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jupiterpilgrim · 8 months ago

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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.

1K notes · View notes

fgojous · 9 days ago

Text

silver springs ( satoru g. )

satoru's life was planned down to the very last detail. every clinical rotations, every exam, especially his future—laid out carefully like a surgical procedure. but then you came along—loud, sarcastic and seemed to have no remorse when your ice cold coffee was dripping down his white coat—and into his perfectly planned life. and now? he can't stop thinking about you. everything he had planned? yeah, that went sideways.

med student!gojo x pre-med student!reader

tags. romance, fluff, light angst (hehe), hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, medical au, college au, age gap, banters (a lot), sexual tension, use of profanities, explicit sexual content, kissing/making out (like a lot too i think? lmao), unprotected sex (pls always use protection), little hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (?), pillow talks | eighteen plus only!

word count. 13.4k

status. completed (one-shot)

note. i know! 13.4k is crazy but i love satoru sm can u blame me. anyway, i can't get enough of med student satoru, he drives me insane. this is kinda self-indulgent (cos yn is a pt student, and me too hihi). btw, satoru is 25 and yn is 20! <3 i think that's all i wanted to say. anyway, i love u <3

Satoru was—safe to say, pissed.

He hasn’t slept for hours. There’s his clinical instructor breathing down his neck. He’s still got to study after this.

Then you, wide your eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, are just staring at him. Like you were sent by the heavens above to add to his problems today—maybe they said, it wasn’t enough, you had to come.

Fuck this day, really.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his voice was low, irritation unmistaken.

You blinked, frozen in place, your caramel macchiato—wasted, dripping down his white—very white coat. Does this day get any better than this? You think not.

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!”

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light.

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.”

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?”

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed.

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket.

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number.

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder.

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back.

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day.

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished.

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm.

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says.

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying.

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine.

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now.

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.”

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now.

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read?

Anything.

Just so you could look away from him.

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out.

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.”

It’s his hoodie.

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now.

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you.

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you.

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day.

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.”

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you..

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips. “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland?

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward.

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile.

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace.

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?”

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast.

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say.

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes.

Why?

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting.

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway.

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs.

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year.

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face.

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say.

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it.

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact.

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button.

“Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you.

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine.

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say.

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes.

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building.

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time.

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month.

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you.

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly.

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.”

“Can you stop?”

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him.

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking.

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him.

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately.

“Going on a date again?”

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is.

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this.

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table.

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.”

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him.

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out.

He looks so exhausted.

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face.

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to.

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other.

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again.

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment.

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near.

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it.

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air.

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot.

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic.

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning.

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him.

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed.

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said.

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you.

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him. “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.”

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.”

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say.

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier.

What the fuck.

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall.

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck.

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks.

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable.

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss.

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him.

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too.

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening.

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say.

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?”

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding.

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you.

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours.

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table.

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor.

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch.

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit.

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game.

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane.

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face.

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart.

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking.

He was still messaging you.

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library.

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again.

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance.

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’ because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how.

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know.

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long.

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.

But he didn’t.

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t.

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None.

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right?

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged.

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office.

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now.

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something.

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone.

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost.

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same.

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name.

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep.

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted.

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there.

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more.

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag.

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie.

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again.

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did.

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw.

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat.

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches.

And now all of it is just… just.

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door.

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face.

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him.

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry.

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor.

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath.

“Kiss me.”

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast.

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.”

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane.

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders.

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you.

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly.

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast.

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other.

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin.

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor.

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger.

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast.

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck, you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are.

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.”

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.”

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him.

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder.

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes.

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body.

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion.

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him.

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync.

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.”

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing grounding him.

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?

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petalruesimblr · 3 months ago

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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

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legney · 2 months ago

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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.

#touchstarved game #kuras touchstarved #ts kuras #kuras x reader #touchstarved vn #kuras

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lov3lybarista · 23 days ago

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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

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x imagine #thomas shelby x y/n #cillian fic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy x y/n

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followingthebutterflies7 · 1 day ago

Text

Sweeter Than Honey | Part Three: Lines Blur

Mob Boss!Spencer Agnew x FBI!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Series Summary: You were sent undercover to infiltrate the world of the most dangerous mob boss on the FBI’s list, Spencer Agnew. But the more you find out about him, the more you lose yourself.

Series Warnings: Mature themes that include emotional manipulation, psychological tension, dubious consent, morally grey relationships, violence, organized crime, and mild language.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

--------------------------------------------------------

Part Three: Lines Blur

You weren’t supposed to care. You were supposed to be a weapon. So why does it feel like you’re the one being disarmed?

The days after the ambush moved like honey. Slow, heavy, and sticky with consequence.

You should’ve felt accomplished. You saved Spencer Agnew’s life. The most guarded, most volatile man on the FBI’s Most Wanted list now looked at you not as a liability, but as something resembling trust.

An asset.

A shield.

A person worth protecting.

And yet… it didn’t feel like victory. Not exactly.

It felt like the beginning of something much harder to walk away from.

Alex Tran lingered more than usual, becoming a shadow in every hallway.

He didn’t speak. Just watched. Like he was waiting. Not for you to make a mistake, but to decide something.

There was something different in his gaze now. Less suspicion. More calculation. As though the real threat wasn’t that you were an outsider… but that you might choose to become something else entirely.

Spencer didn’t bring up the ambush. He didn’t bring up you saving him. Not once. Not in passing. Not in the quiet glances he gave you across meeting tables.

But something had shifted.

He no longer asked about your credentials. No longer questioned your projections or pressed your logic. Now, when he passed by, he gave you a glance. A twitch of a finger. A silent order only you seemed to recognize.

He didn’t really speak to you. He didn’t even say your name. You wanted to talk to him, wanted more than the lingering looks. Wanted him to really speak to you for weeks. To hear his sweet voice curl around each letter of your name.

And you were soon rewarded for your patience. He finally asked to see you.

It all started with a folded note.

Not a message relayed through one of his people. Not a formal invitation. Just thick, cream-colored paper, slipped under your office door with precise handwriting.

Midnight. North corridor. Room 7. -S

You stared at it longer than you should have. Your heartbeat felt like it had moved behind your ribs and into your throat.

You were trained to expect the unexpected. You were conditioned for every scenario. But something about the simplicity of it, the stillness, made your breath catch.

Still, you went.

You always did.

Room 7 was nothing like the rest of the office building.

No sterile steel or clinical efficiency. It was small and warm. It had wood-paneled walls, a low-hung light, and the faint scent of old smoke and leather. There were no guards posted nearby. No eyes on you.

Spencer sat in an armchair in the corner, shirt sleeves rolled, two tumblers of amber liquor on the table beside him.

He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “Shut the door.”

You obeyed without a word.

“Sit,” he added, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You sat.

A long beat passed in silence. You didn’t dare speak first. The way he studied the space between you, the calm in his shoulders, the glint of firelight in his eyes, it felt too precise to interrupt.

Then finally:

“Do you think people are more loyal out of love or fear?”

You blinked. The words threw you.

The question landed like a pebble in deep water. Rippling, deeper than it seemed.

Spencer didn’t clarify. Just let the question hang between you. He watched you closely, like the answer mattered more than any report.

You answered carefully.

“Fear gets results. But love… keeps people coming back.”

He hummed softly, considering.

“Interesting,” he said. “You speak like someone who’s seen both.”

“I have.”

He looked up. Met your eyes.

“I want to know how you think.”

That surprised you. Most men like Spencer wanted obedience. Efficiency. Compliance.

“Why?” you asked.

“Because you’re not like the others I’ve brought in,” he said. “You don’t play the role. You don’t beg. You’re calm. Too calm.”

You tilted your head, pulse ticking up.

“That bother you?”

“It intrigues me.”

He leaned forward then, sipping from his glass, gaze fixed on you.

"You’re not drinking," he noted, watching you from behind the rim of his glass.

"I like to stay alert."

He gave a small nod. “Clever.”

The silence between you deepened, no longer stiff, but warm. Charged.

You shifted in your seat. Crossed your legs slowly.

He glanced down. Then up.

To your lips.

You felt it. That little flicker in your stomach. Dangerous. Stupid.

You're here to extract intel, you reminded yourself. You're here to seduce if necessary. This was the job. The mission. The game.

Still, something twisted in your chest when he murmured:

"I don’t like people who pretend."

You held his gaze. "Neither do I."

He didn’t respond. You claimed the silence.

Your voice came out low when you said, “You’ve been quiet. Haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured.

“About?”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you. “About whether I made a mistake bringing you in.”

You met his eyes. “And?”

“I still don’t know.”

“Well, it’s been a little over six months, so I think it might be a little too late to-”

He interrupts you. “You didn’t flinch when the shooting started.”

You didn’t think you’d be talking about the ambush, but you still replied. “No.”

“You killed without hesitation.”

“I did.”

Spencer leaned forward.

“Most people run from chaos. You walked into it.”

“I’m used to chaos.”

“No,” he said softly. “You belong to it, Elise.”

You should’ve redirected the conversation, it was going into dangerous territory. You should’ve steered things back to work, to logistics, to anything safe.

But he had said your name.

It was your alias name, but he had still said it. You had been wanting to hear him say it for weeks. You let yourself bask in the way his voice sings the word.

You didn’t speak again for a long time. Just listened to the way Spencer spoke of schedules, strategy, market shifts in the underworld economy. He would sip from his drink, yours was left untouched.

And when he finally realized how late he kept you, he rose to walk you to the door.

His hand brushed yours. You felt something there.

You thanked him for his time and generosity, your mind already thinking of what you needed to report back to Marlowe.

You didn’t see him flex his hand as he closed the door, moving the fingers you had just touched.

--------------------------------------------------------

The next day you walked into your office and hadn’t even put down your bag when you noticed the small black box tucked carefully next to your desktop. You just stared at it confused for a moment before slowly opening the box.

Laid so carefully inside sparkled a vintage gold bracelet. It was plain, dainty, but elegant in its simplicity. You took it out reverently. There was no doubt who this was from. Never had you received such a gift on an assignment before that was from your mark.

A sudden pang of guilt shot through your heart. You didn’t deserve a gift for your deceit. You replaced the bracelet back in its box, and closed the lid with a small frown on your face.

The next meeting came two nights later.

This time the two of you met in a private study tucked behind Spencer’s office. It was smaller than the first, but no less deliberate. There was a fire lit in a cost hearth when you arrived. The room smelled of rich leather and old books, a bottle of deep red wine breathing on the side table.

He poured two glasses.

Didn’t ask if you wanted one.

Again, you didn’t drink it.

He didn’t comment.

But you caught him glance at your wrist, looking for something.

The bracelet.

You hadn’t worn it.

And you saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Just a sliver of reaction.

“You always show up when I ask,” he said as you sat.

“I work for you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You held the glass. Let the firelight play across the surface.

“Then what do you mean?”

Spencer leaned back, watching the flames as if they might answer for him.

“You could say no. You never do.”

You were quiet, unsure of what to say.

“You’re curious about me,” he said. “You won’t admit it. But you are.”

Your pulse flickered. “And you’re not curious about me?”

His gaze met yours.

“I’m always curious about things that can break me.”

The words stole the air from your lungs. Something started to burn inside you under the heat of his stare.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink.

He just said, “Elise, what did you want to be? Before all this?”

You smiled lightly, a practiced gesture.

You gave him the lie first. You always did. “A dancer.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“No.” You met his gaze. “I wanted to be free.”

He didn’t smile. Just leaned back, drink in hand, his eyes reflecting something darker.

“Freedom’s a lie,” he murmured. “There’s only power. And the price you pay to keep it.”

You swallowed, “And you? What did you want?”

He looked at the glass. “To be the one no one could touch.”

His words followed you home.

You dreamed of your conversation that night. Of him speaking while his hands slid under your shirt. While his lips ghosted your throat.

You woke sweating.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

But the next day, you returned from your lunch to find a black silk scarf neatly folded with your reports. The fabric felt like water through your fingers and like the soft brush of a caress on your neck.

You gently ran the scarf across your cheek, and the image of a man with strong eyes and dark curly hair stroking your face entered your mind’s eye.

You wanted to wear it, it was gorgeous. Like the bracelet, you tucked it away in the drawer, but your fingers lingered on the fabric longer than they should have.

You didn’t wear it. Not yet..

You told yourself you were keeping your distance.

But you already weren’t.

Spencer would seek you out more after that. Not to ask about work or anything closely related. He didn’t ask for updates on the supply routes or laundered accounts. He didn’t check in on shipments. He asked what books you read. What you dreamed about as a kid. What you were most afraid of losing.

You lied, of course. Just enough.

But not all the way.

Because the more he opened up, the harder it became to keep your armor sealed.

Especially when he said things like:

“You strike me as someone who doesn’t let people in, but once you do, you’d burn the world for them.”

And worse?

You wanted him to be right.

You weren’t sure what game he was playing. Not sure why he was spending all this time with you. You knew he wasn’t doing the same with any of his other employees.

A small, sick part of you wanted it to be because he wanted to.

But the rules have changed. So what game were you going to play now?

Because the lines that had been drawn in the sand were blurring.

No, they were disappearing.

And the part of you that was still FBI?

She was starting to want them to.

The report you filed that night was all fabricated.

You told Marlowe that Spencer had grown paranoid post-ambush. That he hadn’t made contact. That you were still working on gaining his trust.

She told you it was time to act, time to lock in. Time for you to stop observing and to start engaging. To use your highly refined skills that had landed you this mission in the first place.

You agreed a little too quickly. You’d never wanted to pull someone in so badly… and that was exactly the problem.

--------------------------------------------------------

You were scheduled for a quarterly check-in two nights later. Just something that was supposed to be simple and routine.

A dry handoff of encrypted shipment records; just files, just protocol. The kind Spencer only trusted to a small circle of his most loyal operatives. You’d become one of them. Or at least… that’s what he let you believe.

These meetings usually happened in the glass-walled conference room adjacent to his office. Bright. Formal. Professional. There was always a layer of remove between you.

But this time, it was different.

He told you to come late. Told you he’d be working in his basement office.

No explanation. Just the time. His voice low and unreadable when he said, “Come alone.”

You knew something was off before you even reached the bottom of the stairs.

It was too quiet.

Too still.

The usual guard wasn’t stationed by the stairwell door. The air shifted. It was cooler, denser, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

The corridor lights flickered dimly overhead, casting everything in a bruised shade of gold. You followed the sound of something low and rhythmic. A steady, pulsing bassline echoing faintly through the lower levels.

Until you realized it wasn’t music at all.

It was a voice.

Then a plea.

Then a scream.

You didn’t think.

You just moved.

The basement hallway had a long row of reinforced doors. Steel, thick, soundproof. Only one was open.

You paused at the threshold.

Spencer stood inside.

His sleeves were rolled up. His shirt half-unbuttoned. Blood on his knuckles, smeared across his collarbone, trailing down his wrist like warpaint.

The man slumped in the chair in front of him wasn’t moving. Not really. His head lolled forward, face grotesquely swollen, lip split wide open. One arm bent at the wrong angle.

Spencer didn’t glance up.

He was laser-focused. Controlled. Dead calm.

He grabbed the man by the hair and yanked his head back until the spine cracked audibly.

“You’ve wronged me,” Spencer said, voice so soft it chilled. “Now you answer to me.”

The man whimpered. It was guttural, wet, almost pathetic.

Spencer leaned in. Whispered something only the man could hear.

Then, without pause, he drew a blade from his belt and drove it cleanly below the ribcage.

The motion was swift. Exact.

The sound was worse than the sight.

You didn’t cry out.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even breathe.

You just watched.

Frozen in place as blood spattered the wall. It painted the tiles behind Spencer, dark red against cream. It soaked his sleeves. Spilled across the floor.

You were supposed to be sickened.

Instead, your heart was racing, and not from fear.

You were staring at the way the veins stood out in his forearms. The sweat dripping down his throat, vanishing beneath the open collar of his shirt. The slow, heavy rise and fall of his chest after the killing blow.

You should have left.

Should have turned around. Should have called Marlowe. Should have run.

But you didn’t.

You stepped quietly into the shadows.

And you watched him wipe the blade clean.

You escaped the basement ten minutes later. You weren’t even sure how your legs carried you up the stairs. You barely remembered opening the door.

One minute, Spencer was wiping the blade clean. The next, you were halfway up the stairs, the cold concrete biting into your palms as you gripped the railing too tight.

You should have gone home. You had meant to. You were halfway down the corridor, pulse still fluttering in your neck, when Spencer appeared.

He emerged from the shadows like he’d always known exactly where you’d be. He moved quietly. Always did. He didn’t look surprised to see you there.

“You were early,” he said, voice low. Controlled. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

There was still blood drying on his collar. A smear near his temple. He wasn’t breathing hard anymore, but his eyes still held the echo of what he’d done.

They searched yours for something.

Disgust. Horror. Condemnation.

You gave him none of it.

“I’ve seen worse,” you said breathlessly.

He blinked. Once. Slowly. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I should see.”

A charged silence stretched between you. Then he stepped forward.

Not fast. Not threatening. But deliberate.

Your back touched the wall behind you.

He stopped just short of touching you. Just far enough that it hurt to not close the space.

His voice dropped to a near-whisper, but you felt it down your spine.

“I need to know if you’re afraid of me.”

You met his gaze without hesitation, heartbeat loud in your ears.

“You already know I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you wanted me dead,” you whispered, “you’d have made it pretty.”

His jaw twitched. His eyes darkened.

He didn’t move. Didn’t touch you.

But something flickered behind his eyes, like he wanted to.

Then, for one heartbeat, for one terrifying, exquisite second, you thought he might kiss you.

And you wanted him to.

God, you wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

“Then you’re smarter than most,” he murmured.

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the dark corridor, breathless and shaking.

You didn’t move for a full minute. Not until the sound of his footsteps faded.

Only then did you realize you were still holding the file folder. Your fingers had crushed the corner.

You’d seen a lot in your time. Cartels. Torture. Betrayals that made your stomach turn.

But this?

This had excited you.

Not the violence. Not the gore.

Him.

The way he moved. The way he chose when to break a man and when to whisper. The way he seemed to know exactly who he was.

You’d infiltrated monsters before.

So why did you want so badly to believe Spencer wasn’t one?

Or worse, why did it thrill you to think maybe he was, and you didn’t care?

--------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t sleep that night.

You lay in your bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, your fingers clenched around air that you wished was Spencer’s hand.

You fell asleep with your pulse still echoing in your ears, the memory of the blood on his hands looping behind your eyes like a reel with no end.

But not the version with blood on his hands.

In your dream, he touched you softly. Slowly. Carefully. Like you were something he hadn’t allowed himself to want until now.

His fingers ghosted your jaw. His mouth brushed your neck. His eyes burned with something tender and dangerous. His hand slid up your arm, over your collarbone. You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You leaned into him. Wanting him to touch you more.

You woke with your breath caught in your throat and the sheets tangled around your legs like chains. The cheap lamp beside the bed flickered once, then settled. You sat up, rubbing your eyes.

Spencer’s voice was still in your head.

Soft. Dangerous. Hypnotic.

I need to know if you’re afraid of me.

You weren’t.

You were afraid of yourself.

Because now you wanted him even when you slept.

Your burner phone blared, shocking you from your thoughts. You were shaking when you reached for your phone.

Marlowe’s voice was sharp even before you said hello.

“Your last report was late,” she said. “And thin.”

“I was caught up,” you sighed. “There’s been movement, but no breach. I’m still inside.”

“I’m not asking about the mission. I’m asking about you.”

You sat on the edge of your mattress, staring at the blank page of your fabricated files, the dream still clinging to your skin like sweat.

“What are you talking about, Marlowe?”

“You’re slipping. You’re using soft language. Pulling punches. No updates on vulnerabilities. No new pressure points. That’s not how you operate.”

“I’m maintaining cover.”

“No, you’re becoming part of it.”

Silence crackled across the line.

Then, colder: “You’re starting to like him.”

You didn’t respond.

Marlowe’s voice sharpened.

“I pulled your psych evals before you went under. You passed because you were cold. Controlled. Focused. Unbreakable. You don’t catch feelings. You don’t flinch. You finish the job.”

“I’m still finishing the job,” you said flatly.

“Then why don’t we have what we need, Agent Daliah?”

“You’ll get it, Marlowe. I haven’t lost sight of the objective.” You hung up.

Your hands trembled for a second after.

Not from fear.

From anger.

Because the problem wasn’t that you hadn’t done your job.

The problem was that, somewhere along the line, you’d stopped wanting to.

--------------------------------------------------------

It was raining the night Spencer asked you to walk with him.

Not a meeting. Not a mission.

No guards. No staff. No reason.

Just, “Come with me,” said quietly in the hallway as you passed each other, his fingertips brushing your wrist, a light touch that lingered far longer than necessary.

And you followed him.

He took you to the back of an old cathedral he’d bought and turned into a private sanctuary. The pews were gone. Candles flickered along the stone walls. Somewhere above, the rain drummed against stained glass.

You sat beside him on a carved bench, closer than you should’ve, the air warm between your shoulders.

He didn’t speak at first.

Neither did you.

His arm brushed yours.

It didn’t feel accidental.

Finally, he quietly said, “Sometimes I wish I could disappear.”

You turned to look at him. “You?”

“Not forever,” he added. “Just long enough to remember who I was. Before all this.”

You looked at him then, really looked. His hair was damp from the walk. The collar of his coat clung to his neck. His jaw was clenched. Not from anger, from something deeper.

“What did you used to be?” you asked.

He gave you a wry smile. “Hungry. Lonely. Careless. But still human.”

You didn’t know what made you reach out.

Maybe the way his voice cracked on that last word. Maybe it was the loneliness in his voice. Maybe it was your own reflection in it.

But your fingers found his, hesitant and trembling.

He didn’t pull away.

He turned toward you.

Closer.

Then he brought his other hand up, slowly, resting it just under your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheekbone.

You forgot how to breathe.

You leaned in, just barely.

He did the same.

The space between you collapsed into a single breath.

All you could do was stare into his eyes, the pounding of your heart drowning out the rush of rain.

You could feel the heat of his face, the blush of his cheeks. You could count each individual eyelash.

He drew you closer, if that were even possible. And all you wanted in that moment was to be claimed by him, Marlowe be damned.

And then, he stopped.

He pulled back.

Not far.

Just enough to leave the moment dangling like a blade over both of you.

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

All the sound came rushing back. You sucked in a breath. A mistake as his cologne flooded your senses.

You nodded.

“I know.”

You sat there for another beat, not speaking , but his hand still cupped your cheek.

The air between you thick with all the things you couldn’t say.

Spencer searched your eyes, trying to find answers you so desperately wanted to give him but couldn’t.

And then, barely a whisper:

“You’re not who you say you are.”

He just stood and left.

Leaving you frozen on the bench, the rain and candles your only company.

That night, in your dreams, Spencer touched you again.

He cradled, held you close. You wanted more.

But when you reached for him, he disappeared.

--------------------------------------------------------

Alex Tran was waiting for you when you arrived at the office the next morning.

He didn’t speak right away. Just walked beside you down the long glass hallway, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. Too relaxed.

When you reached your desk, he stopped.

“You’re compromised,” he said.

No emotion. No preamble. Just fact.

You didn’t stop. “Excuse me?”

“You’re different,” he said. “Since the docks. Since your meetings with Spencer, and the incident in the basement. Since he left you in the chapel. You look at him like you forgot what this was.”

Your pulse spiked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alex stepped forward. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to threaten.

“I do. I see everything,” he said. “I’ve seen what it looks like when people want to kill him. I’ve seen what it looks like when they want to use him.”

He paused.

“You look like you want to save him.”

You said nothing. Because what could you say?

He tilted his head.

“Don’t fall in love with him.”

The words hit like a slap.

“I’m not fall-”

“You are. I see everything,” Alex’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “And I’ve seen what happens to people who get close to Spencer. They burn. Or they bleed.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in, quiet, deadly.

“If you betray him, I will kill you myself.”

Then he walked away.

You wanted to call after him, wanted him to explain how he knew any of this. But your reprimands from Marlowe stopped you.

You couldn’t ask questions. Couldn’t risk your position.

A fire started to burn inside of you. Small and low.

You tried to focus on your work, you had a huge shipment coming in, but you had opened your desk drawer to see the gold bracelet and black silk scarf that Spencer had gifted you. You closed the drawer. The warmth in you slowly growing.

You tried to review paperwork, many things needed your signature. But your hand burned when you realized you were using the pen you had been given by Spencer so long ago. You were feeling hot.

After another hour you couldn't take it anymore. Something in you snapped. You packed your gifts in your bag, claimed you were sick, and ran home. The fire now raging inside you.

You had barely put your work bag down and locked the front door when you lost it.

You grabbed the living room lamp and threw it at the wall. Glass flew across the room.

It wasn’t enough.

A scream ripped through your throat.

You tore down the kitchen, taking doors off of the cupboards and smashing mugs in the sink.

You yanked down the curtains from the walls, pulled the poles and screws from the wall.

You up-turned the couch and tore up the cushions, sending feathers flying in the air.

You had trashed your entire apartment, the warmth inside you now a raging inferno.

The pen. The bracelet. The scarf.

They were all too much.

Too intimate.

They said something. Something that all the meetings, conversations, and questions couldn’t convey.

Something that would have been said with a kiss. But he had pulled away.

You sat on your ruined bedroom floor, the mattress half falling off the bed frame, heart thudding against your ribs. Your fingers clenched around the scarf until your knuckles turned white, like the fabric could hold you together.

Spencer was really noticing you. Not just watching. Not just talking. Seeing.

And worse? You liked it.

He was magnetic. Attractive. Dangerous. The kind of man who didn’t beg for attention because he owned it.

You told yourself that was all it was.

A reaction to a pretty face. A clever mind. A near-death bond.

You’d studied men like him. Slept beside them. Lied to them with a smile. You were trained for this.

He was your mark.

Not your fantasy.

Not your downfall.

You should hate him.

You should want to burn him down.

But all you could think about was his hand on your cheek.

The tremor in his voice.

The fact that he saw you.

And that you liked it.

Too much.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Blood in your palm from the glass.

Hair wild. Eyes red.

You steeled yourself.

This wasn’t love, despite what Alex claimed to have seen.

It was just attraction. Power. Chemical confusion.

You could still win.

You would.

If he was getting close, then you’d get closer.

You’d seduce him so completely he wouldn’t see the knife coming until you buried it in his back.

It was what you were built for.

And you were damn good at it.

The next morning, you wore the bracelet.

Wrapped the scarf around your neck.

Slid the pen into your bag.

And walked into the office like you owned it.

Spencer saw you during a meeting.

And when his eyes dropped to the bracelet on your wrist, you saw it.

That sparkle. That flicker in his eyes of something raw and pleased.

You smiled.

Let it bloom slowly.

Like you hadn’t just set fire to every boundary you’d ever drawn.

--------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @tenderhornynihilist @sbrewer21 @happyclifford

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #alex tran #smosh #smosh x reader #mob boss au #mob boss

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hwaslayer · 1 year ago

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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

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studying-roxas · 18 days ago

Text

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.

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finniestoncrane · 12 days ago

Text

🩷 Connie (OC) x Riddler x Boomerang, multi-part fic 🩷 constance dorothea drum (connie/conundrum) is my sorta self-insert OC who i like to put into situations!! i'm finally getting around to writing out her backstory and her love triangle and it is filled with fluff and angst and good old smut based in the arkham!verse in terms of character/place design, but divergent as far as the timeline goes fic masterlist • AO3 link • tag: auc fic • plushie doodles by @/march-harrigan

💚 Chapter 2: Perfect Timing, word count: 2.8k 💚 10 years ago: connie and harley spend an agonising day in the library trying to solve connie's thesis problems. luckily, she comes up with the perfect topic, one that ends up grabbing her attention in more ways than one. request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: we finally see how mentally ill connie is for eddie, even at these early stages of her career, and there's a bit more harley and connie friendship to absorb because they're cute ok

“I’m really cutting it close now, Harley. My meeting with the advisor is in ten minutes, and if I don’t take an actual concrete idea to my supervisor today, then I might as well drop out now.”

Of course, Connie could be as vocal about how stressed she was all that she wanted, but she was also very aware that it was her own fault for leaving things so late. She was one for getting distracted, unable to start things, unable to keep her mind focused on one train of thought. Undiagnosed ADHD, that’s what Harley had said while she was practising her clinical work on her, although how much of that was truthful could be argued, given Harley was studying psychology and not psychiatry. Whatever was wrong with her, though, she had to try and overcome it or all of her years of study so far at Gotham State would all be for nothing.

“Bubby, I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been trying to come up with a topic for your thesis for… years now. Literally years. You just gotta pick one from the pile of rejects and go with it, that’s what I think!”

“But I want to believe in my idea! I want it to be something I can write about confidently, passionately. I want a good grade.”

Harley tossed the book she was absent-mindedly reading to the ground, kicking her legs up on the table and leaning back with a sigh that turned into a groan before she spoke.

“What does it matter anyway, really? All of this studying? I mean, have you ever thought about how many criminals lately have doctorate degrees? Real life actual doctors, people who studied their tight little asses off like you’re trying to right now, driven eventually to a life of crime. Good grade or not, if you really think about it, we’re just here studying to end up as Batman and the GCPDs punching bags.”

“Huh… you’re right…”

“I am!?” Harley sat up straight like a dog hearing their favourite word, grinning wide at Connie’s agreement. “So does that mean we can blow this dump and go to the pier?”

With an expression of disappointment, Connie raised her eyebrows, exasperatedly dropping her hands to the table as she renewed her patience for Harley before bursting her bubble.

“No. I mean that you’re right about the doctorates. The list must be pretty long. Let me think… you’ve got… Oh, Freeze, he was a doctor, wasn’t he?”

“Oh yeah, he was a babe, too.”

“Another one… Langstrom!”

“Babe.”

“Sartorius.”

“Babe.”

“Hellfern!”

“Spooky babe!”

“And Isley, of course.”

“ Super babe.”

“All of them, intelligent people with ambitions and passion, driven to criminality because of… what? There must be some relation to super intelligence, a correlation between super intellect and… maybe a lack of stimulation? Or perhaps they have a greater understanding of the unfairness of society? A clinical mind that can compartmentalise morals in the name of the greater good of humanity of science? Looking for an outlet of their genius? And just a little sprinkling of autism?”

“Well, you would be the expert there.”

“I would… But I’m still not sure what it is that definitively pushes them…”

“Maybe you find out when you study it for your thesis then? You ask the question, you find some evidence. Sounds like as good an idea as any of the others we’ve talked and talked and talked and talked about.”

“Hmm… Yeah, I think I like it!”

“So now can we get out of here? I hate the library. It’s too quiet! Which really tests my need for chaos .”

“It’s not exactly quiet when you’re in here.” Connie shoved Harley’s arm playfully, watching as she very intentionally, and very dramatically, fell to the ground with a ridiculous groan. “Ok, ok, I have my meeting in five minutes and then once I’m done we can leave. Wish me luck!”

Harley offered a smile and a salute, her way of sending positive vibes to Connie as she left for her meeting, but she really didn’t need any luck or good will at all. When she posed the question to her advisor, he had smiled knowingly, satisfied with the proposal and definitely intrigued by it. And that was despite her unprepared stammering and lack of any preliminary research to accompany it. She assumed the enthusiasm would bode well for her once she actually got to the meat of the project.

“There’s just one thing, though…” he had said, smoothing his fingers over the stubble on his chin, a self-satisfactory move from the proclaimed intellectual, who Connie hoped would soon enter his own criminal phase and be swiftly beaten to a bloody pulp. “Do you intend to only focus on those with doctorates? Or would you be interested in intelligence which hasn’t been professionally recognised, so to speak?”

Connie tilted her head slightly, trying to understand the question.

“Do you mean like… Emotional or social intelligence? Like how Roman Sionis seems to be able to charm or threaten his way out of, well, literally everything and anything?”

“No, no. God no. We’d be here forever discussing that kind of thing. I mean, every criminal must have an ounce of charisma or muscle to back up their actions. No, I mean those who might not necessarily have a professional title, or even a formal education, but who still exhibit, or present themselves as having, the same level of intelligence as your aforementioned doctorates. Perhaps there might be some who are even smarter?”

“Like?”

“Well, I’m thinking of people like Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter as he was perhaps better known. Incredibly intelligent man, talented in so many different skills, but not necessarily renowned for his intellect, and I’m sure he will have a degree, but not necessarily an academic ranking.”

“Hm, interesting.”

“Or take, for instance, Garfield Lynns. Are you familiar?”

“That’s Firefly, no?”

“Indeed. He worked with highly dangerous chemicals for a living, and for fun. Pyrotechnic work, bombs, explosives. Jobs which require an advanced degree of training and study and knowledge, but don't necessarily need a doctorate. And his engineering skills were admirable too, even if they were being put towards his criminal activities.”

“Oh! Or Bane!”

“Precisely! His work with chemicals and the study of his own sickness and addiction are fascinating on their own, even putting aside the fact that he had no formal teaching during his upbringing in prison. I’d kill to take a look at his research. Someone like him would make an excellent case study! That’s what I’m talking about, people like that. There’s always a modicum of intelligence behind being a successful criminal. The stupider ones get caught far too quickly. To last a while, to be a pain to the criminal justice system, you have to be able to outsmart it.”

Connie nodded, her eyes wide with excitement as she felt the inspiration flowing through her, her advisor continuing to lecture on the point which he wished he was making under his own name.

“Of course, bring up the doctorates too. Bring up as many examples as you can. But I would advise you to have one star of the show, as it were. Just something to focus the research on. An example that can relate to all the examples. Got it?”

Connie left the room feeling lighter than she had in months. Although the last thing her advisor had said did cling to her chest, a little nugget of anxiety in itself. Sure, she had the plan, but now she needed a star to pull everything together. Someone to focus on, someone interesting, appealing, intelligent and an example of criminality. Someone, preferably, without a professional title since that felt like an interesting angle to her. As she pondered, deep in thought, she could make out Harley ahead of her. She was face down at one of the tables at the end of the shelves of books, impatiently waiting to leave the library and forget about her studies for a moment, the complete opposite attitude from Connie.

That was understandable, Connie thought. She was planning on getting her masters in Library Science, finishing her degree in Psychology this year without the intention of becoming a doctor or a researcher or a therapist or a professor. Those seemed far too daunting to her, she’d realised in her studies. It was too much for her to have that kind of responsibility, she had learned. She was far too gentle, far too manipulatable. She was leaving all of that to Harley, who was the kind of person that Connie was certain could speak to a criminal and not be afraid, and definitely not be sucked in and swayed by their charms. So for Connie, there were only two and a half more years to go of the relentless essays and exams and presentations. For Harley, it could take anywhere between six and nine, and that was if she could sit still for long enough to actually apply herself. She was intelligent enough, but she was so easily distracted, always in need of excitement, of something new. So regular breaks were a necessity. But Connie just couldn’t commit to that today.

“So? How did it go? We off the hook for the day?”

“It went great, actually. He liked the idea a lot, and he gave me some really good notes too.”

“Then why do ya look like he told you he slept with your grandmother and now he’s getting your share of the inheritance?”

“... Because I can’t come out with you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bubby, I-”

“I know, I know. But I really need to get started on this. I’m so sorry! I just really need to find someone to be the focal point of this stupid thesis and then find my bearings with it. I am really sorry, Harls.”

“Urgh…” Harley tossed her head back, her flexibility pushed as she seemed to completely curl backwards on herself before springing back to attention. “Fine! But you owe me, Bubby! I just wanna get out of here more than anything else, so you’re lucky! Have fun finding the perfect criminal. I would suggest checking today’s paper if you want a head start!”

The last part she spoke in a sing-songy voice before picking up her backpack and heading out, keychains jingling, flipping her fingers up to Connie on her way out, followed by her usual call of “LOVE YA!” and then she disappeared from sight. It was odd of her to mention the newspaper, given how unlikely it was for her to actually sit down and read one. “She must have been really bored…” Connie thought, as she settled herself down at the table and picked up the paper. The edges had been torn, some of the articles outlined in doodles of love hearts and smiley faces, all the work of Harley’s nervous, fidgeting fingers. But it was easy to look past them to the particular article of interest.

“Oh… Oh!”

As Connie read the article, pieces of the information rang a bell in her memory. Edward Nigma, previously known as Edward Nashton and Enigma, who had a while back begun operating under the moniker The Riddler , was now free again. High-priced lawyers will get a man anything, Connie mused. She remembered him, and she definitely remembered Enigma for sure. That was one of the first times that Gotham had really heard of Batman in a positive light after being touted for so long as a menace, a criminal vigilante. And Enigma seemed to be the same thing, just written in a different font.

And then, of course, there was his work as The Riddler. He’d been under the radar for the longest time, all through her studies it seemed, after being apprehended by Batman in Arkham City. Since then, he’d been unusually silent, behaving himself during his time at Arkham Asylum. So he had sort of disappeared from everyone’s minds, an easy feat in Gotham even for big name criminals, given the onslaught of entirely ubiquitous criminality that found its home there. But she remembered him now, very clearly, as she gazed at the old image of him being dragged from his lair by Aaron Cash.

And she remembered how she felt at the time of his arrest. It had been difficult for her to reconcile herself with her feelings, knowing what crimes he committed and still being unable to deny the fact that he was actually quite cute. Those feelings stirred themselves up again as she read the article describing his release with excitement.

“Egotistical, egomaniacal.”

“Superiority complex, God complex.”

“Intelligent, superior intellect.”

“Self-assured, irritating, compulsive, obsessive.”

No mention of a degree though, no doctorate, no title. After a records search, she pulled out the few newspapers that mentioned him, noting that none of them mentioned his schooling, his degree titles, where he might have studied. And then, the jackpot. One which actually explicitly mentioned his lack thereof.

“Edward Nigma, as he now prefers to be called, refused to attend university. He claims his school life was boring and a test of his patience, and that levels of intelligence such as his cannot be measured by peers, as he has none.”

“Wow. What an ass. He’s perfect .”

So perfect, in fact, that Connie had no concept of just how much time had passed while she read everything she could about The Riddler and his crimes. That was until Harley was smacking her on the back, causing her to choke and splutter on the soda she was sipping. She’d been caught in the middle of reading yet another report which barely even mentioned Edward except in passing, but which she was intent on reading anyway in order to satisfy her desire to find out more, and more, and more.

“Jeez, Harley! You scared me!”

“ I scared you!? You terrified me! Have you been in here this whole time!?”

“Yeah! You knew that! I said I was going to stay here and study for a little bit.”

“Bubby, I left you eight hours ago. Eight hours! And you’re not answering your phone!”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit! Have you been sitting here studying this whole time? And is that… OH, I see you picked up the paper then? I mentioned that as a joke .” She looked to the piles of reference materials littering the table and the floor. “Oh… Connie, Bubby. Is he who you’re focusing on?”

Connie tried to conceal her embarrassment, scrambling to cover the sheets of paper, knowing it was pointless now that the secret was out.

“Are you blushing ? Oh my god . Connie, you’re supposed to be studying him like the nasty little loser bug he is. This is a psychological deep dive, not a… well, you’re not supposed to have a crush on your patients!”

“He’s not a patient!” Connie reminded herself to keep her voice quiet, rushing to clarify the second part of Harley’s statement. “And I don’t have a crush on him! He’s just… fascinating, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Fascinating . Next you’re going to be telling me he’s dreamy, so clever, a handsome face for someone so much older than you.”

Desperate to change the subject, Connie closed her notebooks and began packing things into her bag as she spoke.

“And I’m pretty far ahead with where I wanted to be, so now we can do whatever you want this weekend if you can promise to drop this and not make fun of me.”

“No can do, Bubby. But we are leaving this place, I gotta deprogramme you before you go completely wacko for some puzzle-brained doofus. Pack up your things, say goodbye to your boyfriend and let’s GO!”

Harley was right. Time to relax, let the idea simmer, and then come back to it with a fresh mind on Monday. But it was easier said than put into practice. Surprisingly, it was not all that easy to stop thinking about Nigma. He really was just fascinating . And as her studies continued, the crush developed, to the point where she had considered thanking him in the acknowledgements of the finished product, thought about him as she walked across the stage to get her diploma, wrote about him in her application for her masters, and almost, though luckily she saw sense at the last minute, sent him a copy of her thesis to read.

But by the time she had finished her masters she was far too focused on the looming threat of real life. There were bills to pay, apartments to rent, work to be done at her new job in the Asylum, a place where Edward had been free of for years. In the back of her mind though, he always lingered, it’s just that there was so little opportunity for her to actually think for herself that he remained just a shadow, a memory of her past life. But not entirely forgettable.

#finnie writes #auc fic #the riddler #riddler #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkham verse #oc #oc fanfiction #captain boomerang #george harkness

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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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.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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fgojous · 16 days ago

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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.)

#gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk angst #jjk smut #jjk fluff #gojo satoru

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wildlife4life · 9 months ago

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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

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the-somberlaiin · 8 months ago

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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.

#tf2 #medic #team fortress 2 #tf2 medic #medic tf2 #headcanons

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sophieinwonderland · 8 months ago

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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.

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muiitoloko · 1 year ago

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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.

#alan rickman x reader #alan rickman #severus snape

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