefully down to rest at the curve of your waist, while your other hand found its place on his shoulder.

The rhythm was set by the muffled sounds of the city below the balcony—the distant murmur of conversations, a hazy tune drifting from some nearby tavern, the echo of laughter and footsteps against the cobblestones.

As the minutes passed, the stiffness of your initial movements faded. The closeness between you felt natural, as if you had always fit together this way. His arms wrapped around you more confidently, his chin grazing your temple in a fleeting gesture.

“Tell me…—Kuras murmured, his voice barely a whisper against your ear—, have you read the book?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“The book…?

“The one you found.”

Your heart skipped a beat. So, he knew.

You didn’t try to deny it. You lowered your gaze, the weight of that little journal still fresh in your mind. The endless list of names, the scribbled notes written in a handwriting that, despite the passage of centuries, held an almost painful tenderness.

“Yes” you admitted quietly.

Kuras didn’t seem surprised. Instead, he let out a sigh, one that carried centuries of memories.

“It’s my way of remembering them —he confessed, guiding your steps into a slow turn—. Everyone who’s ever mattered to me, everyone I’ve loved, everyone who’s left their mark on my life… Their names are there so I never forget them.”

There was something devastating in the serenity with which he spoke. You knew Kuras had lived for eons, had watched entire generations be born and fade away. But reading those names and hearing him now… it made it real.

“You must have loved a lot...” —you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

“I have—he admitted—. Even now, the past is beautiful, in a way. Even if time takes the ones we love from us, memory lets us hold onto them just a little longer.”

A lump formed in your throat. Kuras didn’t cry, but there was something in his gaze, in the way he held you so gently, that told you just how much it hurt to remember and how, at the same time, he refused to forget.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, seeking to share even a fraction of his burden. He allowed it, his lips barely brushing your forehead in a kiss that felt almost reverent.

But you wanted more. You wanted to strip away the distance he kept placing between you.

“I don’t want to be just another name in your list, Kuras”—you said, not pulling away.

His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and restrained. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, and for the first time that night, his mask cracked enough for you to see the conflict warring inside him.

“You already mean far more than that.”

His confession was a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, it resounded like a shout.

And then, finally, he kissed you.

There was no urgency in his movements, only the infinite patience of someone who had waited far too long. His lips were soft, but the way he held you spoke of a fear he wouldn’t name—the fear of losing you.

The world outside the balcony disappeared. The distant music, the night breeze, the city lights… all of it faded into the warmth of his mouth on yours, the way his body leaned into you, enclosing you in his embrace.

When he pulled away, it was only enough for you both to catch your breath. His eyes met yours, searching for something he perhaps feared to find.

“Come” he whispered, leading you back to his room.

His steps were slow, deliberate. There was no rush, only the certainty that, at least for this night, there would be no more distance between you.

He shed his white coat in a fluid motion, letting it fall onto the couch before guiding you to the bed.

His hair spilled over the pillow, framing his face in strands of ebony and umber. He held you close, the same way a weary traveler clings to shelter in the heart of a storm.

His lips found the curve of your shoulder, the line of your neck, leaving behind silent promises he’d never dare say aloud.

“I love you” —you whispered, knowing those words were both a comfort and a curse.

Kuras didn’t answer right away. He simply held you tighter, his hand slowly trailing down your back, memorizing every inch of you as if trying to etch you into his soul for eternity.

When he finally spoke, it was with the same reverence he had used for every name in that book.

“I love you too, my dear...”

The weight of those words hung in the air, an unspoken echo blending with the dim candlelight and the distant hum of the city.

Even if one day you will pass over, you know this moment will last forever on his memories.

[lov3lybarista]

ᴄʜ. 1 ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟɪɴɪᴄ.

Wattpad:lov3lybarista Pairing: Thomas Shelby x OC Warnings: addiction, ptsd Word Count: 1.9k+ Masterlist.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Song: Blue Veins by The Raconteurs

March 13th, 1923. Somewhere outside Birmingham, United Kingdom.

It had all finally caught up to him.

The sleepless nights, the whiskey, the cigarettes, the fucking opium he used to treat the sleepless nights. All of it—men he couldn't save, the woman he'd lost—women.

Greta, somewhere lying in a coughing fit, paled and on her death bed. Grace, her blonde hair lit like fire by the sun, standing in front of him after she had just ratted him out like a dog who got caught stealing meat off a cutting board. Betrayal, ghosts, the business, France—fucking all of it.

It was about two weeks ago when he finally felt something give, something break. It was deep in his ribs, like a whisper from death itself, sharp and too stinging to ignore. But he did ignore it, ignored the look Arthur had on his face when he watched him lean against the wall of the Garrison, sweat dripping down his forehead and blood coating his lungs. He ignored it when he woke up dazed on the floor of his study, his glass shattered and staining the carpet a dark brown next to his head on the floor. He ignored it until Polly had smacked him hard enough to bruise his lip, the ringing in his ear coated with her words that he needs to 'see a professional before the illness kills him or she does.'

But a Shelby never gave up in public, not even to a warning from death. What he did do is make a quiet call to someone in Vienna, then another one to Madrid, and soon enough a name had emerged. A woman. A historic breakthrough—not like he fucking cared if it was a genie treating him—all he cared about was no ties. And no ties she had. Discreet, detached from the corruption of the world he knew, the best apparently. A ghost in the world of medicine.

Dr. Dalia Hassan.

Now he was here. Stuck, waiting. Thomas Shelby didn't wait, not for anyone. Yet here he was, sat on a slender leather recliner in a clinic too far away from the madness that surrounded him. The walls were painted a dark green, the kind that would seem black if not for the open windows. Private, clean, expensive. The kind of clinic meant for people like him, people that could afford privacy and quality. A clinic surrounded by pine and a long gated road that led to it. If you ended up here, you were meant to.

Thomas scanned the dark oak thick shelves filled with even thicker books, a bloody drawing room with secrets, he thought. It resembled no where near the places where the sick like him would lay. No harsh lights, no bustling of nurses or coughs that sounded like hell itself were trying to crawl out from thier body.

It was only then did his fingers stop twitching when the faint click of heels approached the door. It clicked open with the softness that matched the figure who entered it.

She walked in like silence grew a pair of long pretty legs and decided it would heal him. No dramatic announcement—just pure, undeniable presence. It was like she wore fabric stitched from the shadows themselves, dressed in all black. The cloth of her wool skirt stopped tight just below the knee, the crisp line of her black blouse tucked perfectly, seamlessly in. There was a whisper of gold against her skin, a stray ring, a thin string against the hollow of her pale throat.

Her skin itself seemed to radiate the life that seeped back into him. It was the color of the inside of a pearl, delicate, unblemished, like the rays of the pale morning sun that he watched rise too many sleepless nights before this very moment. Her hair was as black as oil and it flowed like it remembered the depths of the sea in thick waves past her hips.

And shit—those eyes. A honyed deep brown, wide, impossibly clear, blinking thick long lashes at him as if he wasn't a second from drawing his gun and demanding if she was a phantom coming to haunt him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby," she finally spoke, her voice mellow, serene, words lulled by a faint accent that made his name sound like it was some fancy soap a duchess would purchase. It was like a dream realized it had a voice and decided to speak.

"I'm Dr. Dalia Hassan."

Thomas blinked once, sure that his mind was playing some cruel trick on him, maybe it was death giving him some sick form of mercy by placing her right there.

But she didn't disappear, didn't get replaced by some fat bellied middle aged man with a degree he kept shoved up his ass. This was no ordinary physician. This woman...she was profound.

He exhaled, slow. His heart suddenly began to ache for a reason much different than any drug he had taken in the past.

"Right, get on with it." His own voice sounded different to his ears, scratchy–needy?

Fucking hell mate get a grip. He thought.

She sat without a sound, a smooth and effotless motion as she lowered herself onto a rolling stool just a foot away from him. It was measured, far enough to be respectful of his space, close enough for him to realize how heaven smelled.

She smelled like something sacred, clean, womanly. Not perfume, maybe oil. The sweetness of her own skin. Perhaps it was rose water, or maybe something more rare, more her. All he knew was that it made his fingers twitch against where they sat on his thighs, and that later on when he closed his eyes it would linger against the walls of his mind. It was made to haunt a man privately.

When she spoke again, it was the kind of quiet that forced him to lean forward to latch onto it. "How are you feeling?"

Nothing about her was clinical, not even sympathetic. She was just...composed. Even. Too calm, too serene. The kind of serenity that made the shovels that dug and dug and dug finally—

Stop. Disappear. No more digging in his head.

She watched him, not impatient, not soft, just completely steady. It was her stillness that truly unnerved him.

"Alive," he finally answered, though anything he seemed to say felt like an exaggeration underneath her gaze.

Her lips—full and painted the kind of red that resemebled the petals of a blood-rose—curled, just faintly. A hint of amusement at him.

"Good," she murmured. "Let's keep it that way."

A pause, then:

"May I examine you?" she asked softly, her voice still wrapped in that serene hush. Thomas could only manage a small nod, the kind that gave that men like him weren't used to being asked.

She moved then. Slowly, deliberatly lifting off the stethoscope from around her neck like she was peeling off the silk of a scarf, the tubing sliding gently against the silk of her skin and blouse. He watched, her fingers, the steadiness of them. Then his eyes flicked to the gleam of what rested below the hollow of her throat. A talisman maybe. A thin gold small plate with inscriptions he didn't comprehend. Not for display, not for fashion. Just something older, meaningful. His gaze lingered longer than it should have. She didn't comment, just leaned in that perfect distance that made him question if he's ever truly felt the presence of a woman before her.

"Breathe in," she murmured.

He did, and it pained him but he bit it back and inhaled deeply. Her touch was almost startling, cold at first. But it was familiar in a way that caused the startle. She touched him without hesitance, without fear and he couldn't remember the last time someone had.

"Your shirt, please." she said.

Thomas paused, not out of modesty—he had none left—but out of how surreal this all felt. Everything seemed closer now, dimmer, more intimate. He shed, his vest, then his tie, then one by one the buttons loosed and she didn't look away as the trails of scars were uncovered.

She stepped closer, her fingers touched his back first. It was like she was reading him in braille, scar by scar, breath by breath. The trail of her fingers were gently, a whisper of her touch against his skin but a whisper is enough to kindle a fire when the heat is right. Now in front of him, she placed her finger below his collarbone.

"Here?" she asked.

"No," he said.

Lower her hand moved, she asked again. He shook his head but his breathing had already changed.

"Tell me where it hurts, Thomas," she said, her voice was no louder than a purr, warm enough to make the words seem much more than they were.

And when he looked at her, he wanted to say here.

Not because of the heart murmur, not because of the collapse or the ache in his lungs. But because of her, of the way her touch made him remember that he had a heart that didn't just feel pain or aches.

She was quiet for a long moment after the examination, her eyes now busy scanning his patient files as she wrote, while his eyes haven't left her since she had walked in. Her hair—long and black as midnight—slid down her slender shoulder as she leaned while her pen moved.

"Intermittent pain, fatigue, tightness in the chest," she lists off, her voice staying low, like a thread of silk through a needle, "likely a murmur, could be stress-induced. Maybe something else."

She pauses, glancing up at him, he didn't speak. Just watched.

"I'll start with something mild to not overwhelm your body," she began again, "we'll get some X-rays. Other quiet tests, nothing invasive."

After another quiet pause she adds softly, "you can bring your men if you'd like. I understand how men like you feel in unfamiliar territory."

He runs his tongue over his teeth, his mouth suddenly dry from her offer. She knew, she understood, she saw. She saw him.

"I'll have my assistant send everything to your people," she finally stands, composed, still as always. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll call sometime soon to discuss further details."

She turned and left without another word, that was it. No extravegant goodbyes, no scolding on his habits. Just her presence and her quiet understanding and her damning eyes.

Thomas sat there for a long moment, his shirt still not fully buttoned up. He glared at the door like it could bring her back if he stared hard enough, his jaw clenched tight. The heavy weight in his chest hadn't left. But it was no longer the same. Now it was her.

He stood finally, dressed again and made his way out to the birds chirping and nature gnawing at his senses like it was reminding him he didn't belong here in a world of peace.

One of his men was waiting by the car, hat low and stance ready. The usual quiet loyalty in his eyes.

"Drive," he said curtly, "but slowly. I need to think.'

The Bentley smoothed over the clinic grounds, the trees holding the shadows of what reminded him of the black silk of her blouse, the sun hanging low on the horizon as afternoon gave away to evening. He didn't speak for the rest of the day, but the name Dalia turned over and over again in his thoughts.

And that night, alone and disturbed in the study of his estate, he lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it. He watched it burn while he sat with his thoughts echoing that quiet sound she left behind. Her hands, her voice, those eyes.

Thomas Shelby thought he had faced it all. Bullets, grief, beatings, betrayl, war.

But now?

Now he faced someone who saw through him and asked nothing of him but to live. Someone he couldn't stop seeing—even with his eyes closed.

Authors note: sorry for any spelling mistakes lol, let me know if anyone actually reads this and wants to be on a taglist

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | eighteen.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, yunho being the best boy to his mom and aunt [best boy in general], a lil run in with yunho's ex, yunho and oc just being so soooo in love, small kisses, lots of affection and sweet moments <33

—a/n: one more chapter to go for these lovebirds 💕 happy birthday to our sweet yuyu!! also, next weekend, i'll be posting home (khj). lmk if you want to be on the taglist, but it'll be quite an angsty fic!

♣︎ 2 MONTHS LATER

"No, stop. Yunho." You almost whine when you hear Yunho sigh on the other line. 

"I'm sorry, my girlfriend typically calls me babe."

"No, you're not listening to me. I told you it was fine, I promise."

"Baby, I'm not missing your competition." He says lowly, sitting in the chair while him and his mom wait for her doctor to come in. Your competition fell on the weekend Yunho went home, his mom's important check-in with her primary care physician being scheduled on the same Saturday. He had originally scheduled her check-in for the week, but had to reschedule and open up clinic hours on Saturday due to an emergency that arose at home. Yunho already felt guilty enough that he wouldn't be able to accompany her during the week, so when the news broke that it had been rescheduled for the weekend, Yunho immediately drove home.

And you, being the sweetest and most understanding, hugged him tightly and wished them well. Even though at the bottom of his heart, he also felt guilty for leaving you knowing what the weekend held.

You reassured him over and over again that he didn't need to drive all the way back just to see you, but Yunho couldn't take no for an answer. The appointment was early on, and he knew he'd make it just a bit into the start of the competition. He didn't care if it'd tire him.

He just wanted to be there, too.

"I don't care if you do. Your mom needs you the most. My competition is just a competition."

"I know how much this means to you, though."

"There will be more, k? I promise there will be more opportunities for you to cheer me on." He sighs.

"Including this one."

"You're so stubborn." You half-heartedly scold him with a chuckle. "Go. Be with your mom. Please."

"I'll see you in a bit."

"Jeong Yunho." You give off a small groan, making him laugh.

"I love you." He says all loud and proud, making his mom silently chuckle off to the side while her son continues to show off his affection.

"Yeah, love you too. Even though, you don't listen to me!" You scold once more before hanging up.

"Ah, she's a piece of work." He mutters to himself as he does a head tilt.

"She's cute." His mom says, sitting on the chair in front of him, making Yunho chuckle.

"Hm, equally cute and a handful." Yunho leans onto his knees. "You're still okay with coming to her competition, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." She gives Yunho a sweet smile. "I hope she doesn't mind that we'll be there?"

"Of course not. She'd be happy to see you and auntie."

"Is her family going to be there, too?" He nods.

"You'll finally meet them." She laughs.

"I'm sure they're just as lovely as her." 

At this point, the doctor knocks on the door a few times to signal his entrance before walking in, a bright smile on his face as he greets the both of them. The check-up carries on for close to an hour, where Yunho is listening attentively to make sure he's taking note of what to do to keep his mom healthy and comfortable. Towards the end though, he's satisfied with how everything turns out and he's happy to know his mom is doing well and is stable.

On the way out, he holds her by the arm, going over the visit and proudly reassuring his mom that she was doing great with taking care of herself and her health. He helps her into the car and makes sure she's buckled in before walking over to the driver's side and rushing over to the house to pick up his aunt. Once everyone is in the car and ready to head to the competition, Yunho makes a quick stop at a floral shop to buy you a bouquet. He shyly rolls his eyes and blushes when his mom and aunt tease him about it, his mom saying she rose him well and that you'd love the flowers.

When Yunho arrives, he sees a few people still trailing into the venue and it eases his mind a bit that he's not the only one walking in late. He gets lucky with parking in the main lot next door, careful to keep up a good pace that both his mom and aunt are able to work with. Getting inside, the competition has already started [as expected], but the group performing isn't one he's familiar with. Yunho holds onto the huge bouquet of flowers he bought, setting it onto his lap when they settle in a few open seats near the middle. He lets out a breath of relief when he quickly scans the program and sees that your group isn't up until later.

Overall, it's a pretty lively event and everyone in the crowd is cheering and roaring no matter what the occasion is on stage. It isn't a huge competition, and a lot of the groups are smaller than your own dance group; but everyone seems to be happy on stage and enjoying themselves. Yunho thinks that's all that really matters, and it's nice for people who have the same passion to get together for some fun, friendly competition.

Plus, he's enjoying himself because his aunt and his mom are— he truthfully was afraid it would be too loud or chaotic for them, but he feels relieved and a bit more comfortable. Everything moves so, so fast that the one moment he blinks, he finds the lights dimming before shining onto familiar faces. 

He sees your familiar figure. Your friends. 

He feels his heart beating out of his chest, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He knows you and your friends will kill it out there and he's excited for the crowd to see what you have in store. He finds himself with a major death grip on the arm rests because he feels himself wanting to get up and cheer you on in the middle of the aisle [regardless of how embarrassing that may be, he doesn't really care]. But, he manages to stay still; though his eyes glow and are full of admiration.

He is utterly enamored by you, and Yunho's mom and aunt think it's the sweetest thing.

You gracefully and powerfully move across the stage and Yunho didn't know it was possible to fall in love with you even more. He finds himself cheering loudly, hoping you can hear him and see him from the stage, hoping you know he's there and will always be there to support you through anything. Because he wants to, and he loves seeing you happy doing what you love doing. When the piece finally ends, the crowd is incredibly hyped and Yunho immediately shoots up to stand and clap, flowers now resting on his mom's lap for safety measures.

"She's so good! They all are! They deserve to win this!" His aunt leans over to look at him.

"I know. They do." He smiles from ear to ear.

"Look at your ears, they're so red." His mom gently tugs on his ear. "You're so in love." She teases.

"And what about it?" He pouts and whines. "I just like showing her off. She's good everything she does, and I want her to know that." Lord knows Seonghwa didn't put in any effort to make you feel valued and reassured. He's not entirely sure how long you've been feeling that way, how long you've doubted yourself— but, as long as he's around, he'll make sure you never feel that way again. How could anyone ever compare to you?

"As you should." She smiles at him.

The rest of the show goes on just as lively and entertaining as it started, with a small break before winners are announced. Yunho is bouncing his leg in anticipation, eager to hear the results from the panel. It doesn't come as a surprise though when he hears two other groups winning second and third place because he knows. He just knows.

And he's right.

When the MC announces your group name for first place, Yunho swears he almost loses his voice from cheering. He sees you and your friends with happy tears streaming down your cheeks, and even though he believed everyone had a fair chance at winning today, you all truly deserved it. He knows how late you've stayed in the studio working on choreography, scraping an entire piece just to replace it with something 'better' even if it stressed you out doing so. There was no other group that showed the same dedication and passion as you and your friends, and he really, really wanted this for you all more than anything.

He can't wait to see you and hug you.

Kiss you.

old you. 

Just be with you.

When the event ends, he's following behind his mom and aunt, keeping eyes on them to make sure they don't get lost in the crowd. He runs into your family exiting through the next set of double doors on his left and waves. Amidst the crowd chaos, he manages to say hi to your family and give them hugs before introducing his mom and his aunt— excusing himself shortly afterwards so he can run to the bathroom and be back before heading outside. It's a bit of a line, but Yunho waits patiently so he doesn't have to run off while he's with you. When he's done and making his way back outside, he still has to navigate through the crowds to get to your family and his family hanging out in an open area; almost running into another person just as he's about to make it over to the spot.

"Y-Yunho?" She almost comes face to face with his chest when she abruptly turns, trying to navigate her way through the crowd.

"Hayun?"

"Hey, nice to see you here?" She questions, unsure what Yunho would be doing here. It's been awhile, but from what she remembered, he was never into these things. She does a once-over and gives him a tiny smile, slightly ogling at how good he looks after all these years. He is glowing.

"Uh, yeah." He isn't really sure what to say since last time, she acted weird about seeing him. Maybe she had no choice but to greet him; she damn near ran straight into this chest. Still. It's a bit awkward, but it's nice to see she's at least well. "What're you doing here?"

"Well, I was on break, I'm leaving late tonight. My cousin performed with one of the groups. I don't know if you remember her, Soojin?" He nods.

"I do remember her. I guess she's grown well? I clearly didn't recognize her on the stage." She chuckles before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"What're you doing here?"

"My girlfriend competed, too. Her family's here, my family. She was in the group that placed first." He looks over his shoulder before looking back down at her.

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Anyway, I hope everything's been good with you. I hope you have a safe flight back, too."

"Thanks, and same." She nods. "I hope your mom and aunt are okay."

"They are. Thanks. Should probably get back to them." He gives off a small smile and a curt nod before turning on his heel to find his family, your family and everyone else. He sees Chaery and Seungmin come out from the side door before you and Soobin follow. He can see you searching high and low for him and it makes his heart flip. 

"Yunho!" You squeal when you finally find him in the sea of people. You instantly run over, jumping into his arms while he holds onto you tightly.

"There she is." He says. "Hi baby." He says against your head. Hayun smiles to herself when she sees the moment you two share, quickly reminiscing about the times her and Yunho had in the past. But, in the end, she's happy that he's found someone and that he's genuinely happy. Yunho deserved it.

"Hi." You giggle, pulling back slightly to kiss him on the lips. 

"You did amazing, love." He gently puts you down.

"Did I?! Do these look like the steps of a first place winner?" You do a silly little dance, making him laugh before pulling you for another kiss.

"Yeah, they do. Steps from the best, actually." You laugh and playfully pinch his arm.

"Goodjob, Y/N! You did great up there!" His mom and aunt say, followed by your family. You greet all of them one by one, giving them hugs and thanking them for coming— especially Yunho's mom and aunt for tagging along. It seems that your family and his were already kicking it off, your dad offering for them to join dinner along with Chaery, Soobin and Seungmin's family. 

"Yes, please come to dinner with us!" You squeeze his mom's hand with a smile. She nods and pulls you in for another hug, the four of you walking alongside each other while your family, Chaery's, Soobin's and Seungmin's walked ahead. You and his mom talk a bit about your dance journey as you walk along before you get into the car with Soobin, Seungmin and Chaery; letting everyone know you'll meet them at the restaurant nearby.

You assume most of your group will end up at the same restaurant, and it ends up being true for the most part. Once the four of you unload and start heading inside, you run into Yeonjun and Jongho with their families. The restaurant ends up escorting everyone to the back area where most of the tables are available for bigger groups, and instantly gets to work on providing drinks and small appetizers for everyone to enjoy while looking at the menu. On your left is Chaery, while Yunho is on your right; the both of them cracking jokes with each other while the families order the main courses for tonight.

"Yuyu, how do you feel about graduation coming up?"

"I don't know. Good, for the most part."

"Dude, it's gonna be so different! Have you already applied to internships and jobs?"

"Yeah, I have. Got a few interviews coming up in the next few weeks."

"Good shit!" Chaery claps. "Your man is gonna be so prepared for the world." She nudges you on the side, making you giggle.

"I know, right?"

"Seriously, it's nothing. I don't wanna have a huge gap. I just wanna get into it, I guess." 

"That's really good, though. Do you plan to have a party or anything?" He cocks a brow up and points at himself.

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"No, god no." Yunho laughs. "I'm very much good off of a party."

"What if we threw you one at the apartment? Or took you out to the club?!"

"No, don't do that. I promise, I'm good."

"Babe, we're gonna have to at least do dinner or something." He looks down at you with a fond smile before placing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.

"If you want."

"It's your graduation!" You laugh.

"Yeah, and quite frankly, I'd rather much just spend the night with you doing other things." He says lowly near your ear, causing the heat to rise to your cheeks while you subtly nibble on your bottom lip.

"Cute, dinner sounds nice and cozy." Chaery adds. "But since you don't plan to celebrate with a party—" She leans over to look at her parents. "Mom, dad, Yunho's graduating soon! Can we order some dessert?"

"That's a good idea. Should we order some dessert to celebrate early?" Yunho's ears turn red as he shakes his head and refuses.

"No, no! It's okay! We don't have to—"

"Yeah, let's order some dessert!" Your dad agrees, along with the rest of the table. Your dad calls over the waitress to add dessert to the order for the entire table, reassuring Yunho's mom and aunt that they didn't need to worry about dinner [or dessert] tonight.

"Thank you." He says shyly.

"So, Yunho. Have you been getting ready for graduation and everything?" Yunho nods, essentially telling your family [and everyone else] what he told Chaery and how he just wants to get right into working after graduation. Mainly, Yunho wants to do this for his mom and aunt, but also for you. Because life includes you now; all about you.

Once the food arrives, everyone takes turns and rotates the dishes amongst each other before setting it down in the middle of the table for seconds and so on. Yunho doesn't even help himself first and decides to serve you some food before tending to himself. Dinner goes on happily, with everyone in good spirits and conversing in between bites about school and upcoming summer plans. Seungmin's dad mentions camping and how he wants to coordinate something for the group this summer, knowing the perfect campsite about 3 hours away that resides right by a lake. He invites Yunho, his mom and his aunt, reassuring them that they'd enjoy it over there, too. 

Yunho slightly nudges you and smiles while drinking his water, leaning closer to you just as he sets the glass back down.

"Any other plans for the summer, love?"

"Not that I know of. Maybe I'll get myself a little summer job, too.

"Mm, maybe I can help fill the rest of your schedule up? If you're okay with that?"

"If you won't be too busy working!"

"I won't be. I'll always make time for you, you know that, right?" He gives you a soft look. "Plus, while we still have the time open, I wanna plan something and take you somewhere."

"Like where?" He shrugs.

"Somewhere where we can't drive to."

"Oh, like an actual trip-trip?!"

"Yup." 

"Eep, where!" You squeal and he chuckles. 

"I'll figure it out. Leave it up to me, hm?" 

"I'm actually so lucky, it's insane." Yunho laughs a little louder at the compliment while shaking his head, digging into the last bits of his food.

"I feel the same. But, I really just wanna spend as much time with you as I can."

"Sounds like it'll be a good summer for us." You eat up the rest of your food before setting your plate aside nicely. "Babe, are you sure you're okay to drive after? Do you want me to come, or do you want me to drive your mom and aunt back?"

"I would never in a million years let you drive alone like that." 

"But, you're tired." You pout.

"Mm, all worth it though. Cause we got to see you guys win, plus I get cake." You laugh.

"I knew you wanted the cake." He playfully shushes you. "I can come along, though!"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" You whine. "Just tell me you don't want me around, jeez." He smirks.

"That's never the case. I just know you'll be tired and I want you to rest. Promise I'll be good, okay?"

"Can I wait for you at your spot, then?"

"Of course you can. Yeo's gonna be home by the time we get back."

"Perfect, I'll bother him 'till you come." He gives you another big smile just as the dessert makes its way to the table. Everyone loudly cheers for the group's win today, along with congratulating Yunho for graduation coming up. You look at him in pure admiration when he blushes and respectfully thanks everyone for the cake and greetings. 

And it's that moment when you catch the sparkle in his eyes, the glow, the warmth radiating from him. It's not that Yunho didn't have all these things in the beginning; they were there, just dim. Not as bright, not as warm. Over time, he's grown and blossomed into one of the most important people in your life, someone everyone clearly adored and cherished.

That might've been the moment that changed the trajectory of everything for you two because it finally clicked that he was who you wanted— back then, now, in the future.

You love Yunho; really, really love Yunho. 

Everything about him brings pure love, genuine happiness and safety. Three important factors that you longed for in a relationship, but were never familiar with until Yunho came around.

The rest of dinner goes on well, with everyone fighting to pay the bill before it eventually settles between your family and Chaery's. Everyone walks alongside of each other before parting to their own cars and preparing to make their journey back home. Before you part ways with Yunho, his mom and aunt, you give them a big, tight hug before giving Yunho a quick peck on the lips. You look him dead in the eye and make him promise that he'd be absolutely okay to drive back and forth, and that he'd stay behind if he really couldn't make it back. He gives you a smug smirk, making you pinch him on the arm before bidding your last farewell to his family. You follow suit with your own family, your dad hopping into his car while your mom and sister drove together.

The ride back home is fairly calm, with Soobin in the driver's seat. There's the occasional bickering between Seungmin and Chaery, but otherwise, everyone is busy recounting the day and discussing the different groups and their pieces. Surprisingly, you're all still energetic throughout the entire ride; not one person complaining about being tired or wanting to catch up on sleep.

It does change once you finally arrive home and set your things aside, immediately putting the flowers into a free vase with some water. Soobin plops onto the couch face down as he claims he's exhausted from all the driving, while Seungmin sits on the floor beside him. You hurry into the bathroom and take a quick shower so Chaery can follow and get comfortable. You throw on some comfortable clothes and unpack your things and clean up around your area of the room before heading over to Yunho and Yeosang's for the evening. You say your goodnight's to your roommates before walking over, your Uggs making a loud noise as you drag them across the concrete. When you arrive at the unit, the kitchen lights are on, but you can barely hear a peep through the other side of the door. You knock a few times before Yeosang is coming to the door in his tank top and sweats.

"Hey hey!"

"Oh, hey! I heard you placed first! Congrats!" Yeosang pulls you into a hug before stepping aside to let you in. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's dropping off his mom and aunt, then he'll come back."

"They came to the competition, too?"

"Yeah, they did!" You respond as you walk into Yunho's room, with Yeo following and leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

"Damn, what a drive. Sorry I couldn't make it. It was my baby cousin's birthday party."

"No, it's okay! You didn't miss much anyway."

"I missed my friends placing first, so yeah." You give him a tiny smile and shake your head.

"There's still next year. You have plenty of other opportunities to come when you aren't busy!"

"You're right."

"If you really wanna make up for it though, you can keep me company while I wait for Yunho." He laughs and nods.

"Yeah, of course. What do you have in mind?" He follows you out to the living room.

"I don't know. Maybe we can just watch a random movie? He'll be back by the time it's over, hopefully."

"Gotta watch a long one. Like Lord of the Rings or something. Star Wars. Avengers: Endgame."

"Ou, I'm down for some Avengers."

"Cool." You lay on the couch with the blanket wrapped around you while Yeosang sits on the floor, navigating through the movies before he lands on the Avengers. The both of you quietly begin the movie, with Yeosang reciting very random facts about the Avengers. You respond with follow-up questions, allowing Yeosang to do a deep dive. It's not until about an hour and a half in that you feel the exhaustion hitting you; eyes and body suddenly feeling heavy.

"You get what I'm saying right?" Yeosang asks, but doesn't receive a response. "Y/N?" He calls for you, only to turn over his shoulder and see you fast asleep. He chuckles to himself before returning his attention to the TV, turning down the volume so that it isn't too loud for you. 

In the next 45 minutes, Yunho quietly walks into the apartment, seeing you fast asleep on the couch while Yeosang continues to watch TV on the floor— the movie no longer on. He smirks at Yunho before turning back to check on you, a silent chuckle leaving his lips.

"She's been asleep?" Yunho whispers while crouching to your level.

"Yeah, she fell asleep a bit ago. Didn't realize until I asked her a question about the movie we were watching and I didn't get a response." Yunho quietly laughs a bit. "I didn't wanna just leave her here, though."

"I'll bring her in. Thanks for keeping her company."

"You must be exhausted with all the back and forth driving today."

"Fuck yeah, I am. But, as long as my mom's happy and she's happy." Yunho smiles at you, brushing the hair away from your face.

"Alright, well, I'm good off of this show." Yunho turns to the TV seeing it randomly stationed a cooking show.

"Okay Chef Boyardee." Yeosang snorts before gently tapping the couch and standing.

"Gotta do better before we get into the real world, am I right?" He salutes. "I'm off." Yunho bids him farewell before returning his attention to you. You haven't budged, and Yunho can tell how exhausted you are by the way your lips poke out into a pout, soft snores in between each breath.

"Baby. I'm gonna carry you to the bed, okay?" He whispers. You let out a sound that makes Yunho giggle to himself before he scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly.

"I could've walked." You suddenly blurt out.

"Dunno cutie, you were pretty knocked out." He smiles at you. "It's okay. You had a long day."

"So did you."

"I don't care about me, I care about you." He chuckles, gently laying you down on the bed. "I need to take a shower, I'll be back." You quietly nod and turn to your side, too exhausted to fight for him to stay and be needy. He heads to the shower and lets the hot water cascade down his body, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up to him. Although he tends to think he's pretty selfless, he didn't think he'd be driving from home to catch a performance, dropping his family off then driving back to the apartment all in a day. But, he couldn't care less because he wanted to do this for you, and he wanted to see you happy. There's nothing that satisfies Yunho more than seeing you smile.

He lets out a heavy sigh when he hops out and runs the towel through his wet hair, turning on the hair dryer to dry it off completely. He gets himself ready for bed, walking out in a plain shirt and pajama bottoms to finally slip in next to you. You instantly turn and throw your arm over him the moment you feel the bed dip, Yunho chuckling to himself when he pulls you close.

"Yuyu."

"Mhm sleepyhead?" 

"You're graduating soon."

"I am."

"I'm proud of you."

"Thank you. I gotta say I'm proud of me, too." You both laugh a bit.

"What's gonna happen with us?"

"Nothing." He smiles. "I'll still be here. You'll still be here. I'll find myself a good job and hope I'll be able to provide for you more."

"You already give me a lot." You softly say, eyes still closed as you lay on his chest.

"Not enough."

"Hm." You hum. "You're enough." 

"I appreciate that, love. But, you really do deserve the world and I'm trying to get you that, okay? Let me." You giggle.

"You're the best."

"Baby?"

"Yes?"

"You see us being together for a long time, right?" He asks, because even though he's confident in your relationship, he still likes to be reassured. Because god, does he truly see his life with you. It hasn't been long but there is not one bone in his body that makes him think otherwise. He wants to build with you, grow with you, be with you all the time. He wants nothing but you, and he's so, so sure of it.

"Of course."

"Even living together in the future and doing all that crazy stuff grownups do?" You laugh.

"Yes."

"Okay." He kisses your forehead.

"Do you want that with me, Yunho?"

"Yeah. I do, Y/N." You sleepily smile against him and hug him tighter, not wanting to let him go. 

"I like that." He leaves a soft, feathery kiss against your lips before holding you closer than he ever could, shutting his own eyes to finally get some sleep.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunhotteokkk @yungigiggles @jaerisdiction @ignoretheskies @luminouskalopsia @naeviscall @vixensss @choisansplushie @arya9111 @my-lightspirit @dazednconfusion @astro-doll-the-star @faesmingi @idfkeddieishot @startinystay @emily505 @mgdixon @mcsalterego @cheynalexilaiho @svintsandghosts @mismatchfluffysocks @meeitany @au-ghosttype

[studying-roxas]

I don't want to overstep but I genuinely have a question about when neurodevelopmental disorders creep into physical disability.

I have dyspraxia. I was diagnosed with it 3 years before I even got my autism diagnosis. For those who don't know, dyspraxia, also known as childhood coordination disorder, affects one's coordination, proprioception, and fine motor skills.

Dyspraxics can often have difficulties with other things that people with motor disorders struggle with - walking, writing, buttoning clothes, driving, using cutlery, etc. All of these are physical manifestations of a neurodevelopmental disorder - dyspraxia is not considered a neurological disorder (which are often considered physical disabilities,) but a neurodevelopmental disorder. My coordination was clinically under where it was supposed to be. I was delayed in crawling, sucking on a straw, walking, and a few more missed milestones that I forget (oops). Usually these missed milestones are attributed to my asd, but they all are also common for dyspraxics.

From my understanding, a lot of autistics also experience these things even without the added dyspraxia diagnosis, which is where my question comes into play.

A lot of people will say that autistics do not have a physical disability, but if the majority of autistics meet the criteria of dyspraxia... does that mean the physical manifestations of dyspraxia are also not a physical disability? My dyspraxia affects my movement way more than my mild hypermobility does. It affects my movement way more than my knocked knees and duckfoot do. It affects my movement more than my scoliosis does. I always considered my dyspraxia to be my "main" physical disability.

Then I got into the disability community and had people telling me that my migraines and asthma counted as physical disabilities, but that my coordination disorder which affects my fine motor skills doesn't... despite it having a much greater affect on my physical ability to do things than my chronic migraines. I guess I'm just very confused as to how this is split.

My knocked knees + duckfoot is a physical disability because it's a malformation of my hips and legs that affects my gait, but my dyspraxia affects my gait just as much if not more than my knocked knees + duckfoot. It seems odd that one should be considered a valid physical disability and the other not just because it's how my brain developed as opposed to how my skeleton did.

I used to work with high support needs autistic people and knew some who used a wheelchair with no other diagnoses - just asd. I have met with other dyspraxics who need mobility aids due to severe coordination deficiencies (the person I'm thinking of specifically went back and forth between a cane and a walker). I used to work with many autistics who could not feed themselves due to motor control issues, or who would regularly aspirate on food and drink due to dysphagia.

I know this argument is tired, and I'm not asking to use the C slur or anything, I am just genuinely confused how we as a community are deciding what is a physical disability versus a neurodevelopmental disability that manifests with physical symptoms. If the accommodations i need for my fine motor difficulties are the same as any physical disability which causes fine motor difficulties, then what is the difference that makes discussing dyspraxia an intrusion on physical disability posts /gen

Edited to fix incomplete sentence. Sorry, sometimes my brain moves too fast for my hands

Edit 2: okay, I actually have more to add about how confusing this separation actually is. Catatonia is present in about 10% of psychiatric patients, including depression (with up to 20% of depression sufferers having catatonic depression). Recent studies into ADHD have shown that ADHD causes fine motor difficulties, on top of ADHD being one of the most common Dyspraxia comorbidities. Tic disorders don't count unless your tics affect your movement... even though all non-vocal and non-mental tics are physical tics. 80% of autistics have gait and movement differences. Schizophrenia spectrum disorders are particularly known for including catatonia. ALL of these are physical symptoms - more than that, they are symptoms that affect the ability to walk or access adequate fine motor control skills. These are also the disorders I see most commonly called out for claiming physical symptoms when "they don't have them." I am so confused on how you guys are classifying physical symptoms because these??? all of these symptoms??? very clearly physical and interrupt daily functioning.

I am just. Confused.

[sharkrocket]

THE SUPER SCUFFED THANATICA LABS MODERN AU

There is so much groundwork that me and my partner failed to cover/did not think about, but I think we're going to just lay out what we have and just build upon it as more solid ideas come to fruition, so here we go

THANATICA LABS

Research corporation funded by the Powers That Be(?)

Dedicated to defeating death by prolonging life

Akin to Black Mesa or Aperture Science - Unethical experimentation going on behind the scenes

-----

DANIIL DANKOVSKY

Maybe not the founder? Maybe lead researcher?

Maybe founded it when it was a small lab and was bought out by The Powers to greatly expand funding?

Not exactly on the level - HAS done and WILL do shady things again

KNOWS what he's doing is illegal to some extent, but he tries to wash his hands of the dirty work (alleviate some guilt maybe?)

Hands the recruiters a list of requirements for his new hires (potential lab rats), lets them do the searching and he'll conduct the interviews

I have no idea what these requirements are

Sometimes the lab assistants go missing, he doesn't know anything about that, don't ask him

He LIKES his designers clothes - SOMETIMES it comes from Thanatica's grant money, SOMETIMES it's a few hundred here or there, BIG DEAL

-----

ARTEMY BURAKH

Studied in the Capital or IS studying in the Capital, and is in SO SO SO much debt

Is having trouble getting work because nobody is going to hire a surgeon with no ACCREDITED experience (cutting up bodies in your dad's unlicensed clinic does not count)

Looking to expand the medical practices of his provincial studies(?)

Maybe father has an illness(?) Perhaps Isidor suffering some kind of debilitating disease called the sand pest?

Was contacted by Thanatica Labs for a low level Lab Assistant position - It's Thanatica Labs, of course he's going to respond, that's a lot of money for an entry position, and he's going to have his name attached to a prestigious establishment

He's hired - Is under the pretense he can save up some money, maybe get some lab experience to eventually propose his own research somewhere else

Alternatively, went to university, left university to go home to tend to family business, came back to the Capital to resume studies and is looking for ways to expand his thesis?

Keeps his head down and minds his own business, the less he's under the eye of the lead scientist, the better

Doesn't mean he isn't talking to people and keeping a watchful eye - things are happening that aren't adding up, and it isn't just the grant money

Because he's so desperate for a job, it may mean he's more agreeable to participate in some of Thanatica's shady dealings

-----

THEIR RELATIONSHIP

This is so stupidly long, continued under cut

Daniil interviews Artemy and is so rude and condescending about it

Artemy is either biting back insults or being too sassy for his own good

Artemy gets the job either way, but it's VERY funny to imagine that Artemy failed the interview UNCONDITIONALLY, but was hired anyway under the pretense that Daniil didn't expect him to stick around for very long

"He's so handsome, shame that he's such a dick"

"He's so handsome, shame that he'll be medically indisposed for the sake of research"

Artemy figures out Thanatica is doing illegal experimentation but somehow despite this, it sort of falls in line with what Artemy is hoping to accomplish with his own studies (untested and unproven methods of healing that haven't been approved by any board)

Artemy decides to do his own experimentation behind Daniil's back

Daniil smells something suspicious, equipment and samples are missing (its his lab, he WILL get to the bottom of this)

He's been watching the new hire closely (assessing his potential for experimentation), eventually finds out that he's been performing experiments of his own with methods he's never seen before

Wants to put him under a microscope (literal) --> Wants to put him under a microscope (figurative)

Their confrontation can go a couple ways

Daniil approaches Artemy and offers him the resources to continue his work in exchange for doing some underhanded deeds to progress Daniil's own research

OR Artemy blackmails Daniil with the evidence he's gathered in exchange for resources - Daniil is largely unfazed by this, but sees Artemy's morals aren't exactly on the level either and he finds him very interesting so he allows him his resources in exchange for dirty work

Laughing at the idea that Daniil finds out that Artemy has no accredited experience and he lied on his resume to get an interview - Now he's even MORE desirable for underhanded work (thank you inkpot-demigod)

This would be the point Artemy is bagging bodies

Starts off with superficial antagonistic attraction (purely on looks, otherwise has disrespect for each other, condescending and rude) --> eventually develops into mutual respect for each other's work (cordial, maybe even friendly, "oh god why do they keep looking at each other like that") --> eventually develops into unprofessional workplace relationship (they are fucking in places where they definitely have no business doing so)

-----

"can we have artemy need a place to stay and daniil offers a space in his apartment and artemy packs him lunches to take to work. daniil thinks he's being subtle but just the fact he's eating lunch... all of his coworkers Know"

At some point during the relationship (most likely early on) Artemy mentions that his lease is ending and he's going to need to spend time looking for an apartment (or suggests that he needs to find a roommate to save some money because BOY DOES HE NEED IT)

Daniil IMMEDIATELY blurts out that he has space in his apartment (HE IS NOT JEALOUS, THIS IS JUST THE MOST ECONOMIC AND REASONABLE CHOICE, HE IS THE LEAD RESEARCHER AND HE CAN AFFORD A NICE SPACIOUS PLACE THAT HAPPENS TO ACCOMMODATE TWO)

It's closer proximity to the lab

They can keep discussing things in the privacy of his home

Not that Daniil NEEDS to save money, but having some extra is a plus

Artemy makes meals, food just APPEARS and Daniil never has to think about it

Co-workers are noticing that Daniil is ACTUALLY bringing lunches and eating food, hmmm very suspicious.....

Eva (lab receptionist, more on this later) notices the two of them coming into work at the same time in alarming frequency both carrying lunches and she's like SUSPICIOUS EYEZOOM

-----

"if the kids are involved with this i think it'd be kind of funny if daniil and artemy are desperately trying to hide the fact that they kill people but the kids definitely know that they kill people"

Not sure if they can live in Daniil's apartment if Artemy and Daniil have a living arrangement - Could be frequent visitors if Artemy is living there

Not sure about their relation to Artemy - would love to have him be uncle to his brother's adopted kids but this might get complicated

The kids are savvy enough to know about fucked up corporations, they are doing some MURDER in there

"Are you a mad scientist?"

"No pumpkin, I do very important research to extend the human lifespan"

"Oh…. That means people are dying in there right?"

"……."

-----

"i'm having a vision of daniil wanting to properly court artemy after a few trysts but he doesn't communicate this very well and he also has very little experience with this so he invites him to a fancy dinner or maybe even a gala and artemy is clearly out of his element the whole time and daniil is trying to make this work and its NOT... if anything artemy thinks daniil is trying to pull some power move on him AND THEN. at the end of the evening when daniil is trying to charmingly flirt and do a kiss, artemy is just like. what are you DOING and they do at least SOME communicating. its a START. this au is a murder romcom"

Daniil coming to terms with the fact that he's so gay for the new hire, oh god he's so gay, who allowed Artemy to be so handsome AND intelligent AND clever AND funny what the hell

He keeps looking in Artemy's direction and Temy thinks he's scrutinizing his work, but god knows Daniil needs to get ahold of himself

He has an idea: Invite Artemy to the next charity gala, show him off to some higher ups, thus giving him the opportunity to sing his praises, and Artemy should get the idea, then later in the night have some drinks and who knows

Daniil extends the invite to Artemy, Temy thinks he's getting some kind of promotion, so he agrees

The event is way bigger and way fancier than Artemy was anticipating, Daniil is showing him off to a lot of executives and Temy is trying to hold his own here - If this is some kind of test, he's going to wring Daniil's neck

"Why is Daniil being so flattering, is he making fun of me"

The two are finally alone and Daniil is sitting where his leg is bumping into Artemy's, he has his hand on Temy's thigh and he's leaning in so, so, so close and Temy panics - Not that he doesn't have his share of attraction to his boss but what is he getting at here? Some kinda power move? A cruel test? Blackmail?

They have been misreading each other this entire time and the both of them are UNBELIEVABLY embarrassed

Time to talk things out and admit some things to each other

-----

SOME LOOSE MUSINGS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS

Eva Yan

Receptionist at Thanatica, maybe specifically for Daniil's office/lab whatever

The only thing that matters is that she always sees Daniil and Artemy going in and out of the place

Privy to a lot of gossip and goings-on of the place, knows about some of the shadier stuff but she's far from put-off

In fact, she wants to be Daniil's next experiment and he is not having it

Dresses like "I have to go to the office but I'm going to a music festival at 6" boho chic

Yulia Lyuricheva

Works for the government helping to orchestrate shady evil things but she's not actively invested in being evil this is just a job where she can apply her mathematical genius

Eva of course goes on about wanting to be an experiment and neither Eva's enthusiasm nor the fact that Thanatica is so shady is surprising to her

Clara

She doesn't have to be here but if she is here than she runs around Thanatica like a rat and no one knows where she came from

She claims to be an experiment gone wrong but really she is just a girl in need of some caring parental figures in her life

Lara Ravel

In the city on a revenge mission to kill Alexander Block for the death of her father

DANIIL AND LARA MURDER SPREE WHEEEEEEE LET THEM HAVE IT I WANT IT

I have no idea how to make this happen

Block

Thanatica is not surviving this one Dankovsky oooooo it is not surviving

Head of the military operation to destroy all evidence related to Thanatica's experiments?

Roles of other characters unclear..... To be determined....

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS TEXT DUMP, MORE TO BE ADDED IF WE THINK OF IT

[scientia-rex]

Good morning! I have a question. When I look up info about vitamin D, I come across many claims that people generally don't get enough of it. In a recent episode of Maintenance Phase, however, the hosts called it a "scam" or overblown, at least (I don't remember the exact wording). So, like, what's the deal with vitamin D? Do Americans get enough of it?

Probably, mostly. At the very least, people should be tested before starting repletion. It probably has a role in osteoporosis treatment and prevention, BUT how much to take and what form and when is HOTLY debated and frequently conclusions are changing.

Just to take you on a spin through the most recent Cochrane reviews (THESE ARE NOT SINGLE STUDIES, in case any of the research-naive out there want to get pissy about them; look up what a Cochrane review actually is before trying to shit on it; also note that I did NOT say this will cover every fucking person and every hypothetical they can come up with, jesus CHRIST):

No role for vitamin D in asthma

Insufficient evidence to recommend it in sickle cell

Raising vitamin D levels in cystic fibrosis patients is not beneficial

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D in MS

Supplementing vitamin D in pregnancy may have small benefits but also risk of harms

No clinically significant benefit from vitamin D supplementation in chronic pain

Insufficient data on vitamin D in inflammatory bowel disease, but no evidence of benefit

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D supplementation in liver disease

Vitamin D does not appear to prevent cancer in general population

No evidence for benefit in supplementation of vitamin D in premenopausal women to prevent bone density loss

Possible small mortality benefit of D3, but not D2, in elderly patients, but also increased risk of kidney stones and hypercalcemia

Vitamin D alone ineffective, but combined with calcium may be effective, in preventing bone fractures in older adults

Insufficient evidence for vitamin D improving COVID-19 outcomes

Now, vitamin D plus calcium in people who have post-menopausal bone density loss does seem to prevent fractures. This is why doctors routinely recommend it. However, dosage and formulation are still debated as data are insufficient, and uncertainty still large.

So, do you need to supplement? Probably not. There is some fairly weak evidence that vitamin D supplementation may help with depression, but I would argue that it's going to be most relevant in people with pre-existing deficiencies, which Medicare is just hellbent on not letting me test for anymore. They've narrowed the coverage codes for testing so now even know vitamin D deficiency isn't considered a good enough reason to test. So Medicare has very clearly decided it's not relevant, for whatever that's worth, I spit on their graves, etc. Of course, then you get into the question of what counts as a deficiency, which we also really don't know.

And to be clear, I wasn't looking through the Cochrane review results with an angle--those are most of the first page of search results on their site, with the only one skipped being similar to another one I mentioned, and I stopped when I got bored. These should not be paywalled, as I am not logged into anything and I can read it all, so try clicking the side menu on the right if you have trouble getting into the weeds.

If anything, running through this little exercise has made me less likely to recommend vitamin D supplementation, so do with that what you will.

[wildlife4life]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

*A nylon gloved hand reaches out of a dark hole that smells like toothpaste and medical grade cleaner. In its trembling fingers is a wrinkled torn out note page. At the top there are crossed out chart notes and below that are the words NFL Buck snippet*

I LIVE!!!!!!!!! What up my buddie peeps? Making a surprise NFL Buck tidbit drop between studying and having my fingers in people's mouths (I am not a crazy person, I am in Dental Assisting school and doing my clinical rounds). The writing beans woke up for once and I had to share! But this does not mean a new chapter is going to drop any time soon. I am nearing the end of my schooling, on top of being a mom and running a household, so the time to actually sit and write, and have the writing beans working is very rare these days. BUT! NFL Buck is still in the works and another chapter is coming, just need to be patient with me. To those who are being patient and have stuck around for this fic, thank you.

Tagged by the super lovely and super talented @spaceprincessem. I am ever patient and beyond excited for your upcoming mockingjay buddie fic!

"Drinks are on me tonight." Eddie states firmly before Chimney could finishing reaching back for his wallet. The older man looks back and does a mental count of everyone that came along after their very rough shift and can't hide his small wince, "You sure Diaz? Including Athena, thats 10 weary firefighter bar tabs you'll be covering." And Chimney knows better than most how much just one thirsty civil servant can put away, let alone 10. Eddie shrugs one shoulder and gives him a small smirk, "Oh yea. I mean technically drinks are on Buck tonight, as thanks for saving me after the whole 'reckless spider-man' routine." His right hand throws up air quotes while his left is pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. Gifting an expensive coffee machine for the firehouse was one thing and knowing the basic financial logistics of Eddie's upcoming birthday golf trip was another. But having the funds on hand for an on the whim night out with several thirsty hard working men and women, was tipping onto the side of skeptical. And Chimney needed to voice it. "Doesn't he have an expensive birthday trip for you to save up for?" Chim quirks an eyebrow. The Texas native's smirk broadens. Instead of vocally answering him, Eddie opens his wallet and pulls out a fucking black American Express card. Chimney's jaw literally drops, as the bar lights reflect off the silver EDMUNDO DIAZ stamped at the bottom. Next to him, Hen audibly gasps before quickly collecting herself and shouting out, "118, drinks are on Diaz!" And is immediately met with loud hollers and cheers. Rich man Diaz laughs loud and reaches past a still stunned Chimney to hand the prized card to the wide eyed bar tender. In a hook and ladder joint, a card like Eddie's has probably never even come close to even the block of the bar and Chimney's only seen a black Amex in movies and tv shows. "No restrictions." Eddie tells the bar tender, "And I'll start with whatever IPA is on tap." He looks back at Chimney, "What'll have Han?" And folds up his fucking Burberry leather wallet before sliding it back into his back pocket.

For those who are not familiar with this fic, please go check the first two chapters of Three Taps for the Lombardi. All other snippets and posts for NFL Buck can be found here. Warning, there are a lot! Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure!): @hippolotamus @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990 @tizniz @rainbow-nerdss

@elvensorceress @monsterrae1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @lonelychicago @spotsandsocks

@diazheartsbuckley @diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @watchyourbuck

@glorious-spoon @prosperdemeter2 @bekkachaos @tidesreach @kitteneddiediaz

@eddiestummy @aroeddiediaz @lemonzestywrites @bi-buck-coded @lover-of-mine

@beyourownanchor6 @honestlydarkprincess @bucks-daddy-issues @inell

@pansysgothgf @smilingbuckley

[the-somberlaiin]

finally sharing my own personal headcanons for medic. keep in mind this is just my own interpretation of him.

-the story about him yoinking a guy's skeleton is one of the many he tells when someone asks him why he lost his license. he changes it up to a different one every single time and no one really knows which one is true.

-he is an excellent storyteller. he's good with words, has an endless array of things he could speak about and the obvious one, he loves to talk. though most of the stories are pretty morbid and his dark humour does not appeal to most people.

-he has other qualifications besides medicine and science. there was a brief period of time when he worked as a mortician and would harvest the organs of corpses for experiments. shockingly enough, he's also a licensed psychiatrist. nobody believes him though.

-i feel like he would be a good artist. he does very detailed anatomy studies but he also has many little sketches of his doves. it calms his nerves when he gets manic.

-i also think he'd be a big fan of junji ito's work. they have a similiar jovial and goofy nature while simultaneously creating the most horrifying shit.

-he and spy go way back before either of them were hired by mann co. they both fought in wwll as members of a resistance group, which medic joined after fleeing from germany.

-he has low affective empathy but pretty good cognitive empathy. he often words things wrong when attempting to comfort someone but if you brought it to his attention, he'd be like "oh, i never thought of it that way! i apologize!"

-he is generally polite to people as long as they don't undermine him or his work. treat him with respect and he'll extend the same courtesy to you. that being said, he is absolutely not a pushover, as we've seen multiple times. he knows his worth and when someone steps on his tail like cheavy did, he will retaliate tenfold.

-alot of people say he hates children which i do not agree with at all. i think he has a soft spot for them and he secretly always wanted to be a father. his paternal side occassionally comes out when he's interacting with his birds. if he ever had a kid of his own, he would pamper them and carry them around in his arms everywhere.

-another unpopular opinion but i think he is more understanding than people give him credit for. he would try to reassure someone if they were scared to undergo surgery for whatever reason and make jokes in an attempt to ease the tension. he's not always particularly successful at it but it's the thought that counts.

-he is very passionate and feels all of his emotions strongly with little to no inbetween. it's either extreme love or extreme spite.

-he is quite observant and endlessly fascinated by human behaviour. he enjoys interacting with people so he gets to dissect (often quite literally) and pick their brains. though his observations come across as very clinical which unnerves most people.

-i think he is more gentle with women than he is with men. i mean, just look at how he talks to miss pauling.

-he plays up his evilness so people will think he's just a one track mind lunatic. he enjoys catching people by surprise when he gets serious.

-while i personally don't think he would outright hate any animal, i think he gets nervous if a cat is in the vicinity of his birds.

[sophieinwonderland]

I want to start with: people are not their disorders. Disorders are not identities. They are intended for clinicians and insurance companies and for treatment. They are clusters of symptoms. And they are faulty and honestly a poor piss always of describing people. All psychiatric disorders contain overlap. Personality disorders especially contain overlapping symptoms. Rarely does a person exactly fit one PD. Dissociation can be a symptom of PDs. Dissociating is not necessarily indicative of a dissociative disorder. Also, there is nothing wrong with being diagnosed with a PD. It doesn’t mean that person is a bad person. A PD is diagnosed when a person exhibits a pattern of certain behaviors over a long period of time, usually start in adolescence. PDs are often difficult to treat because those diagnosed often do not see any problem with their behavior, and therefore often do not actively try to change. PDs are incredibly sad, for both the person who likely experiences much unhappiness but can’t see why and for those around them.

I imagine that patient’s doctors knew her very well before coming to their diagnosis. It is very possible they observed manipulative behavior in her regularly. She may have believed she had DID as it would have been a convenient excuse to continue her manipulative behaviors. Often, people do not want to take responsibility for their harmful behavior. Could you imagine if everyone could just blame bad behavior on a dissociative disorder? It sounds like she just pointed to the dissociative disorder as an excuse, rather than feeling actual remorse or regret for her actions. Therein lies the difference. Again, does this make her a bad person? No. She clearly had a hard life that shaped her into who she was. However, it is important to diagnose correctly. Treatment changes depending on the diagnosis. Honestly, this is why I personally believe diagnoses should be withheld. Rather than viewing themselves as a whole person, patients may often overly identify with the diagnosis which can also hinder recovery (i.e. getting the patient to a place where they no longer feel the need to use maladaptive coping strategies; more ideally, getting them to a place where they can thrive rather than only survive).

Regardless, that is one anecdote. My point remains that it does happen that one is introduced with the concept of alters and then they suddenly have alters, not because they have DID, but again, because they have high suggestibility, prone to fantasy, etc. And that is ok! That doesn’t make them liars or bad people. It just doesn’t necessarily mean they have DID and therefore treatment used for DID may not be effective for them. More likely they’re young, still figuring out their identity, confused, etc. Clinicians need to be careful when a new client comes in claiming alters as having the wrong diagnosis can, again, hinder recovery, and with DID being all over social media nowadays, this is becoming more common.

I imagine that patient’s doctors knew her very well before coming to their diagnosis.

She had initially been diagnosed with DID.

Then she was sent to the clinic that conducted this study who suspected she didn't have real DID as soon as she was admitted to their department.

Honestly, this is why I personally believe diagnoses should be withheld.

You mean you shouldn't tell the patients what they're diagnosed with?

That's a terrible idea! Just imagine all the patients put on who knows how many different types of medications without being told what the meds are even treating! Unless you just mean for DID specifically, but then why single that out?

However, it is important to diagnose correctly.

I agree. It is very important to diagnose correctly. But the reasoning for her not having DID is weak. By all counts, it sounds like she fit the criteria. If not for DID then at least for OSDD.

Let me put this a different way.

These doctors had a problem. There were lawsuits being filed against psychiatrists for alleged misdiagnoses. To protect themselves and other doctors from such suits, they needed a defense.

They created a theory of "imitated DID" as a solution to this problem. A super hard-to-detect condition where people just enacted the symptoms of DID, that doctors couldn't possibly be held liable for because of how hard it is to detect.

To back up this theory, well, they needed case studies to use as examples. Which meant identifying people to have their made-up condition.

Regardless, that is one anecdote.

It's THE FIRST anecdote. This, and the other case studies presented, were what was used as justification to create Imitated DID as a concept!

Before this paper, there was malingering which was intentionally lying to gain some type of benefit. But there was no real concept of people gaining or imitating DID-like symptoms unconsciously.

In the end, this alleged condition of "imitated DID" has no scientific basis. The theory is not driven by science, but money. It was made up to protect doctors from legal liability.

My point remains that it does happen that one is introduced with the concept of alters and then they suddenly have alters, not because they have DID, but again, because they have high suggestibility, prone to fantasy, etc.

And my point is that evidence for this claim is lacking.

Many people don't just form alters after learning that DID exists. But sure, when people learn about plurality, if they are already plural, there is a tendency for them to realize that they already had headmates afterwards. But those headmates didn't just come into existence. It's just that the system didn't have words to describe their experiences before.

I will give you that, because of rampant system medicalism, many of these may be non-disordered systems will wrongfully self-diagnose as disordered systems. This is a reason we need more education on systems of all kinds.

But that's still not imitated DID. It's not created to copy DID experiences. They're just using the closest thing they know about to define the experience of being multiple that they already have.

Clinicians need to be careful when a new client comes in claiming alters as having the wrong diagnosis can, again, hinder recovery, and with DID being all over social media nowadays, this is becoming more common.

And yet, false diagnosis of DID is a non-issue. In a later study, Suzette Boon, who invented the concept of imitated DID, discussed how only 6 out of the 85 patients in that study were misdiagnosed with DID. In the same paper, she mentions how other studies have shown 26-40% of DID patients will be diagnosed with schizophrenia long before they get a correct diagnosis of DID. And that's just schizophrenia alone, never mind other psychotic disorders, BPD and similar disorders that are often confused with DID.

There is no epidemic of people getting falsely diagnosed with DID.

But there is an epidemic of people with DID and other dissociative disorders being wrongfully diagnosed with other conditions.

Why then, aren't we calling for clinicians to show the same care when diagnosing schizophrenia that we are with them diagnosing DID?

Oh wait, I just thought of 16 billion reasons.

[muiitoloko]

Hey, can I place an order? I saw that you've just started writing about Alan Rickman and I was wondering if you could write something in which the Reader dies of some incurable disease and, years later, Alan dies too? Ignore this if it's a strange request.

Author's Notes: Normally I wouldn't write something like this about a real person, but I spent days reading this request and finally decided to write it, and I apologize to anyone who felt offended in any way.

Title: Sun and Rain

Summary: Alan hates the contrast between their deaths, he tries to fight it, but it's a losing battle.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, Nosebleed, illnesses

Word Count: 2918

Alan ate in silence, savoring the breakfast you had prepared. The air was charged with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the playful atmosphere of the previous night. As You exchanged occasional glances, the weight of the unknown lingered.

Suddenly, Alan's fork clattered against the plate, and he looked at you with concern etched across his face. He noticed a trickle of blood running from your nose. "Love, you're bleeding," he exclaimed, his voice filled with worry.

You, composed but slightly surprised, reached for a napkin and pressed it against your nose. You excused yourself from the table, heading towards the bathroom, and Alan, propelled by concern, followed closely behind.

In the bathroom, you washed off the blood, your reflection in the mirror betraying the gravity of the situation. Alan hovered over you, his eyes searching yours for answers. "Are you okay? Does your head hurt? Are you feeling any pain?"

You, meeting his gaze, shook your head. "No, Alan. I don't feel any pain. It's just a nosebleed, probably from the dry air or stress."

Alan's brows furrowed, unconvinced. "But, love, this could be a symptom. We can't ignore it. We should go to the hospital, get you checked out."

You, facing the mirror, met your own gaze, a reflection of resignation. "Alan, there's no need. The doctors can't do anything. You know there's no cure. It's just a matter of time."

Alan, unable to accept the harsh reality, started making plans. "Maybe there's a new treatment, an experimental trial. We should explore all options."

You, facing the mirror, met your own gaze, a reflection of resignation. "Alan, there's no need. The doctors can't do anything. You know there's no cure. It's just a matter of time."

Alan, feeling a surge of helplessness, reluctantly nodded. The room echoed with the weight of your shared grief, a silent acknowledgment of the impending end.

But Alan could no longer sit and wait, so he secretly, over the next few days, called different doctors, did research on the Internet, and no matter what he did, he found nothing, no cure.

In his study, surrounded by the dim glow of the computer screen, Alan delved into the depths of medical journals, clinical trials, and forums seeking a glimmer of hope. The rhythmic clicking of keys echoed through the room as he tirelessly pursued any information that could alter your fate.

Late at night, with you asleep in the adjacent room, Alan sat alone, grappling with the harsh reality that every avenue he explored led to the same conclusion – there was no cure for your condition. His baritone voice whispered words of desperation, "There has to be something, anything that can save you."

Frustration and helplessness fueled his relentless pursuit, but the internet offered no solace. Each night, as the clock ticked away, Alan found himself immersed in a sea of medical jargon, clinical trials, and experimental treatments, all of which failed to promise the miracle he desperately sought.

With weary eyes, he stared at the screen, realizing that even his baritone voice couldn't command a solution where none existed. You, blissfully unaware of his nocturnal endeavors, slept peacefully, the weight of your shared fate temporarily lifted from your shoulders.

Days turned into nights, and Alan's pursuit of a cure became a solitary battle fought in the dim glow of the computer screen. His voice, once filled with certainty on the stage, now wavered with uncertainty as he muttered to himself, "There has to be something, a breakthrough, a miracle..."

The room, once filled with the echoes of Shakespearean verses, now bore witness to Alan's silent struggle against an adversary more formidable than any role he had portrayed. His deep, deliberate thoughts couldn't unravel the mystery of a disease that had no mercy, no remorse.

As he exhausted every conceivable avenue, Alan realized the futility of his efforts. The research, the late-night calls to specialists, the clandestine meetings with experts – all led to the same heartbreaking conclusion. There was no cure for your condition.

One evening, as Alan sat alone in the darkness of his study, his baritone voice broke the heavy silence, "I can't save you. I can't change the inevitable." The weight of those words hung in the air, a painful acknowledgment of his limitations.

In the quiet hours before dawn, Alan slipped into the bedroom, where you peacefully slept, unaware of the turmoil that consumed your husband. He gazed at you, the lines of worry etched on his face, and whispered, "I'm sorry, my love. I tried everything."

The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of moonlight, held the echo of Alan's silent confession. The realization that no amount of research, no whispered pleas to the darkness, could alter the course of your tragic journey settled into his weary heart.

In those quiet moments, as you faced the inevitable, Alan's baritone voice found solace in whispered words of love and comfort. The room, steeped in shared memories and sorrow, became a sanctuary once more, offering fleeting moments of peace amidst the storm of impending farewells.

As the days passed, Alan continued to care for you with unwavering devotion, but the specter of impending loss loomed over you. The room, once a sanctuary for your love, now bore witness to the fragility of life and the inevitability of goodbyes.

As Alan faced the harsh reality of your impending departure, he decided to cherish every moment you had left together. Determined to create new memories, he orchestrated romantic dinners, showered You with gestures of love, danced under the moonlight, cooked together, and embraced the intimate moments that made your connection unique.

Despite the looming sadness that lingered in his heart, Alan poured his soul into making your remaining time special. As you lay side by side in your backyard, gazing at the stars, he couldn't contain the whisper of vulnerability that escaped his lips.

"My love," Alan began, his baritone voice a soft murmur, "are you scared? Of... of what's to come?"

You, tired but willing to share your truth, took a moment before responding. "I'm not scared of dying, Al. My biggest fear is leaving you behind. You're my world, and the thought of not being by your side is what truly scares me."

Alan, fighting back the tears that threatened to surface, wanted to delve deeper into your fears, but you interrupted gently, "I'm really tired tonight, Alan. Let's just enjoy this moment together, okay?"

Nodding in understanding, Alan placed a tender kiss on your forehead. "Of course, my love. Sleep now. I'll be right here when you wake up."

As you slept, Alan clung to you, holding you close in your shared cocoon of warmth beneath the blanket. Both nestled in your sleeping bags, your breaths harmonized in the quiet of the night, creating a delicate lullaby that momentarily eased the weight of your reality.

When morning arrived, and the first rays of sunlight painted the backyard, Alan gently attempted to wake you. He whispered your name, softly shook your shoulders, and called to you with increasing urgency. But you, serene in your eternal slumber, remained unresponsive.

Panic seized Alan as he tried everything in his power to rouse you. He shook you more vigorously, called your name with desperation, and pleaded with you to wake up. However, you, caught in the grasp of an unyielding silence, refused to open your eyes.

Despite his efforts, your peaceful repose persisted, untouched by the outside world. Alan, in the throes of disbelief and sorrow, cradled you in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

"No, no, wake up," Alan pleaded, his baritone voice carrying a tone of desperation that echoed through the backyard. He clung to you, shaking you gently as if to dispel the cruel reality unfolding before him.

"Baby, please," he implored, his voice a heart-wrenching whisper. "This can't be happening. You can't leave me like this."

He called for an ambulance, his voice trembling as he explained the situation, the operator's words blurred by the overwhelming grief that gripped him. As he hung up, reality crashed down upon him, and he wailed in anguish.

Clinging to your lifeless form, Alan's cries reverberated through the backyard, a raw expression of the pain that threatened to consume him. In those agonizing moments, he grappled with the stark truth that you, his love and anchor, would never open your eyes again.

As he cradled your lifeless body, the backyard bore witness to the profound loss that echoed through its walls. Alan, his baritone voice reduced to desperate sobs, kissed your forehead one last time, the weight of your absence settling into the depths of his soul.

The grass beneath them seemed indifferent to the tragedy that unfolded, and Alan couldn't help but feel a profound sense of injustice. The sky stretched above them, a canvas of serene blue, completely at odds with the storm raging within him.

"It's not right," Alan whispered to himself, his baritone voice trembling with grief. "The sky should mourn you, and the world should feel the weight of this loss."

He looked up at the beautiful sky, an ache in his chest as he wished for a torrential downpour, a dramatic reflection of the turmoil in his soul. The unfair contrast between nature's calm and your departure intensified his sense of isolation.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the arrival of the ambulance. The paramedics approached him, their faces a mixture of sympathy and professionalism. They gently took you from his arms, their actions mechanical against the backdrop of Alan's overwhelming sorrow.

The world continued with its ordinary rhythm, indifferent to the tragedy that had unfolded in the backyard. Alan felt a profound sense of loneliness, the beauty of the day contrasting sharply with the emptiness that settled into his heart.

He was snapped out of his daze when the paramedics gently guided him away from you. His eyes, still fixed on the sky, were met with the reality of the situation. The beautiful day persisted, unyielding to the pain that Alan carried.

As they loaded you into the ambulance, Alan sat in silence, his voice reduced to a whisper. The paramedics offered words of comfort, but their attempts felt distant, the reality of your absence looming over him.

The journey to the hospital was a blur, the scenery passing by in a haze. Alan's thoughts were consumed by the unfairness of it all, the disconnect between the world's beauty and the tragedy he carried within.

Upon reaching the hospital, Alan's baritone voice, usually a commanding presence, now wavered as he faced the harsh reality. The medical staff ushered him into a room, explaining the necessary procedures. He mechanically went through the motions, but his mind remained fixated on the backyard, the sky, and the unjust beauty of the day.

As the doctors examined your lifeless form, Alan sat in the hospital room, his eyes distant, contemplating the world beyond the sterile walls. The news, when it came, shattered the fragile illusion of normalcy. The beautiful day persisted, unapologetic in its existence, and Alan was left grappling with the incomprehensible truth.

In the days that followed, as Alan navigated the arrangements and condolences, the world outside continued its indifferent dance. The sky remained beautiful, the sun rose and set, and life went on. But for Alan, the echo of your absence cast a shadow over everything.

As he faced the funeral preparations and the condolences of friends and family, Alan couldn't escape the pervasive beauty of the world around him. It felt like a betrayal, a mockery of the grief he carried within.

At the funeral, surrounded by mourners and under the gaze of the beautiful sky, Alan delivered a eulogy with a voice that resonated with both love and bitterness. "Why is the world still beautiful when my wife is gone? It should mourn with us, share in our sorrow."

The beauty of the day persisted, a silent witness to Alan's anguish. He wished for rain, for thunder to match the storm within his heart. But the sky remained clear, and Alan's baritone voice, though filled with pain, echoed the words that lingered in the air.

As the ceremony concluded, Alan stood by your final resting place, gazing at the unyielding sky. The world continued its rhythm, and he, left to navigate the aftermath, felt the weight of the beautiful day as a testament to the unfairness of loss.

In the quiet moments that followed, Alan Rickman, the actor known for his deep, deliberate voice, found himself grappling not only with the absence of you but also with the relentless beauty of a world that seemed oblivious to his pain.

Years later, Alan lay in his bed, his once robust frame now weakened by the persistent battle with pancreatic cancer. As he gazed out the window, the world beyond appeared blurred, much like the lines between his memories and the impending reality.

He could feel the weight of his mortality, the knowledge that today would be his last. The room, filled with the hushed footsteps of Margaret, his maid, downstairs, carried an air of finality. Alan clung to the sheets, grappling with the bittersweet dance between acceptance and reluctance.

In the quiet moments, he couldn't help but wonder if you had felt the same as you faced your inevitable departure. Did you sense the approaching end, embracing it with the same quiet resolve, or was your departure a sudden storm that left him in the aftermath?

As Alan closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of mortality, a strange noise interrupted his solitude. His eyes shot open, indignant at the intrusion, only to be met with the gentle tap of raindrops against the windowpane. The sky, unforgivably, chose to weep for him.

How dare the heavens cry for his departure when they remained silent during your farewell? Alan's baritone voice, weakened but still carrying a tone of resentment, muttered, "Did you cry for her, too, or is this your belated acknowledgment of the injustice?"

He listened to the rhythmic dance of raindrops, a peculiar symphony that seemed to mock the stark contrast between his departure and your's. The world outside, painted in the somber hues of rain, provided no solace for the grievances etched in his soul.

As he lay there, sheets clutched in his weakening grasp, Alan's mind drifted to the past. He remembered your laughter, your vibrant spirit, and the unfairness of losing you to an indifferent world. The rain outside, indifferent to his resentment, continued its gentle lament.

In those final moments, Alan's thoughts lingered on the unspoken questions that had haunted him for years. Did you know your time was drawing near, and did you, too, feel the weight of the impending farewell? The answers remained elusive, lost in the echoes of the past.

Weakened but resolute, Alan lay in his bed and glanced out the window. The sound of raindrops tapping against the glass reached his ears, and a spark of anger flared within him. "Not tonight," he muttered to himself. "I won't go out like this."

Determined to have control over his final moments, Alan declared, "Just one more night, one more chance to see the beauty of the sky, like my wife did." With this conviction, he summoned the strength to endure, vowing to hold on until the heavens opened.

Days turned into nights, and Alan's mood fluctuated with the unpredictable weather. Frustration mounted as the rain persisted, denying him the chance to bid farewell under the canvas of a beautiful sky. "Stop!" he shouted at the heavens, his baritone voice echoing through the quiet room. "Let me have one night of clarity before the end."

However, the rain remained indifferent to his pleas, an unyielding force that seemed impervious to the desires of a man grappling with mortality. Alan's anger intensified, and he cursed at the heavens, demanding a reprieve from the ceaseless downpour.

A week passed, and Alan's condition worsened. In his moments of despair, he continued to beg for the rain to stop, yearning for a glimpse of the sky before his final curtain call. The heavens, however, remained unmoved by his entreaties, casting a shadow over his desperate struggle.

One stormy night, Alan, exhausted and defeated, realized that the rain might not cease anytime soon. He knew he couldn't hold on much longer, and the cruel irony of the situation weighed heavily on his heart. "Fine," he whispered, surrendering to the relentless rain. "If this is how it must be, then so be it."

In his final moments, as Alan's breaths grew shallow, the rain outside suddenly ceased. The heavens, as if responding to his silent surrender, opened up to reveal a breathtaking display of stars. The night sky, free from the veil of rain, sparkled in all its glory.

However, Alan, now at peace, could not witness this celestial spectacle. His struggle had ended, and he, like the beauty before him, slept forever, leaving behind a world now free from the burdens of his mortal wishes.

As the rain-soaked earth embraced Alan's final moments, the sky, adorned with the brilliance of a thousand stars, stood as a testament to the beauty his longed to witness. The room, once filled with the echoes of an actor's contemplative voice, now cradled the silence of eternal rest.

[autisticlenaluthor]

Twilight

Lena often thinks her real life is somewhere else far away. Sure, physically, she exists in her body. She can see and touch and experience all the other senses that supposedly make her whole. But for as long as she can remember, she’s had the strongest feeling that the real Lena is out there somewhere else. And while this one watches the rest of the world through her glass box and foggy goggles, the woman she’s supposed to be thrives in another existence. Maybe even another timeline. 

This other life isn’t something Lena looks for– it isn’t something that can be revealed through tireless searching. When Lena tries, it only seems to grow further away.

So she chooses to believe that one day, they will step into each other and the box will break. She’ll become real and whole, and the fog will be gone and her new life will start. The life she’s always been meant to have. 

In the bleak hours of twilight, Lena finds herself the closest she’s ever been to shattering that barrier.

In high school, Lena used to tell herself that longer she stayed awake, the longer it would take for the next day to come. She needed to savor the times that weren’t consumed by the energy it took to mask at school or locked in the upstairs bathroom to avoid Lillian’s resentment. And that could only happen when the rest of the world was asleep.

Night was her safe haven.

Darkness expects nothing of no one. She didn't have to be presentable or restrained she could just... be.

At night, the requirements that had been forced upon her since the ripe age of four are momentarily lifted because nobody’s that put together when it’s three in the morning and they haven’t slept in almost as many days.

Sleep, on the other hand, felt like pressing fast forward on existence. 

Lena’s head would hit the pillow and in an instant, the cycle would start back up again. 

She’d wake up. Get dressed. Get coffee. Go to school. Skip lunch to complete homework. Study during her free period. Get ahead on extra credit during study hall. Stay late for chess club Wednesdays and Fridays. Stay late for fencing on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Go home and hope the mansion would be empty when she arrived. Drink more coffee. Study for upcoming exams. Eat dinner (or not). Work on college essays. Even more coffee. Brush teeth. Sleep. Repeat.

The cycle couldn’t be broken but the beginning of a new day could be prolonged. And at sixteen-years-old with no real freedom, time was the most finite resource Lena had. 

The night was Lena’s out and it was embarrassingly easy to become addicted to it’s reprive. 

Lena’s late nights transitioned from her childhood bedroom, to her university dorm, to her first apartment, to the hotel she lives out of in National City for three months. Eventually, they land in the basement of L Corp, where her favorite place in the entire world sits – her personal lab.

Lena spends more hours down there than she can count.

She does everything from experimentation on different substances to developing plans for high tech militant weapons. She picks apart and studies Lex’s old devices and spitefully finds ways to improve them (oh, how he would hate if he knew his little sister had been the one to fix the flaws he hadn’t accounted for).

Some nights she even finds herself going back to her Metropolis roots of trying to cure cancer out of a garage with Jack Spheer. She reads through medical journals when she’s looking for more mental stimulation than physical, and writes up lists of her own hypotheses and ideas. Clinical trials could be built around her midnight endeavors, if Lena would ever let anyone read her work. 

At night, Lena thrives. She gets so close to this other world that at times, she thinks if she pushed just a little harder, she’d finally be able to break the seal.

But then there are the nights where it’s never felt further away. 

Those nights come after soul sucking days where Lena spends every minute forced to be on. They come from masking more than she can handle, until she feels like she might physically burst from the tension. They leave her feeling like a shell of herself, like her capacity for being alive has dropped to zero. 

Lena only tries to explain it once. Sam can tell something’s wrong so Lena does the thing most unlike herself and confides in her. It’s the only time she ever says it out loud.

Really, Lena doesn’t know what she was expecting– maybe reassurance that her struggle is real and that her burn out is enough. But instead, Sam tells her she gets it. She gets exhausted too from the long days and crashes hard after sitting in a board room with executives and other titles for hours on end. 

It’s in good faith but it makes Lena feel even worse. Because she doesn’t get it– not really. Sam may struggle, but Lena is autistic. She’s speech loss and shut down, ugly stimming, and violent meltdowns autistic. She's 'can only eat five foods because of ARFID', prolonged burn out, sleep deprived, and insomniac autistic. 

And god, there’s nothing more isolating than knowing that no matter how hard they try, her friends will never be able to ‘get it’ when she tells them she’s having a hard time. 

Those are the nights where to Lena, doing anything substantial feels entirely inconceivable. But the routine can’t be broken. So she stops by Noonans for an iced coffee and safe food dinner of Uncrustables that she can eat on the laboratory floor. Because sometimes all it takes to feel okay is to be surrounded by her special interests, even if she can’t interact with them. 

She's tapping her fingers, trying to block out the sound of the buzzing overhead lights, when she finds Kara standing in the pick-up spot parallel to her. Lena isn’t sure what time it is but the sky outside is black and the coffee shop is empty. All she knows is t's way too late for Kara "It starts at 10? That's when I go to bed" Danvers.

Kara smiles when she spots her. 

“Hey! What are you doing here? I thought all the big CEOs sent their assistants out for coffee runs,” she jokes. 

For a split second, Lena manages to smile back at her. It's small and fleeting but it's there. Her first real one in days.

“I sent Jess home hours ago,” she replies. “It wouldn’t be fair to subject her to my all-nighters.” 

Lena pauses when the barista approaches the counter to hand Kara her drink. 

“Why are you still up?” She asks after a moment. “Snapper torturing you again?”  

Kara shrugs and gives a light laugh

 “No, Snapper’s been surprisingly okay recently. I just stayed late to finish some stuff up. I’m done now but I wanted to get myself a little reward.”  

She sips at her drink, grinning when she sees Lena’s confused expression. 

“It’s hot chocolate– no caffeine for me.”

Lena hums. Before she can say anything else, her large iced black coffee is placed on the counter in front of her. Her cheeks flush red and for whatever reason, all she can feel is pure shame at the sight of it. 

This isn’t normal. She isn’t normal. And there’s no way Kara doesn’t feel it too.

But Kara doesn’t judge. She doesn’t chastise Lena’s choices or go on about how it’s so unhealthy to have caffeine so late and how she should know better by now.

Instead, she says “are you going back to the office? I can walk with you.” 

Of course, Lena accepts.

They walk together in silence. It doesn’t feel awkward– there isn’t an expectation to fill the gaps. It’s just the two of them. They’re side by side and in that moment, neither of them need anything more. 

When they arrive at L Corp, Lena brings Kara inside with her.

They skip security and stop at the elevator. Lena pulls out her ID card but she doesn’t scan it. She looks at Kara and shifts her weight between her heels.

“Would you like to come down with me?” She asks. 

“Down?” 

“My lab… it’s in the basement.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to. I wouldn’t put you to work or anything– I was just going to sit on the floor and have dinner. If you’d like to do that with me.” 

Kara can’t help but chuckle at Lena’s phrasing. Her best friend, who can’t touch the buttons on public elevators without putting a tissue over her thumb, relaxes by eating her dinner on the basement floor.

The contrast is stark yet endearing. And as strange as it sounds, Kara cant think of a better way to spend her night. 

They spend the next hour sitting in a corner, backs up against the wall, eating grape uncrustables, vending machine chips, and Oreos. Kara tells Lena about her day, making sure she knows she doesn’t have to respond if she isn’t up to speaking. And as they drink their respective beverages, Kara goes on about how incredible Lena’s lab is– how nice it was of her to share it.  

It feels good. It feels calming. Lena’s surrounded by her favorite things, eating her safe foods, with her best friend, who upholds none of the social barriers she struggles with so much.

By the time they’re done– it’s nearly two in the morning.

“Gosh, I’m tired,” Kara says, smiling dreamily. She yawns and looks over at Lena. “Are you?” 

Lena just shrugs. She is. She always is. But right now, the last place she wants to be is her empty penthouse. 

“We both need sleep,” Kara adds. She slouches into the wall and sighs. “But my loft is so far. And I don’t want to leave you. Why is everything so unfair?” 

Softly, Lena laughs. 

“You could come to my place,” she suggests, her voice small and apprehensive. “If you’d like. I- I think it would be nice to… not be alone for a bit.” 

“Really?” Kara asks. 

Lena nods. “Really.”

"I'd love that!"

Lena smiles. For the first time in years, the thought of going to sleep doesn't feel all that daunting.

[ryuzakemo128]

Moonlight

Pairing: Ex-Boyfriend! Dave York x Artist! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Body Horror Artist! Female Reader, Female Reader has a doctorate in Forensics Anthropology and Forensics Pathology. Dave York is infatuated with her unique perspective and the art she creates from it. Female reader has a dead eye expression and a perpetual smell of formaldehyde. Mention of death in graphic description. Miscarriage is mentioned.

Note: It's up to you if you think they got back together or not.

Word Count: 1050

Masterlist

Dave walked into the large open art gallery exhibit with all your art pieces on display. According to the museum curator? You haven't finished adding pieces yet. You brought in small pieces every two days. Only adding further to the unnerving atmosphere, you were hoping to curate in your exhibition.

The space, with warm yellow lighting, purposefully angled in ways to ensure the viewer's mind plays tricks on them. The Funeral March playing softly over the speakers to set the mood. The buttons of clinical information of what happens after you die is recorded by you and your academic research.

The stages of rigor mortis displayed in a mock-up of what your lab would look like. The mannequins displayed on a metal gurney and displaying a stage of decomposition. Each one layered in realistic detail of the human body. So much so there are warnings before entering the exhibit itself.

Dave felt his heart skip a beat as he approached your latest piece: a sculpture of a human torso with a peeled-back skin revealing intricate musculature, all carved from a single hefty block of white marble. Parts of the torso is gilded with gold or silver to highlight certain areas.

The artistry was breathtaking, but it was your cold, meticulous eye for detail that truly set it apart. You had spent years of your life studying cadavers and medical texts to get it just right. As you placed in a few more of the little art pieces into the exhibit.

In the hopes to add more of the extra details you thought were missing from it all. You didn’t think many people would take much of an interest in your artwork. Though you were swiftly and most often proved wrong whenever it does occur. You weren’t sure why it did.

Like the world continued to remind you that your interest in death wasn’t some form of strange fascination you could keep to yourself. It was your career, your art, your identity, your life and everything you knew all at once. Something your mother used to admonish vehemently in religious fear.

You placed in a portrait of a woman cleaving her fingers through her own flesh, tears streaming down her face and the words, ‘Please forgive me my son’ painted in deep crimson like it flowed from her own veins. Loss of one's child. Even a miscarriage can cause such pain.

You knew it well. You had studied it reverently, seen it in the eyes of the mothers who had come to you to find peace in your detailed forensic reports. Even experienced it personally. Before the eventual break-up between you and your ex-boyfriend. You didn’t blame him. You never could.

Dave? Your ex? He didn’t think to see you again after you broke up with him thinking he would be better off with someone else. It seems like he didn’t hold the same judgement as you did. His mind replaying the day you broke up with him. He still remembers.

“I really think you would be better off with someone who can give you what you are looking for.” You said. You were only twenty-six and he was only thirty-four. Sure, there was an age gap between the two of you. But neither one of you cared all that much.

“I am not suited for you. I apologise.” As if you could be at fault for something you couldn’t control. No. He wasn’t going to let you slide and slip through his fingers like an idiot. Not like he did the first time. He was going to take you home.

He thought as he gazed at you, you weren’t twenty-six anymore and you were thirty-five almost thirty-six. Your hair is longer and tied into a mermaid braid. Your black glasses have cat paws on the top corners. He still remembers your two Pomeranian puppies you aptly named Bubbles and Mouse.

The two of you sat there in front of the graphic portrait named, ‘Crying Mother’ an apt name for something it portrayed in terms of subject. Neither one of you spoke for what it felt to be forever. Even though the reality of it is reflected in the minute minutes.

Dave spoke up first, “I don’t blame you for what happened.” He didn’t want to dance around the elephant in the room and he didn’t want to make excuses either. He didn’t want to say something to cause you to find someone else. He wanted you home with him again.

“You came back.” You murmured in surprise. It was a first for you. A first that an ex that ran back to you of all people instead of immediately starting something new with a different woman. You didn’t know how to feel about it. You feel incredibly lacking in substance.

Even as you brought him back to your place, the studio apartment which you bought when you were thirty-five years ago as a 30th birthday present to yourself. Dave looked around the studio as your two pups sniffed at his shoes like he was hiding some kind of hidden treasure.

The walls were lined with ebony stained wooden bookshelves filled with medical and anatomy books, along with art history tomes. A stark contrast to the cosy couch and the warm glow of the rainbow-coloured pendant shaped fairy lights draped along the top of the curtains. Creating an odd, homely atmosphere.

You had turned your living room into a small cosy office, where your laptop and paperwork lay scattered across a glass-top coffee table. The kitchen had vases of white lily of the valley flowers inside them. Your favourite type of flower. Well. One of your many favourite types of flower.

“What do you think? Its small I know. But for what it is? Its far better than the old place with the leaky taps.” You remarked as he looked around.

The luxury cowhide dog beds in the living room with the fluffy blankets on them showed signs of wear, but were spotlessly clean, hinting at the meticulous nature that carried over from your work into your personal space. Though Bubbles went straight to have a nap, while Mouse followed Dave.

“Mouse seems to like you.” You commented watching Mouse with a slight smirk. “He doesn’t normally take an intense interest.”