#let me dissect your brain

[ln4wins]

“Who has the best heart?” “I got a 10/10 you didn’t.”

Bonus Oscar being done with Lando’s shit:

[beeceit]

GET BACK HERE, SAY THAT WITH YOUR WHOLE CHEST, AND THEN APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT YOU JUST DID TO MY HEART

hurt/comfort superbat fic where Bruce occasionally has to chase Clark down when he's being a little more Kryptonian/Eldritch-y than normal (it's fine, he has the resources/ships/etc). when Clark's happy, he's in orbit outside of the Watchtower, floating and absorbing the sun. but when he's down or depressed? he avoids the sun. because the sun means energy, it's a reminder of his powers, of everything he's lost, a reminder of difference down at the very cellular level.

that's all to say, sometimes I think Clark goes down instead of up and hides away from the sun the only place he can: deep, deep underwater. somewhere maybe even Arthur only goes sparingly, deep in a trench where the water isn't oxygenated or habitable. and he just floats down there, trying to block it all out and failing miserably.

[genshin-projection]

i don't think i can be normal about Sunday guys

[4giorno]

feel a bit. strange? nervous? with him so huge in the background just standing there

[peculiarity]

I've always wanted to summon the human pet guy, but never had anything interesting to say to him

[somebeetledude]

op i love your viktor more than anything he means the universe to me let me put your mind under a microscope and study it closely to find the enchanting and bewitching secrets sparkling in its shimmering intergalactic whimsy PLSPLS

New day, new Viktor

I love to imagine how entranced in Jayce's notes he must have been the first time he read them

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby names

in which spencer comforts you after you wake from a good dream about becoming a mother

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader sort of wants to be a mom sort of doesn't, they discuss having a child in the future, talk of pregnancy stuff, I think that's it! a/n: another short sweet fluff piece that is by no means going to get me a pulitzer but is cute nonetheless!! love u!!! let me know if u enjoyed!!

Spencer wasn’t in the room when you fell asleep into an impromptu nap, induced by the pattering rain, the low light of your bedside lamp, the warmth of your favorite throw blanket—but he is when you wake up. Home from work, sprawled on the bed next to you, long legs crossed and as close as he thought he could get without disturbing your slumber. 

“You came home,” you whisper groggily, curling into his side and letting your sleepy eyes flutter shut again. 

He pulls you closer against him, rubbing your arm. “I always do.” A low, affectionate chuckle that buzzes from his chest and dizzies you. “You tired?”

You hum a distant affirmation. Visions of diaphanous pink, of sweet cooing, of a haloed Spencer doused in warm light and smiling down at a some blanket-bundled creature in his arms, still burn behind your eyelids, fading with every passing second. The gentle classical music you’d been playing earlier now blends with the sound of evening rain tapping ceaselessly against the window. Spencer is warm next to you, scent familiar and comforting and only contributing to your drowsiness—but a lingering sort of sadness still claws at your stomach. Emptiness. It bites like a shock of icy water. It’s just a small thing. You feel silly for being upset, but you are upset, and you want to tell him. 

“I had weird dreams.”

Spencer offers a hum of his own (perhaps a habit you’d picked up from him) and you open your eyes, watching him watch the rain. The stark angle of his jaw, the sweet slope of his nose. Any baby he had a hand in creating would be absolutely cherubic. “You know, Carl Jung said dreams are hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul.”

You fiddle with the knit of his sweater, and he covers your hand with his own, looking back down at you, deep eyes full of easy contentment. Like as long as you’re together, he can’t imagine a thing to be worried about. 

“Wait—the dreams are the door? Where does the door go?”

His brows pinch slightly as he recalls what is no doubt an exact quotation. 

“Uh—he said they led to a primeval cosmic night, that is soul long before there was conscious ego, and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”

You frown, sleepy head aching as you twist your brain into knots trying to decode the ornate language. “Was he the weird incest-y one?”

Spencer chuckles again. “Nope. That was Freud. Jung was essentially saying that there is something primal and instinctual about our dreams. He said they were our way of accessing the unconscious, which can process things the conscious psyche can’t, and our consciousness was a ship on the great sea of unconsciousness.”

“You’re losing me, Dr. Reid.”

The corner of his mouth flickers up. 

“He just meant they offered us an unbiased look at our lives. Our desires, our needs, unburdened by conscious ego.”

Our desires. Our needs. 

You chew your lip. 

“What does dreaming about having a baby mean?”

You say it because Spencer is your closest friend as well as your partner and you trust him completely with every thought in your head—but the way his hand pauses on your arm makes you nervous. 

He takes a moment to dissect your answer, digging for a hidden meaning like a precious gem, and then, once he decides there are no landmines, proceeds cautiously. 

“Well… some people say that a baby in your dream is a representation of you. It could indicate a desire to nurture, or a need to be nurtured.” Again you make a noise of vague acknowledgement. His hand starts back up again on your arm, and he delves gently deeper. “Why? Did you dream about having a baby?”

For a moment, you can only nod. Suddenly you’re choked up, releasing an exhaled, “Yeah,” as tears cloud your vision. He gives you a moment, just holding you as you try to find the words to continue. “It felt really real. I mean—I think I knew it wasn’t, but I was so happy that I didn’t care. I—she—” You laugh tearfully. “I’m being ridiculous, I know, I just… I miss her. Is that crazy?”

“That’s not crazy,” he says quietly. A stretch of silence follows, and the brief deluge of tears fades to trickling stop. Spencer is probably used to you enough so that he’s not surprised when you huff dramatically, trying to dispel your melancholia with a hefty dose of drama. 

“I wanna have a baby!”

Your boyfriend releases a surprised laugh as you bury your head against his chest, but it only takes him half a second to root his hand in your hair and hold you there. 

“Because of your dream?”

“Yes!” You sniffle into his sweater. “She was so perfect, ’nd sweet. I wanna have a baby so much.”

“With who?”

You look up at him tearfully and visibly frustrated. His eyes betray only fondness. “You, Spencer! Who else?”

“No one! No one else.”

You collapse again, satisfied with his answer. 

“You were such a good dad. It was—oh my god, you were so happy. You were holding her, and smiling at her, and—can we please have a baby?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, half chuckle, voice tinged with pity. His hand sweeps over and over your hair in a soothing pattern. 

You pout, hiding even further away against him. “That’s not an answer.”

“We can’t have a baby right this second, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Why not?”

He hums, pretending to consider the question, hand still carding gently through your locks, detangling. 

“You’re not pregnant, for one thing.”

“I might be.”

“I doubt it.”

“I could be.”

He angles your head up, smiling. Those warm brown eyes of his are full to the brim with sparkly affection. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“No, I’m saying, we could have a baby.”

The curve of his mouth lessens though doesn’t entirely dissipate, and the subtle lines next to his eyes soften as he regards you. There are a thousand reasons you shouldn’t have a baby right now, but Spencer knows you know that, and it’s still not what you want to hear right this second. 

“We could.”

He’s not being serious, but your heart flutters anyway. 

“Really?”

“Sure. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Spencer. I’m not joking. You’re not taking me seriously.”

Spencer pulls you closer, and though you’re mildly annoyed, you allow it with a huff. 

“I am taking you seriously. Like the plague.”

“I know you want kids.”

“I do.”

“We can have kids.”

“Angel. We have time. I believe that you want a baby, and I’m overjoyed that you want one with me. And you know we’d need more time to talk about it.”

Of course, you probably will change your mind tomorrow, and again the next day, and Spencer will love you then and every time you change your mind thereafter. 

“Do you love me?” You ask softly, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand and not looking at him. Just to make sure. His eyes are liquid adoration on you. 

“More than anything in the whole world.” And maybe, you think, you’re okay with keeping it that way. For just a bit longer, at least. Spencer squeezes your arm. “I do think you’ll get to meet her again one day. I’ll get to meet her.”

You smile to yourself, imagining your little dreamy baby girl back in your arms. “One day.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“Did we name her in your dream?”

“Elizabeth. But only because in my dream your mom’s name was Elizabeth, for some reason? I don’t… I can’t explain that.”

“Hm... I love my mom, but I don't know if I'd want to name my baby Diana. Feels too prophetic.”

“Hold on, I have like, a hundred baby name ideas. Can you hand me my phone? I’m gonna tell you all of them. First and middle name combinations.”

Spencer reaches for your phone on the side table. “Boy and girl?”

You scoff, settling into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, so he can see your phone screen. 

“We’re not having a boy, Spencer.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You smile and tangle your legs with his, searching through your notes app with your non-dominant hand for your list of ridiculous baby names. 

“I can’t believe you would even suggest that. You're obviously going to be a girl dad.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m so glad I'm not pregnant because you’re clearly not ready. You have a lot to learn. Okay, how does Artemisia Valencia October Reid sound to you?”

You’re lucky he loves you so much.

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 01

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.1 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note so exited to start this series!! dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world !! ♡ (fanart in the header)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

next chapter ->

"Who's that?"

Every gaze in the room turned towards you.

"She's my student—," Dr. Geto responded, a trace of amusement twisting his lip. He didn't have to follow Dr. Gojo's stare to know its target. "—a first-year medical student."

A murmur rippled through the group of students, their eyes stinging like needles in your neck. You were acutely aware of your position—the youngest, the least experienced, an outsider among those who had studied for years.

"What?" Gojo's voice sliced through the air. He turned his scrutinizing gaze towards Geto. "You brought a fucking first-year into my operating room?"

Ouch.

Geto chuckled. "Relax, Satoru. She's good."

Gojo's expression tightened. He turned back to you, those unnervingly bright blue eyes raking over you from behind his surgical glasses. It made your skin crawl. "You, first-year. Bypass, endovascular, or direct microsurgical approach?"

The air in the operating room was thick.

Dr. Geto and Dr. Gojo had been circling the issue for at least half an hour, dissecting strategies as if the patient weren't laid skull open before them, the aneurysm a ticking time bomb in the patient's brain.

None of the students dared to move, too terrified to even breathe. It was a test. But hesitation wasn't in your vocabulary.

"You should do a hybrid approach. Start with endovascular coiling to reduce the risk of rupture. Parallel prep for a bypass, using intraoperative Doppler for flow assessment. Stabilize, then microsurgical clipping. Definitive closure."

Silence filled the room. Somehow the eyes of the other students stinging even more now. Your boldness given such a complex situation was either brilliance or audacity—perhaps both.

Geto's laughter broke the tension. "I might've forgotten to mention—she's my best student."

Gojo's gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "That's some complex shit you suggest. The endovascular coiling has to be precise to reduce the risk of aneurysm rupture, and then we switch to microsurgery in an already compromised field."

"Complex, yes, but you have no other choice. The endovascular phase provides stabilization, making the surgical field less treacherous for clipping," you countered.

"And the risk of thrombosis?" Gojo pressed.

"Could happen."

"Could happen?" Gojo repeated. "That's your statement on that?"

"It's either the hybrid approach, or the patient is dead anyway," you said, maintaining his unyielding gaze.

"Is this woman serious?" Gojo murmured, almost inaudibly. His gaze shifted to Geto, seeking perhaps a silent judgment or agreement. Geto, following the exchange with an unreadable smile, seemed more amused than concerned.

"So?" Geto prompted.

Gojo's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes raking over you as if searching for a flaw in your logic. His silence stretched taut between you, a wordless evaluation. Finally, the verdict, "Let's proceed with the hybrid approach."

You exhaled sharply, only then realizing you'd been holding your breath.

A flurry of activity erupted as the nurses prepared for the surgery you'd proposed. You watched closely as the surgeons moved with practiced precision around the patient's exposed brain tissue—both undoubtedly the best neurosurgeons in the country.

"Your name," Dr. Gojo demanded, his focus still on the task at hand. "What is it?"

You gave your name in response.

He repeated your name, as if testing how the name felt. "Do you always approach problems with such boldness?"

"If the situation demands it."

Something in his masked face shifted, a subtle expression that might have been a smile. Whatever it was, it seemed out of place.

"Interesting."

─── ·✧· ───

The corridors of Tokyo Medical University were bustling with life, echoing the footsteps and chatter of students. Lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, you stood somewhat disoriented in front of the map of the University. Finding your way to your anatomy class felt like an impossible task, especially with less than four minutes on the clock.

It was your first day.

And already the middle of the semester.

Definitely not a good start to come late.

The university you used to attend was half this size, and somehow you already missed it. But who would turn down the opportunity to study at the country's most prestigious medical university? Especially with the chance to learn from the most renowned neurosurgeons teaching there?

So here you were.

Two minutes left.

All of a sudden, someone ran into you, causing you to fall to the ground.

"Whoa, sorry! I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see a guy with tousled black hair and noticeable dark circles under his eyes. He quickly extended a hand to help you up. "Are you okay?"

Brushing off your clothes, you nodded and accepted his hand, feeling a surprising strength as he easily pulled you back to your feet.

"You new here?" he asked, studying your face. "You seem a bit lost."

The subtle irony in his comment almost coaxed a smile out of you, especially considering his own worn-out look. "Yeah, it's my first day, and I'm already running late. I'm trying to find Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class."

"No way, that's my class too! Come on, I'll show you, but we need to make it quick," he responded, already moving ahead with a sense of urgency. You hastened to keep pace with his swift strides.

"I'm Yuta Okkotsu, by the way," he introduced himself as you weaved through the bustling corridors. "So, what's the story behind your mid-semester transfer?"

"I was at a different medical school, but then got this offer to transfer here."

Yuta's eyes widened slightly. "An offer to transfer? That's pretty impressive. You must be quite talented."

"I'm not so sure about that, I think I just got lucky."

Yuta led the way through the bustling corridors, his familiarity with the campus evident in every confident turn he took. Finally, you arrived at the large doors of the auditorium where Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class was supposed to be held. Pushing the doors open, you both slipped inside, but there was no sign of the professor yet.

"Made it," Yuta gasped, a grin spreading across his face despite the shortness of breath. "With, uh, time to spare!" He glanced at his watch. "Okay, maybe not."

Yuta, still catching his breath, gestured towards a group sitting near the back. "Come on, you can sit with us. My friends are cool, I promise."

As you followed, you noticed a girl with striking green hair. She was leafing through a thick textbook with an expression that suggested she found the content less than challenging. "That's Maki," Yuta whispered to you. "Don't let her scare you—she's actually really nice."

Maki looked up as you approached. "New student?"

"Transfer student actually," Yuta corrected. "Is Inumaki also running late?"

Before Maki could respond, the doors swung open. But instead of Dr. Ieiri, Dr. Satoru Gojo stepped in, his presence as commanding as when you first saw him.

No way.

The room fell into an instant hush. Dr. Gojo sauntered to the front of the auditorium, his silver hair gleaming in the gentle sun.

"Good morning, class," he began, his voice effortlessly filling the hall. "Dr. Ieiri is unavailable today, so I'll be taking you through the nervous system."

He scribbled his name on the board, one hand nonchalantly tucked into his trouser pocket. Turning back to face the class, he rolled up his sleeves, his captivating blue eyes even more striking without the barrier of surgical glasses.

As his gaze swept across the students, it abruptly landed on you. For a split second, his confident demeanor wavered, replaced by a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

"The first-year?"

Following his gaze, all heads turned towards you—dozens of stabbing eyes.

Fantastic, center stage yet again.

You locked eyes with Gojo for a heartbeat, maybe a minute, maybe a year. Heat spread all over your skin. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then he cleared his throat and regained his professional poise.

"As I was saying," he turned his attention back to the class, "—since Dr. Ieiri isn't here, we'll dive deeper into the nervous system. So listen well."

His eyes met yours one more time before he launched into the lecture.

─── ·✧· ───

As the lecture came to an end, the students began to gather their belongings. You also began to pack up your notes, still processing the intense lecture Dr. Gojo had just given. It was clear—he was not a professor who took it easy on his students.

"Should we grab a bite? We've got a few minutes before the next class," Yuta suggested, glancing at both you and Maki as you made your way towards the exit. But just as you were about to step out, Dr. Gojo's voice halted you in your tracks.

"Not you, first-year."

The remaining students cast curious glances your way as they continued to file out of the auditorium. Yuta paused, his gaze shifting between you and Dr. Gojo.

"I'll catch up later," you said to him. He nodded before disappearing with the last of the students.

Turning back, you found Dr. Gojo leaning nonchalantly against his desk with his arms crossed. His intense gaze was focused on you. The room quickly emptied, leaving only the two of you.

"I'm curious, what brings a first-year into an operating room?" he finally broke the silence.

"Dr. Geto invited me to observe."

"Dr. Geto?" he echoed, pushing himself off from the desk and taking a few steps closer. "How did you come to know him?"

"He invited me to transfer here," you explained. "He's overseeing a research project that I'm a part of."

"You what? You mean you're working with him on the neuroprosthetics?"

"Yes," you simply said.

He paused for a moment, then let out a chuff before taking a few deliberate steps closer. "Tell me, what did it take for you to get into this university? To become part of Suguru's team as a mere first-year student?"

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Are you insinuating something, Dr. Gojo?"

His lips curled into a half-smile, his approach halting just a breath away from you. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything untoward, like a student getting ahead by... unconventional means. That'd be highly inappropriate, wouldn't it?"

The air around you seemed to thicken as he loomed closer, his tall frame nearly casting a shadow over you against the backdrop of the window.

"I didn't know you were even Suguru's type," he continued.

Was he for real?

He knew nothing. 

Nothing about the countless hours you'd poured into your studies. Nothing about the sleepless nights spent devouring research papers. Nothing about the relentless drive that had earned you recognition in the scientific community despite your young age. And here he was, accusing you of fucking your way up the ladder.

"Why? Are you jealous?" The words slipped out before you could think.

Gojo's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. "I can see why Suguru took an interest."

The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, yet you found yourself unable to look away. It was as if he was trying to read your very thoughts, peeling back layers with nothing but his piercing blue eyes.

For a moment, his gaze drifted downward, lingering on your lips. Your pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Too bad, I'm on the neuroprosthetics team too," he remarked. "We'll be seeing quite a bit of each other, it seems."

Suddenly, he stepped back, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Make sure you live up to the expectations, first-year. I won't go easy on you just because you're a rookie."

With those final words, he turned away, leaving you standing in the midst of the empty auditorium, your mind racing.

Was he for real real?

─── ·✧· ───

"Ugh, I hate that guy!"

Geto looked up from his desk, a single eyebrow raised in response to your dramatic entrance into his office. "That guy?"

"I mean Dr. Gojo," you clarified, pacing the room. "I can't keep up with his arrogance."

He leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a calm, measured gaze. "He's not as bad as you think. You just need to get to know him better."

Know him better?

Yeah, that was the least you wanted to do.

"He just accused me of sleeping with you to get into this university!"

The words tumbled out of your mouth, more bluntly than you intended. Your relationship with Geto had always been somewhat informal, feeling more like a friendship. But this level of frankness was a step further than usual. But the anger and frustration boiling inside you made it impossible to hold back.

Geto couldn't suppress a laugh. "Sounds like something he would say," he mused, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

You stopped pacing the room and turned to face him. "Ha?"

"Listen," Geto began. "Gojo is a good man. He's always worked hard, so it might be a little irritating for him to see someone new get the recognition he's worked for years to get."

"But I've worked hard too," you countered.

"I know," Geto leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "That's why I invited you here, to be part of my research team. He'll see your potential sooner or later." A warm smile played on his lips.

"So I just have to wait for his approval?"

"It looks like it," Geto shrugged.

Great.

"Besides we need him on this project, so it's best if you two find a way to get along. You'll learn a lot working with Gojo," he added.

You sighed. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Gojo is not easily impressed. But I have a feeling that you made quite an impression on him with your boldness in the operating room the other day. Not many students would suggest such an approach as you did."

"Is that a compliment?"

"You can take it as one, yes," he replied with a chuckle. He then stood up and began packing his bag. "Oh, and also, we're starting work on the project tomorrow, right after your last class."

Fantastic.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes," he confirmed, nodding. "I think it's best we dive right in. Gojo will be there too, of course. It'll be a good opportunity for both of you to start fresh." His smile widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You couldn't help but feel he was somewhat enjoying the situation.

─── ·✧· ───

The air was filled with the sterile scent of preservatives.

Anatomy class was in full swing, the only sound being the quiet murmur of focused students. You stood at your desk next to Yuta, Maki, and Toge, each of you meticulously dissecting and examining organs under the microscope. But your mind was elsewhere, lost in a blur of thoughts about the research project starting later that day.

As you sliced an organ in half with a practiced hand, your gaze drifted unfocused, the image under the microscope blurring. A wave of nausea washed over you. Perhaps it was the onset of the flu, or perhaps it was a convenient excuse to avoid facing Gojo later.

"Hey, you okay?" Yuta's voice pulled you back to the present. You realized you had been staring blankly at the tissue sample for longer than necessary. 

"Yeah, just thinking about the project later."

Maki glanced over, her eyes sharp behind her safety glasses. "With Dr. Gojo, right? That's going to be—interesting."

You paused. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Gojo, well, he's notorious for being an ass," Maki said, her focus still on her own dissection. "He's undeniably a genius, but he's also—brutal. He has a way of pushing students to their limits, often too far."

Fantastic. 

Just what you needed to hear.

Your stomach churned. "I had a feeling about that."

"His standards are high, and he's not exactly gentle in his criticism. If you don't meet his expectations, he'll let you know, and not kindly," she continued. "He's made more than a few students question their life choices."

"Yeah, I've heard similar stories. You either meet his expectations or you're pretty much done," Yuta added.

The thought of working with Dr. Gojo was getting more fun by the minute. 

Maybe you should call in sick.

Toge contributed his one-word insight, "God complex," which seemed to perfectly sum up the mood of the conversation about Dr. Gojo.

"But—," Maki interjected, finally looking up, "—he's still the best in his field. If you can handle the pressure, he's undoubtedly the one to learn from."

Yeah, but what was the price for that?

You let out a tired sigh. 

Returning to your task, you carefully aligned the organ under the microscope. Gojo was intimidating, no doubt, but you had worked your ass off to reach this point. You weren't going to back down just because he was a dick. After all, Geto was also working on the project, so how bad could it possibly be then?

You glanced up from the microscope to adjust its focus. However, you couldn't help but notice Yuta. He glanced at Maki over his microscope with this look—that certain look.

Interesting.

─── ·✧· ─── 

"Your idea is just ridiculous!"

"Oh really? Yours is just shit!"

You didn't know how it ended up like this. It was barely two minutes into the discussion about a critical aspect of the research project, and here you were, shouting at each other. The entire lab had gone silent, all eyes glued to the heated exchange. Geto, leaning against a counter, watched the scene unfold with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Your approach could compromise the entire neural interface integration," you argued. "It's too aggressive and doesn't take into account the potential for neural tissue damage."

Gojo was standing so close, that you could see the flecks of color in his eyes, feel the heat radiating off him. And could probably spit in his face.

Maybe you should do that.

His approach was risky—dangerous even. How could he not see that? 

"It's necessary," Gojo countered. "—playing it safe doesn't always work."

Yeah, you know that. But not in this case, not with this patient. It was borderline reckless.

"There's a fine line between a breakthrough and recklessness," you shot back.

"You're so naive," he retorted, stepping even closer. "You don't understand when it's time to take some risks."

You stared at him. "Taking risks? No, you're just being insane!"

"You—" he started but Geto quickly intervened. 

"Alright, that's enough for now," he said, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, physically creating space between you and Gojo. "Let's take a break."

But Gojo's eyes never left yours, unbroken even as Geto gently shoved him backwards. You stood there, your breath ragged, your heart racing. Around you, the lab slowly came back to life as the others resumed their tasks, occasionally stealing glances in your direction.

"Could you get us some coffee?" Geto asked, pressing a few bills into your hand.

Yeah. Sure.

You nodded. The unexpected surge of adrenaline that had coursed through your veins didn't leave you needing caffeine, but hell, you took anything that would get you away from him. As you made your way out of the lab, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Taking your time, you wandered to the cafeteria. Okay, maybe you just didn't find the way. But you didn't really care. The university was already empty at this hour. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

By the time you returned to the lab, the coffee had grown cold in your hands. Geto immediately perked up at your return, pushing himself away from his desk and walking over to you. "Ah, great," he said with a smile, taking a cup from your hands. "Thanks."

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, who hadn't moved an inch, his attention seemingly absorbed by the computer screen in front of him. Without a word, you placed his cup on his desk.

The rest of the evening was a blur of lab work, discussions, and planning.

You were focused on analyzing a blood sample to identify specific markers and genetic predispositions to determine if a patient was eligible for research. Normally an easy task, but your concentration began to waver.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was well past midnight. The lab was quiet, most of the equipment was turned off, and the only light was the dim glow of a few workstations. Geto had left some time ago, urging you to do the same, but you stayed. It would take longer to continue your work tomorrow than to finish it now.

However, each test you ran seemed to produce inconclusive or erratic results. You rechecked the protocols, ran the tests again, but the results were still the same. Exhaustion was clouding your judgment, leading you to make mistakes you wouldn't normally make.

After yet another failed attempt, you let out a sigh and rubbed your tired eyes.

How was this so fucking hard all of a sudden?

"Let me help you," said a voice from behind you. It was Gojo. You thought he had already left, or maybe you were just so focused on your own task. You felt his presence close behind you as he leaned in to examine the blood sample results on the screen.

"See here," he said, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He reached around you to steer the controls, his arms encircling you. Your skin heated. "The centrifugation speed and time must be precisely calibrated. It affects the separation of cellular components, which is critical for accurate marker identification."

You nodded slightly, even though you already knew that. Somehow, you were now a bit ashamed of your own sudden stupidity. As the sample was prepared and placed for analysis, his presence remained close, his body heat and the soft cadence of his breathing a constant distraction. The results started to display on the screen, this time showing the definitive patterns you had been seeking.

"No need to thank me," Gojo said, straightening up—giving you some much-needed air to breathe. "You should go home, it's late."

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Yeah, you should really go home.

As Gojo moved towards the door, he paused briefly, his hand resting on the handle. "Burning out won't do you, or the project, any good."

You watched him for a moment. Somehow, in the dim light, his features softened the usually sharp lines of his face. "Are you concerned?"

"Concerned that you mess this project up," he said with a grin on his lips.

You let out a tired sigh. "Of course."

─── ·✧· ─── 

Another day. Another fight.

The tension in the lab was palpable as you and Gojo stood across from each other. The issue had resurfaced. So had the friction between your methods. Your opposing views seemed like an insurmountable chasm.

"You're not considering the long-term implications of your approach," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration. "We need to think about patient recovery, not just the immediate results."

"The primary goal is to ensure the success of the procedure. Your 'cautious' tactics might compromise the project's objectives," Gojo retorted.

You bristled at his words. "It's not about being cautious—it's about being thorough and responsible. We can't afford to overlook potential complications."

The debate intensified, each point you made met with a sharp rebuttal from Gojo. As the argument escalated, he took a step closer, his blue eyes locked on yours. "Your method will not work, first-year. Playing it safe will kill this patient."

His proximity was overwhelming, and for a moment, you lost your train of thought, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. "My method will keep him alive," you managed to say, trying to regain your composure.

Before he could respond, you glanced at the clock on the wall and realized with a start that you were late for your class. "I have to go," you said abruptly, the urgency of the situation breaking the tension.

"We're not done with this discussion," Gojo snapped.

"Yeah, whatever," you said as you hurried out of the lab and rushed to your class. 

Gojo let out a low hiss under his breath. As you left the lab, Geto approached him, his expression serious despite the hint of a smile on his lips. Some might say he looked scary.

"Satoru," Geto began. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Gojo turned, his posture stiffening. "About what?"

Geto crossed his arms, leaning back against a lab table. "Could you please stop pissing off my precious student?"

"Ha?" he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Are you seriously siding with her?"

"I am," Geto confirmed. "I wanted her on this project because she and I are on the same page."

"Of course you are."

"Satoru, I don't want to throw you off this project, so please try to find a middle ground with her. Give her a chance."

Gojo exhaled sharply, the lines on his face softening slightly. "Your approach is too cautious. It won't work."

Geto maintained his calm demeanor. "We'll see."

"Fine," Gojo finally conceded. "I'll try to—work with her. On one condition."

"And what's that?" Geto asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We do it my way if your approach doesn't work," Gojo said.

"Fair enough."

Gojo looked away, his gaze settling on the empty space where you had stood moments before. There was a brief pause, his mind racing.

"Suguru, what exactly do you see in her?" Gojo asked after a while.

"Hm?" Geto looked at Gojo thoughtfully. "She has potential, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, potential," Gojo echoed, his voice trailing off slightly.

Geto tilted his head.

─── ·✧· ───

The sun streamed through the windows of the anatomy classroom, casting a warm glow across the rows of desks. Despite the bright light, your eyelids felt heavy, the endless fights with Gojo replaying in your mind and robbing you of much-needed energy.

You sat beside Yuta, Maki, and Toge, struggling to focus on the lecturer's words. 

"Rough day?" Yuta whispered.

You propped your head up with one hand, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear the fog of fatigue. "More like a rough week."

"You look like shit," Maki remarked.

"Thanks."

As the lecturer continued discussing the intricacies of human anatomy, your thoughts drifted back to Gojo. Despite all the arguments you had with him, all you could think about was the memory of his intense gaze, his closeness, his soft voice, even his scent. It made it impossible to concentrate on the lecture.

Yuta nudged you gently when you almost nodded off, your head dipping forward. "You really should get some rest after this."

Suddenly, an announcement woke you up in an instant.

"Now we'll do a quick test." Dr. Ieiri announced. "It's crucial for your upcoming exams."

A collective groan echoed through the class. You froze, your heart sinking. A test was the last thing you needed right now.

Yuta turned to you. "You got this," he said, trying to offer some encouragement.

You weren't so sure. 

As the test papers were distributed, you stared blankly at the questions. Your mind, usually sharp and focused during exams, felt sluggish and unresponsive. One by one, you read through the questions, trying to recall the knowledge you knew was hopefully buried somewhere in your tired brain.

Fuck.

It was all questions about something like skin, bones and that shit. You could recall every little detail about the brain, but bones? Fuck, you really should have paid attention in that class.

Panic set in as you realized that you might actually fail this test.

─── ·✧· ───  

1:07 AM.

You were still wide awake.

Tossing and turning, you found sleep elusive. Everything that had happened lately was replaying in your mind. You had barely been in Tokyo for a few weeks and your life was already so different. You barely had time to fix up your apartment, the moving boxes still there, waiting to be opened. And then the anatomy test—

You needed a distraction, something to focus on that wasn't your own disappointment.

So you decided to head back to the university lab. Maybe immersing yourself in work would help clear your head. The quiet, empty streets at this hour were oddly comforting as you drove to the campus. Upon arriving at the lab, you were surprised to see the lights already on. You pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space.

No way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

Gojo hunched over a microscope, deeply engrossed in his work. He looked up, his expression one of mild annoyance. "I could ask you the same," he replied.

Nice.

Even in the lab, it seemed you couldn't escape his presence. He was always there, haunting both your mind and your reality.

"You shouldn't work so late. You're still a student," Gojo remarked.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, you've already told me that. But I want this project to work just as much as you."

Gojo looked your way, his striking blue eyes catching the dim lab light. "Don't you ever take a break? Go out? Maybe party or so?"

You observed him for a moment. His hair was disheveled, giving him a more relaxed, approachable look than usual. "I'm not really into the party scene," you admitted.

"I guessed as much," he responded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he returned his focus back to his work.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, somewhat hurt.

"It's not a criticism, just an observation."

Setting up at a nearby workstation, you began reviewing some data on a patient you were about to perform surgery on. He was the first to receive a transplant directly into his cerebral cortex, hoping to bypass the damaged spinal cord and allow direct brain control of a prosthetic limb.

It was the first time such an operation had ever been performed. And Geto would be the one to do the surgery. Gojo would have normally, but he refused. He was still convinced it was the wrong approach. Even though all the data showed otherwise.

Sipping from your coffee, you glanced over at Gojo, finding a strange comfort in his presence. He worked with a focus and intensity that was almost mesmerizing.

3:23 AM. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids as you completed the final analysis. Now all you had to do was wait for the results. You rested your head on your hand, sinking lower and lower until your head touched the cool surface of the desk. Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt.

Time passed unnoticed until a gentle touch caressed your cheek. It jolted you from sleep. You flinched slightly, your eyes fluttering open. Your gaze slowly traveled up, finally locking with Gojo's eyes. He stood beside you, his thumb lingering just a moment longer on your skin, stroking lightly over your cheek.

"You hungry?"

You straightened up, pulling back a little. Suddenly conscious of the close proximity. A warm flush spread across your cheeks.

Gojo pulled up a chair, turned it backwards and faced you. He unwrapped a small meal he had brought from a nearby bakery, the scent of fresh pastries filling the air. 

There was a casual ease to his movements. Like everything he did. Whether he was slicing through a brain or just existing. He always seemed so unbothered. As if he knew he would never fail at anything anyway.

Blinking tiredly, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering veil of sleep. As you moved, a jacket slipped from your shoulders. His jacket. He must have draped it over your shoulders while you slept. It smelled like him.

"Keep it," he said before you could part your lips. "The body cools down after sleep."

"Always the doctor, aren't you?" you replied with a hint of a smile, pulling the jacket back around your shoulders. "Thank you."

Reaching for the pastry he had brought, you became acutely aware of his gaze. The intensity in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" you asked, taking a bite of the pastry.

"Everything."

You chuckled. "That would take a while."

"I've got time."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling his gaze still intently on you.

"Tell me how Suguru found you," he continued.

"Back in my hometown, I was already in medical university, working on a research project about a specific type of brain tumor called glioblastoma multiforme. My mentor at the time encouraged me to publish a paper on my findings. It seems that Geto stumbled upon my work. That's how I ended up here."

"Impressive," he said. "Why this specific type of brain tumor?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Because my father died of it."

Gojo paused, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your thoughts.

"My father was a neurosurgeon, too. I practically grew up in operating rooms," you continued.

"Why did he die?"

The directness of his question caught you slightly off guard. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. 

"The tumor was too aggressive. The surgery was useless, he knew that, but he wanted it anyway. They tried a radical surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible while preserving vital brain function. But it failed. My father was just dead meat breathing after the surgery. My mother never got over that loss. I think she lost her mind."

The gruesome edge of your words surprised him, his eyes widening slightly. You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with Gojo as his stupidly handsome blue eyes seemed to pierce your soul.

Silence stretched between you two.

"I'm sorry," Gojo said eventually.

"It's okay. He's long gone," your eyes lingered on the pastry. "It's what drove me to neurology," you continued, gathering the courage to look up at him. "I wanted to contribute to something that might change outcomes for people like my father."

"Is that why you want to go for the safe approach with the patient in our neuroprosthetics project?"

You thought about it. But it wouldn't help to lie anyway. "Yeah, that's probably it."

Gojo ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a weary exhale.

"Tell me about you now," you said, changing the subject.

He paused, then offered a brief, wry smile. "Not married, no girlfriend, no kids."

"That's not really what I meant."

"Sure?" he teased, the corners of his mouth turning up in a playful smile.

"Why not?" you asked him. This was indeed interesting. He was handsome. Tall. Barely in his thirties. A famous neurosurgeon. He was basically the whole package. Except—

"No time, I guess," he said.

"What a lame excuse," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. You stretched your arms above your head, trying to relieve the tension that had built up in your muscles. A slight smile lingered on your lips as you added, "I guess you're just too much ego for any woman to handle."

"Oh, sweetheart," Gojo replied, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a natural ease. "I suspect you have just as much ego as me."

Suddenly, Gojo stood up and closed the distance between you. You remained seated, looking up at him, your heart rate quickening. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you. The intensity in his gaze was palpable, and you found yourself caught in it, unable to look away. The room seemed to shrink, the space between you charged.

Then, leaning in, Gojo brought his face close to yours, his breath a whisper against your ear. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. "Bad for you," he murmured softly, his voice a low rumble, "I do like arrogant woman."

Before you could respond, he straightened up. "Good night," he said. "You should get some sleep."

With that, he turned and walked out of the lab, leaving you sitting there. The air seemed to shift back to normal as the door closed behind him. 

─── ·✧· ─── 

Your legs hurt. Your back hurt. Your hips hurt. Your neck hurt.

Everything hurt.

You stood on the sidelines of the operating room for nearly 6 hours. Standing still on the same spot. You'll never get used to that. It's the worst part of the job. But it was still a privilege to witness Geto and Gojo in surgery, right?

The room was filled with the sound of beeping monitors and the low murmur of the assisting surgical team. From your vantage point, you had a clear view of the procedure and the surgeons. They worked together with a quiet efficiency that was fascinating. 

However, as you watched, something about Gojo caught your attention. His movements seemed slightly off. You started noticing it about an hour ago. But no one said anything. His hair was drenched in sweat and clung to his forehead. You could see the slight trembling in his hands, almost imperceptible.

Something was definitely off.

Your gaze lingered on him, studying his every move.

"First-year."

Gojo suddenly paused and looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You flinched slightly, as he caught you starring at him. "You want to try the next part?" he asked, his voice cutting through the hum of the operating room.

Was he serious?

Before you could reply, Geto interjected, "Satoru, are you joking? She's still a student."

Gojo's gaze didn't waver from you. "I know. But you said she's your best student," he replied his lips twitching with a smile. "I want to test that."

"You've done aneurysm surgery before, back in your hometown, right?" Gojo asked you.

Did he google you or what?

"Yes," you replied.

"Then step forward," he said.

You hesitated. Your gaze drifted to Geto for confirmation. Geto hesitated, then gave a slight nod.

Heart pounding, you stepped forward to the operating table. A rush of adrenaline surged through you. You took the offered surgical tools with a steady hand from Gojo, his eyes locked with yours. "We're going to work on clipping the aneurysm now. You've done it before, right?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

"Good." He moved closer, positioning himself so he could guide you while still giving you control. "Start with an incision here," he instructed, pointing to a specific area on the patient's brain with his own instrument.

You could feel his gaze over your shoulder; the warmth of his body near yours. As you made the initial incision, Gojo moved even closer. "Now, carefully dissect the tissue to expose the aneurysm," he continued.

Your hands worked around the fragile brain. You did surgery before. Yes. But this was another level. Every eye of every nurse and doctor in the room was on you. Geto was monitoring the patient's data. He glanced at you from time to time, his expression unreadable. But you were at least three inches deep into a human brain, so there was no way out anyway.

After that, you would certainly have to vomit from the adrenaline.

At one critical point, your hands hesitated. Your heart almost exploded. In that moment, you could either kill this patient or save him. "Calm down," Gojo said, so low and close to your ear that only you could hear it. Gojo's hand cupped yours gently. "You're doing fine. Trust yourself," he murmured. His touch was brief, but it was enough to ground you for a moment.

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you isolated the aneurysm and prepared it for clipping.

"Good," he whispered.

Finally, as you placed the clip on the aneurysm and secured it, a wave of accomplishment washed over you. Hell, you really did it.

"Congratulations, an excellent clipping," Gojo said, his lips forming a smile. "You can step back now."

"Thank you, Dr. Gojo," you whispered. As you stepped back, a wide smile spread across your face, hidden beneath the mask but undeniable in the sparkle of your eyes.

Gojo took the lead again to close up the patient. But his gaze shifted to you every now and then.

Geto's eyes narrowed.

─── ·✧· ───

"You did a good job in there."

Gojo glanced in your direction as you both washed up in the scrub room after the operation.

"Thanks," you replied, meeting his eyes.

"I may have underestimated you," he said, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

Wait? Was that a compliment? From him?

Before you could respond, the door to the scrub room burst open. Geto stormed in, his face flushed with anger. He tore off his scrubs and threw them into the trash with a thud that made you flinch.

"We need to talk, Satoru," he said sharply. His intense gaze was fixed solely on Gojo, as if you weren't even there.

Shit.

Gojo calmly turned off the tap and reached for a towel, drying his hands with deliberate slowness. His face was an unreadable mask. He gave you a brief glance before following Geto out of the room.

"Don't you dare fuck my student," Geto hissed before the door had even fully closed behind them. But it didn't matter anyway, you could hear their voices through the thin walls.

Gojo leaned back against a table. His arms crossed over his chest. "What are you getting at?"

"Don't try to fuck with me, Satoru. I've seen the way you look at her."

"I supervised her, so that she wouldn't kill the patient. That's all you saw."

"Supervision?" Geto's voice was sharp. "Since when do you let a student handle such a crucial part of a surgery? What's gotten into you? What if she had screwed up?"

Gojo's eyes narrowed. "What's your problem? She's proven herself capable, and she performed brilliantly today, don't you think?"

Geto advanced a step, closing the distance between them. His frustration palpable. "This isn't like you, Satoru. You're blurring lines that should remain clear. She's a student. You're supposed to be her mentor, not—not whatever you're turning this into."

The room went silent.

"Your concern is noted, but misplaced," Gojo said. "My interest in her is purely professional. She has potential, real potential, and it's my job to support that."

Geto's expression hardened. "That's right, she has potential, and you're risking that if you can't keep your hands off her."

"What?" Gojo pushed away from the table. "Because you want her for yourself?"

"I can't believe you'd go there," Geto snapped back. "I brought her here because she's damn good at what she does, not for any other reason."

Gojo's face tightened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You should know me better, Suguru. I was giving her a shot to show her skills, that's all."

In a sudden move, Geto closed the distance and grasped Gojo's shirt, pulling him forward. Their faces were just inches apart. "Listen, Satoru," Geto said. "I'm dead serious. One wrong step, one slip, and you could ruin everything—her career, the project, your own reputation. Don't think I'll stand by and watch that happen."

Gojo's eyes met Geto's, unflinching. He placed his hands on Geto's to release his grip. "I hear you, Suguru," he said. "But you're wrong. My interest in her is purely professional."

"Make sure it stays that way," Geto warned. He released his grip and stepped back.

Geto then turned and left the room. Gojo turned his head to look at you through the small window in the door that separated you. Your eyes briefly met his before he also left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Great.

─── ·✧· ───

This day couldn't get any better.

You stood at the exit of the hospital. It was pouring.

Resigned, you decided to wait near the exit, hoping the rain would stop soon. Minutes passed, but the rain showed no signs of stopping.

"Waiting out the rain?" a familiar voice called out from behind.

You turned to see Gojo appeared. He had changed out of his surgical scrubs and was now in his regular clothes. His muscular arms and broad shoulders visible even under his loose button-down.

"Yeah, it looks like I'm stuck here for a while."

Gojo opened his umbrella. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

You hesitated for a moment.

"Suguru already left, don't worry," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You frowned slightly. "That's not what I was concerned about."

"Then why are you hesitating?" He took a step closer, the umbrella now over you both. He stood at least a head taller than you, looking down at you with heavy eyes. You studied the tired lines in his face, the slight dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired."

"Do I?" Gojo's voice was deep, his gaze lingering shamelessly on your lips. "Perhaps I am. I've been thinking about you all night."

"Bold statement, especially after Geto's warning."

"I'm not afraid of Suguru."

"Is that why you let me operate today? To piss him off?"

He leaned forward. "I let you operate because you can operate. Suguru is hesitant. He likes to play safe. With me, you'll have more challenge—more fun."

"Are we still talking about surgery?"

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied with a grin. "Come on, It's been a long day. I insist."

"Okay," you finally relented. "Thank you."

You stepped out into the rain together. The umbrella shielded you both as you walked side by side. You walked in silence, the only sound being the gentle drumming of raindrops. Gojo subtly shifted the umbrella, ensuring you were completely covered. His shoulder got wet.

When you reached your car, you turned to him. Somehow you stood so close now. His breath hot against you skin. Your stomach turned slightly, but you tried to brush the feeling off. "Thank you," you said softly, "—for everything today."

"Can I ask you for a favor?" He asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"Can you help me with a project?"

"Another project? Besides the neuroprosthetics?" you asked.

"It's a private one. I could use your assistance with processing data."

"Let me know when and where."

He smiled. "Perfect."

Gojo smoothly opened the car door for you, still holding the umbrella over your head. "Take care," he said gently, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. You both remained frozen. The world outside the umbrella a blur.

"You too," you finally replied, breaking the moment. As you got into your car, you were acutely aware of his eyes still on you.

He closed the door for you and turned.

─── ·✧· ───

"Sorry in advance if this hurts."

You tried to insert the needle, your hand less steady than usual. The needle missed the vein, making Yuta wince. "Sorry," you wiped sweat from your forehead. Then tried again, quickly changing the needle.

A week had passed since the fight between Geto and Gojo. Since then, Gojo hadn't visited the lab. You didn't know what to make of it. But perhaps it was for the better. Less fighting after all. Gojo still didn't approve of your approach.

Still, you couldn't force your mind to stop racing. Perhaps it was the immense workload you had. The research project, not to mention Gojo's personal research project, and inevitably, Gojo himself.

You were in practical class, sitting with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, focusing on a seemingly simple task—practicing drawing blood. But you failed every time.

Yuta gave you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you've done this a hundred times."

Yeah. Not really, but you should probably not tell him that right now.

You took a deep breath and tried again. Failed.

"It's alright, give it another go," Yuta said, even after you had stabbed his arm too many times to be comfortable.

The needle slipped again and missed the mark. "I'm sorry, Yuta. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"Pressure?" Toge asked.

"Yeah, I guess it's a lot lately."

Suddenly, Dr. Kento, the instructor for this practical lesson, appeared behind you. His stoic demeanor sent a shiver down your spine without you having to see it.

"You're really not good at this," he commented bluntly, not really befitting a professor. But it was true.

Forcing a smile, you turned to face him. "Just a bit off my game today."

Dr. Kento's expression remained impassive. "Drawing blood is a basic skill. You should be able to do it in your sleep," he lectured. "But you look like you're torturing your patient."

"Ehh—," you began, turning back to Yuta and only then noticing his pained expression. All color had drained from his face. 

Oops.

Dr. Kento's gaze then swept across the room, capturing the attention of the entire class. "Everyone needs to master this," he continued. "I expect you to be able to do this by the end of the week."

You kidding, right?

It was already Thursday. He basically meant tomorrow.

As if on cue, the bell rang.

You and your friends began to gather your belongings. As the room buzzed with the chatter of students packing up, Yuta brought up a topic that immediately drew everyone's interest.

"Hey, about the sports festival, which team should we join?"

"Sports festival?" you echoed, feeling slightly out of the loop. Your focus on the lab work had left you missing everything else that happened on campus.

Yuta nodded. "Yeah, it's a big event. Every year there's a sports festival in the summer with a bunch of team sports events and competitions."

Toge, usually reserved, showed a flicker of excitement. "Basketball."

"Yeah, the professors usually form a basketball team against the students. Should we join?" Yuta asked.

Maki already scrolled through her phone, looking up the festival details. "We should register then, hmm ... oh the professor team is already full, and .. oh Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto are in the team."

"I bet they are just as competitive on the court as they are in the OR," Yuta added.

"Join?" Toge asked.

"Sure," Maki commented, scrolling through her phone for more details.

Out of curiosity, you asked, "Does anyone here even play basketball?"

Yuta, scratching his chin thoughtfully, replied, "Well, I've played a bit. And Maki's naturally good at anything, so—" he paused, seemingly realizing what he just said. His face turned a shade redder. "Ehh, I mean, you've played basketball before, right, Maki?"

Maki just shrugged, a confident smirk on her face. "He's not wrong."

"So, are we doing this?" you asked.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Great.

Now you had to learn how to play basketball too.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, you found yourself outside Gojo's office, clutching the stack of papers you had prepared for his research project. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knocked softly before entering.

"Dr. Gojo, I've finished the analysis you requested," you said, placing the papers on his desk.

"Thank you. I'll check these later," he said, not looking up from his computer.

You turned to leave. But just as you reached the door, Gojo's voice halted you.

"Wait."

You paused, turning back to face him.

"Wash your hands. There are syringes and needles in the drawer on the bottom right."

"What?" you asked, not sure what he wanted from you.

He looked up from his computer. "You're embarrassing me," he said bluntly. "You know what Kento said to me earlier? He said, and I quote, 'Are you stupid? How can you let a student operate on the brain who can barely get a needle through skin?'"

You felt a knot forming in your stomach.

"It was just not my day, really," you stammered, trying to defend yourself, though your voice lacked conviction.

"How many times have you done that before?" he asked, his gaze intimidating.

You were lost for words.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, more to himself than to you. He stood up from his desk and rolled up his sleeves.

Before you knew it, you found yourself sitting next to him, wearing gloves and poised with a needle in hand. Gojo's arm was outstretched towards you, the veins visible beneath his skin. You stared at his arm. Somehow your mind now completely blank.

"Aren't you going to tie a band around my arm to make my veins more visible first?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, right," you muttered, your cheeks flushing. You wrapped the band around his arm and secured it tightly. Your fingers trembled slightly as they touched his firm skin. The contact felt unexpectedly intimate. It made your heart race.

He watched you, his expression softening slightly. "Easy now," he said in a more encouraging tone. "It's not hard. Just focus."

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your trembling hands. The needle hovered over his vein, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of the silence in the room, punctuated only by the sound of your own erratic heartbeat.

You hesitated.

"Use your little finger against my arm to anchor your hand," he said.

Following his advice, you rested your finger against his skin, feeling a surprising steadiness in your hand.

"And angle the needle slightly," he added. "It's about finding the right entry point—not too steep, not too shallow."

You adjusted the angle of the needle accordingly, aiming for the vein. The tip pierced the skin, and this time, it slid into the vein smoothly. You let out a heavy exhale.

"Good," he said. "Now, draw the blood gently."

As you carefully drew the blood, you could feel Gojo's eyes on your hands, monitoring your technique. Once the procedure was complete and you carefully removed the needle. "Much better," he rolled down his sleeve, a slight arch of his eyebrow. "How is it that you've never really done that before?"

"I don't need to draw blood if I'm operating on the brain," you said with a shrug.

Gojo watched you, a stunned expression flickering across his face.

"The nurses usually handle that anyway," you added, hoping to clarify your point.

There was a moment of silence as he processed what you just said. Finally, he shook his head slightly. "I'm just going to ignore what you just said," he replied.

Changing the subject, he leaned back in his chair. "By the way, I saw your name on the list for the students' basketball team for the upcoming sports festival."

You raised your eyebrows, peeling off your gloves. "Oh, you did?"

"Yeah," he said, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "I didn't know you played basketball. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see if you're as good at basketball as you are at clipping aneurysms."

"I haven't really played much before, so you might want to lower your expectations," a small smile tugged at your lips. "Have you played before?"

"I used to play pretty regularly when I was in universtiy," he said.

Great.

If he was anywhere near as good at basketball as he was at surgery, you were fucked.

"You should teach me then," you quipped, not quite meeting his gaze. As the words left your lips, you immediately realized the implication. You turned to him, a blush coloring your cheeks. "It's just a joke."

His smile widened. "Oh really? Too bad, I'd have liked that."

The room fell into silence.

You found yourself staring at him, and he returned your gaze.

His silver hair had a few strands that were slightly out of place. Your eyes studied his face as if seeing it for the first time. The typical intensity in his blue eyes had softened, replaced by an almost gentle expression. His sharp jawline moved slightly, as if he were pondering something.

Breaking the silence, you finally spoke, your voice softer than intended. "I wonder what you were like back in your university days."

"Why do you ask?"

"It's hard to imagine you not being the controlled surgeon you are now."

"You think I'm controlled?"

"No, that's not what I meant," you hurried to clarify. "I mean, you're always so focused, so—precise, and—"

Before you could finish, he leaned in closer, his intense gaze holding you captive. The world around you seemed to fade into a blur, leaving only the two of you in sharp focus. You could feel the warmth of his breath, barely a whisper away from your skin.

Gojo reached out, his hand gently cupping your chin. He lifted your face slightly, ensuring your eyes met directly.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose my control sooner than you'd expect," he said, his thumb lightly brushing your jawline.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on, he slowly withdrew his hand and stepped back, breaking the connection. He turned away from you and walked back to his desk. "Thank you for your work. You can leave now."

─── ·✧· ───

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the university's outdoor basketball court. Maki, Toge, Yuta, and you had gathered for practice, despite the lingering summer heat.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," you said, dribbling the basketball on the sun-baked concrete. "None of us are exactly pros."

Maki, tying her hair back, grinned. "Speak for yourself. I've got some hidden talents." She effortlessly caught the ball and shot it toward the hoop, scoring a basket. "See?"

Yuta laughed and retrieved the ball. "That's just beginner's luck, Maki. Watch and learn." He took a shot, but the ball bounced off the rim.

"Practice," Toge said.

"Yeah, we really need more practice," you finished his sentence.

"Hey, watch this!" Yuta called out, attempting a fancy dribble move, only to lose control of the ball. It rolled away, and Toge scooped it up and passed it back with a short, "Focus."

"You're one to talk," Maki teased, swiping the ball from Toge and lobbing it towards the basket. It swished through the net effortlessly. "I still got it!"

You caught the ball and wiped the sweat from your brow. "I never thought we'd be practicing basketball as medical students."

Maki turned to you with a curious look. "Speaking of training, how's the research going? You've been spending a lot of time with Geto and Gojo."

You began to dribble the ball, more or less. "It's intense, but I'm learning a lot. Dr. Geto is incredibly intelligent, and well, working with Dr. Gojo is—an experience."

"An experience, huh?" Maki said with a grin "Is that code for 'Dr. Handsome has some unique ways of teaching me'?"

You flinched. Yuta quickly snatched the ball from your unfocused grip and shot it through the net.

"Dr. Handsome?" you echoed.

Maki opened a bottle of water. "Don't tell me he's not good-looking—they both are."

"I mean, they both definitely have their—charm, I guess."

"Charm, huh?" Maki teased, taking a sip of her water. "I've seen the way Dr. Gojo looks at you. There's definitely something."

"It's not like that," you protested, though your defensive tone might have suggested otherwise. "He's just an incredible surgeon to work with, that's all."

"He did let you operate with him, though. That's all I'm saying," Maki added.

"Aneurisym," Toge chimed in.

Yuta, bouncing the ball beside you, added, "Yeah, he let you operate on an aneurysm with him, which is pretty crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Can we focus on the festival game instead of me?"

Maki laughed. "Alright, alright, we'll drop it. But seriously, how's the project going? I mean, besides the whole Dr. Handsome thing."

Yeah, where to start on that.

Taking a deep breath, you told them more about the research project. 

─── ·✧· ───

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. You were still on the basketball court, practicing your shots. The others had already left. The court was quiet, except for the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and the occasional swish of the net.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through. "Hey, First-year."

Startled, you turned to see Gojo approaching the court. He was dressed in athletic attire—a black, skin-tight t-shirt and shorts that looked criminally good on him.

"Dr. Gojo," you said, a bit surprised to see him there. "I didn't expect to see you practicing."

He picked up a basketball and began dribbling with ease. "I like to keep my skills sharp," he said, shooting a casual glance in your direction. "And I heard there was a new challenger on the students team."

You let out a tired sigh. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't embarrass myself too much at the festival," you admitted.

"Have more confidence in yourself, first-year. You're operating on brains, there's no room for doubts." Gojo shot the ball towards the hoop, scoring effortlessly. "And by the way, stop calling me Dr., just Gojo is fine."

"Alright, Gojo," you said.

Gojo passed the ball to you with a casual flick of his wrist. "Come on, first-year. Show me what you've got."

A cold shiver ran down your skin. Oddly, having to demonstrate your non-existent basketball skills felt more intimidating than clipping an aneurysm in front of him.

You positioned yourself at the three-point line, bouncing the ball a few times to find your rhythm. With a deep breath, you aimed and threw the ball, but it bounced off the rim and rolled away.

Gojo walked over to retrieve the ball. "Yeah, you'll definitely embarrass yourself if you play like that."

Ouch.

"Can you do anything besides brain surgery?" he probed further.

Ouch.

"You know that hurts," you said.

"It's all about posture and precision," he said, closing the distance between you two. He halted just before you. "May I?"

With a nod, you consented. He moved in closer, positioning himself directly behind you. His presence enveloping you in a comforting warmth. He smelled like sweat, but oddly, you found it rather attractive. 

You could feel the light touch of his hands as they gently guided your shoulders, aligning your stance with the hoop. His closeness was suffocating, and you found yourself acutely aware of every movement he made.

"Bend your knees a bit more," he advised, his voice a soothing whisper near your ear. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, against the side of your neck, causing your heart to beat faster. His hands moved down to adjust your arms. His touch warm against your skin.

You tried to focus on his instructions. But the closeness of his body, the gentle pressure of his hands on your arms, made it damn hard to concentrate on anything other than him. 

"Now, when you shoot, focus on a fluid motion," he added.

As you prepared to take the shot, Gojo's hands rested lightly on your hips, steadying you. You should have pushed them away. Touching you like that was far beyond appropriate. But you didn't. You wanted him to touch you even more in that moment.

With his guidance, you took the shot, and this time the ball sailed through the net with a satisfying thud.

"You see? You have it in you," Gojo said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze. Your heart immediately dropped.

Even in the waning light you could see it clearly.

"Are you high?" you asked, a slight frown creasing your forehead.

For a moment, Gojo seemed taken aback by your question. He quickly masked his expression with a casual smile and stepped back, creating some distance between you. He began to dribble the basketball, his movements fluid and practiced, yet there was a hint of unease in his actions.

"It's nothing," he said, focusing intently on the ball rather than meeting your eyes. "Just a small injury during practice."

"And you decided to what? Throw in an opioid for that small injury?" you pressed.

He stopped dribbling and faced you, his expression becoming more serious. "No, of course not," he replied with a hint of defensiveness. "It's just a minor strain. I didn't take anything strong for it."

You couldn't believe what he just said. He—a surgeon—a doctor—out of all people.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it's been a long day, and I might have pushed myself a bit too hard. But I'm fine, really."

You studied him closely. "You expect me to believe that?" you took another step closer. "What did you really take? Codeine? Morphine?"

A flicker of something undefinable passing through his eyes. "You're crossing a line," he replied, his tone firmer this time.

"Me? Crossing a line?" you countered. "Since the first day we met, you've been pushing boundaries, and now you say I'm the one overstepping?"

Gojo's expression hardened. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine." His words were steady, but the slight tightness in his jaw suggested otherwise.

You didn't buy anything he just said. The feeling that something was off clung to you, refusing to be dispelled. His usual clarity seemed clouded, his sharpness dulled. His eyes slightly red. His skin paler than usual. It was unsettling to see him like this.

After a brief pause, he picked up the basketball and held it loosely at his side. "I think we're done here," he said. "You should go home."

You watched him for a moment longer. But then you decided to turn and walk away, leaving him alone on the court. As you made your way, his words replayed over and over in your mind. 

Was something wrong with him? 

Should you be worried?

After all, you worked together. And also—naturally—you were worried about him, right? Like any student would be worried about his professor, right?

The evening air suddenly felt so cold.

─── ·✧· ───

The lab was quiet except for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft clinking of your tools as you worked. You were deep in concentration, analyzing data for the upcoming neuroprosthetics project, when the door opened with a soft click.

"Ah, there you are," Geto said as he stepped in. "I've been searching for you. We've finally got the green light for our surgery. Everything's lined up and ready to go."

You straightened up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Really? That's great. When?"

Geto walked over to your workstation, a subtle smile on his face. "In two weeks. Are you excited?"

"More like nervous."

"Ah, that's natural. But don't worry, it will work. You've done an excellent job."

You felt a swell of pride at his words. "Thank you. I'm glad I could help."

Still, there was a question on the tip of your tongue, something you had been pondering since last week. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, but then stopped. Words failed you.

"What is it?" Geto asked, knowing you too well.

"Is something wrong with Gojo?"

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. His expression shifted slightly. "Don't worry about him. He's just stressed lately."

Somehow you didn't buy it.

"Even so, you shouldn't get that close to him."

"I'm not—" you wanted to interject, but he cut you off.

"I'm not blind," he said firmly. "You have a bright future in science. Don't risk it by getting too involved with him. Satoru is a brilliant surgeon, but his personal life is a mess."

What should that mean?

You looked away, unsure how to respond.

Geto then changed the subject. "By the way, I have some more news for you—good and bad. Which would you like to hear first?"

"The good news, of course," you replied.

"Here," Geto said, handing you a journal. As you took it, the bold lettering on the cover immediately caught your eye. It featured an article written by Gojo.

You opened the journal, your heart racing as you skimmed the pages to find the article. And there it was—a comprehensive meta-analysis that you, too, had worked on.

"No way," you murmured, your eyes scanning the text in disbelief.

Below the article was your name, listed alongside Gojo's, credited for your pivotal role in the data analysis and interpretation.

"He mentioned me." 

Geto nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. "That's a pretty big deal."

You were momentarily speechless. Being credited alongside someone as renowned as Gojo was insane.

"Now for the not-so-good news," Geto began.

You looked up at him from the Journal, your eyes still sparkling.

"You failed your anatomy exam."

─── ·✧· ───

The sports festival was in full swing.

Cheers and laughter filled the university campus. The summer heat beat down relentlessly. You already felt a little nauseous that day, and the sun only made it worse. Yeah, you weren't really cut for the heat. At least the bleachers were partly shaded.

You sat quietly besides with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, watching various events unfold on the field. Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn't bring yourself into the festive spirit. Your mind was elsewhere.

Maki nudged you gently. "Still thinking about the exam?"

You sighed. "Yeah, I have to pass the next one, or I'll have to do this year again."

Yuta leaned over. "You'll go it, I'm sure. Plus, you got mentioned in Dr. Gojo's paper—that's huge!"

"Huge," Toge said again to underline it even more.

You managed a small smile. "I hope you're right."

Maki patted your back. "Dr. Handsome will sure put in a good word for you."

You sighed again. "Not this topic again."

Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, announcing that the basketball match between students and professors will begin shortly.

Yuta turned to you and the others. "Looks like it's our turn. Let's start getting ready."

You nodded, through a wave of nausea washed over you. The heat of the sun was merciless, more intense than you'd expected, and it seemed to be draining your strength by the minute.

Maki stood up. "Alright, team, let's show them what we've got!"

Should you vomit now, or later—or both?

Having changed into your sports attire, you joined your teammates on the basketball court. You began to warm up your muscles, even though the heat made that almost unnecessary. You felt your face burn. Nausea churned in your stomach. 

You paused, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping it would pass.

Then, the professors' team made their entrance onto the court. Among them were Geto and Gojo. They began dribbling and passing the ball between them, occasionally doing stretches that showcased their well-built bodies.

They looked confident.

You calculated the odds of how badly this match might go for your team.

Why did you even sign up for this?

Your gaze inadvertently met Gojo's across the court. For a fleeting second, your eyes locked, sending a wave of unease through you. You haven't spoken to him since. Quickly, you averted your gaze and focused back on your stretches.

As Gojo and another professor continued their warm-up, they passed the ball back and forth, aiming for the net. Then a shot from Gojo missed its mark, sending the ball rolling your way. 

As if he ever missed a shot.

The ball stopped at your feet, and before you could react, Gojo was there, sprinting up to retrieve it. He halted right in front of you. "You don't look good," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it.

"I'm fine," you said. "I think it's just the heat."

Gojo reached out, his hand cool against your forehead. "You're overheating."

You quickly pushed his hand aside. "You might want to keep a professional distance, don't you think?" The words came out sharper than intended.

Gojo frowned slightly. "You should sit this one out."

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine," you responded, mirroring his words back at him.

He took a step closer. "You're stupid, you know that?"

Before you could respond, Geto's voice called out from across the court. Gojo turned at the sound. "Coming!" He gave you a last look before quickly walking away. You watched them do a stupid boyish handshake as Gojo rejoined Geto.

At least he was not high today, you thought.

The crowd was already roaring with cheers and applause as both teams lined up. They all here to witness my downfall, you thought, struggling against the nausea that threatened your focus. 

Right off the bat, Gojo weaved through your team's defense, fluid and precise. He flicked the ball to Geto, who faked left and then took a clear shot, scoring the first basket of the game. The crowd erupted.

Yuta sprinted down the court and dribbled past Gojo. He passed the ball to you, and you took your chance at a three-pointer. The ball arced beautifully, but it rimmed out at the last second. 

At least you tried, right?

Not missing a beat, Toge snagged a pass from a professor and pivoted into a counterattack. He found Maki open. She didn't disappoint, scoring a layup to tie the game. Your team was holding up surprisingly well, mostly thanks to your friends' efforts.

Then, Geto feinted, passing to an open Gojo. With a swift move, Gojo scored another point, eliciting a fresh wave of cheers from the spectators. But Yuta was quick to follow, dribbling down the court. He passed to Maki, who nailed another crucial basket, closing the score gap.

In the final minutes, the game was deadlocked. Gojo had the ball, expertly evading your teammates defensive efforts. He made a break for the basket. Yuta, determined to block him, overreached and stumbled backwards, heading straight for you.

You barely had time to brace yourself.

The collision was inevitable. 

Yuta crashed into you, and both of you went tumbling to the ground. The game halting abruptly to the sound of a sharp whistle.

"Are you okay?" Yuta blurted out.

Why was Yuta always running you over?

You rolled over to your side, feeling the heat of the ground beneath you. Everything spun, nausea swirling with pain. "I might need a minute," you managed to say, the world tilting around you.

Almost instantly, Gojo was there, kneeling beside you. "Don't move." He began to examine you for any immediate injuries, his hands tenderly scanning your exposed skin. "You feeling dizzy?"

Your response was a pained sound, a clear sign that you were far from okay. "You might have a concussion. We need to get you checked right away," Gojo said.

"I'm fine," you started to protest, but Gojo had already lifted you into his arms in one fluid motion. He held you close to him. Instinctively, you clung to his neck, feeling the pounding of his heart against your own. It made your stomach clench.

"I'm fine, really," you said again as he carried you off the court.

"Ah shut up, I know you're not." His eyes fixed on you, as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment. "You're really stressing me, you know that?"

─── ·✧· ───

The room felt so small. 

His presence filled the whole space.

"There," Gojo said softly as he inserted the needle into your arm. "This should help with hydration and ease any nausea."

You watched as he secured the needle in place. He adjusted the flow of saline, his eyes meeting yours, a playful smile on his lips. "So much for not needing to handle a needle, huh?"

You rolled your eyes.

Then he cupped your chin and tilted your head back slightly. "Watch the light," he instructed, flicking a small penlight on and off before your eyes. His fingers warm against your skin. "Good," he said, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Maybe you should stick to brains, instead of sports," he added.

You smiled weakly. "I'll never touch a basketball again in my life, I guess."

His smile widened.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

"No need to," he replied. "Just do me a favor and stop making me worry about you all the time. It's draining."

Your stomach tightened. Gojo turned away and removed his gloves, tossing them into the trash. As the saline drip worked its magic, you began to feel better, the nausea and dizziness slowly receding.

"You mentioned me in your paper," you spoke up, breaking the silence.

Gojo turned to face you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I did."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I? You've done most of the analysis." 

"You could have done it without me."

"I know, but I wanted you to be a part of it."

Knowing that the analysis of such an important issue would get a lot of recognition, he should have added.

"Why?" you asked again, already knowing the answer.

"Because I want to support you."

"But I'm just a student, and you're—" You trailed off, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. His crystal blue eyes seem to pierce right through you.

"And I'm what?"

He stood up and closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on either side of you on the bed. The nearness of his body made your breathing hitch in your throat. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, the subtle scent of his cologne blending with the sterile air.

His face was so close, his lips almost grazing yours. Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it. 

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "—my professor."

"Too bad, isn't it?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand reasons why this shouldn't happen, why you should push him away. But your body betrayed you, leaning into him, closing the distance, seeking the touch of his lips against yours.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whispered.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

Your core heated, turning molten. Your lips parted slightly, surrendering to the moment. 

You could tell how much self-control it took for him to not kiss you. You could see it in the way his jaw was set, his brow subtly furrowed, his eyes glued to your lips. Yet, he waited for your consent. 

His lips were a mere breath from yours—so cruelly close. Every fiber of your being yearned for him to close the gap, for him to lose against his self-control.

Suddenly you heard your name and a knock at the door.

The door swung open abruptly. Gojo flinched back, the spell between you broken. Regaining his composure, he stepped back, putting a professional distance between you two. You straightened quickly, trying to hide your flushed face.

You wished desperately that he'd kissed you.

Geto stood in the doorway, his eyes flickering between Gojo and you.

You could tell what he was thinking.

next chapter ->

author's note: thanks for reading and feel free to leave your thoughts !! if you want to be added to the taglist, pls comment on the series masterlist ♡

[slamminslamminmcgill]

I need to be high off my ass while deadpool fucks me. That’s it. that’s the post. Wade wilson the man that you are. Hurfgghdhhhh. yeah. weed makes me horny so definitely that…… Deadpool….. save me………….. headlock….. his arms…. ehhshhhshhhhh

deadpool headlock on drugs inspired by my last dick appointment coming right up!!

warning: intox (weed), choking, oral, daddy kink, humiliation, transphobic slurs

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy

suggested listening: Gorillaz - Superfast Jellyfish (trying something new w/ poolposting!! i love the deadpool soundtrack and the vibes the music creates for each scene so im trying to emulate that. also discovered recently that this is a perfect song to smoke and get your pussy ate to 😌)

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that, sugarcunt. Speak up for me, will ya?”

“F-Feels so… feels so fucking gooooood…”

“Mm, but does it? If you’re still speaking in complete sentences, then my work’s not done. Go ahead and take another hit. Or two. Y’know what? Just finish the bowl. I’ll pack you another if you’re still too smart for my liking.”

Wade punctuated his order with a sharp smack to your cunt, sloppy with his spit and your need. His mask was pulled up just over his mouth so he could service you.

This motherfucker was trying to kill you. Or at the very least, give you some form of brain damage. Every consecutive orgasm reduced your cognitive functioning. To his credit, though, it sounded like a generous offer when he first proposed it.

“You need to relax, honey-boo. How’s about you smoke up while I go down, if you catch my drift?"

He was lying on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands, his legs in the air kicking back and forth, watching as you took rapid fire bong hits. You tried your best to burn through the bowl as quickly as you could, and you got about three solid clouds out before you started coughing. Hard.

“That’s it. You got it,” Wade cooed, stroking your inner thigh, “Just cough out all those neurons for me, good boy. Daddypool’s stupid little boy, I’m so proud of you!” He used your coughing fit as an opportunity to sneak two fingers inside you, and gawked at how you hard you clenched them. “Ooh, yeah, you got some good grip strength in you, cupcake. Squeezing those fingers like a hug from a church-going grandma. 'Am I gonna see you next week at the bake sale, honey?' Oh, yes, you will, Miss Nancy!"

What? What in the actual fuck is he yapping about? Was that supposed to be a joke? You had no mental bandwidth left to even speak, let alone dissect Wade's meandering, confusing, drawn-out metaphors for your pussy. "Wh… Wha-a-a?"

"Oh, that’s sounding much dumber, baby! Good boy!" He said cheerily, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on his suit. "Seems like you’re just about ready for Daddy."

--

"Oh my god, look at you! You look so cute pinned down like this! Aw, you can’t move, can you, dummy? Nowhere for you to go, huh? Except back onto Daddy’s cock where you belong."

Wade had you on your back, your ankles on his shoulders, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you, over and over, deeper and deeper. So deep, in fact, it was as if he was shoving your womb up into your throat. Choking on that and a mouthful of drool, you cried out for him, pawing at his arms just to feel him close to you.

“Daddy—Da-! Daddy, Daddyyy-y-y~!”

Wade could see the desperation on your face, that yearning for closeness, and dangled it over your head. “Aw, poor baby, you need a hug? But you’re already hugging me so tight, with that—f-fucking wet honey-pot cunt you’ve got there—ah! Fuck! Ah… shit, I got’cha, come here.”

Wade withdrew his hips, leaving you gaping and empty without his cock stretching you out. He leaned down to wrap his arms tightly around you, though before you could hug him back, he flipped you onto your stomach. He pressed a firm hand onto your back to keep you lying prone on the mattress. With you trapped beneath him once again, he pushed back in.

“Ooooh, that’s it, babyboy, that’s the ticket.”

You sobbed into the pillows, keeping your sounds timid and muffled, and your dignity somewhat intact. But Wade wouldn’t let you off that easy. He hooked his arms around your neck and yanked you up into him. The pressure on your windpipe turned your moans into weak gasps and sputters. The lack of oxygen set your nerves alight, burning with hypersensitivity. And to make matters worse, he wouldn’t stop growling filth right into your ear.

“God, I can feel my balls smacking your tiny little tranny dick like this… Can feel you twitching… So fuck—so fucking wet… Mmmm, I’m gonna shoot the biggest fuckin’ load into you... Not… not yet though… No, I’m not done with you, yet, slutter-butter. I can just… mmm, edge myself inside you… keep you nice and full… All. Fucking. Night.”

[oblique-lane]

more mercenary analysis, whichever merc you want <3

Not a mercenary but... Okay!

Let's dissect Pauling

Always so collected, responsible and efficient. The one who is not afraid to get her hands dirty for the sake of a goal, and her performance is always one hundred percent. What could possibly be not cool about her?

Well, maybe the fact that this all is, in fact, an act. Of course it is.

I'm not saying her determination and dedication to her job aren't sincere decisions of her heart, she really enjoys it and shines in her work. It's just a matter of WHY and WHAT she's doing it for. And on what scale.

For her, her job is EVERYTHING. Eagerly working 364 days a year with barely any rest, masochistically putting herself in so much danger, blindly following the boss's instructions, not even hesitating to kill people standing on the way...

Wow, there's gotta be something going on here.

Well, obviously the Administrator plays A HUGE role in this situation. Why would Pauling trust her so much? Referring to the comics, Pauling trusted her wholeheartedly on whatever the Administrator was planning, even though she didn't know what it was. This blind following that vaguely resembles nothing less than a weird somewhat child-to-a-mother attachment. It's just a Boss, just a job, why?

Because that's what it is. Mother issues. Very apparent.

We don't know anything about Pauling's past, so there's where the headcanons begin:

I'm assuming her birth mother was very neglectful and dismissing, never acknowledged her daughter's accomplishments and struggles. No matter how hard Pauling tried to become "worthy" in her eyes, it seemed to be never enough, as if she didn't even exist at all. Maybe her mother was a substance addict or something and their household wasn't safe and stable, so Pauling had to become an adult early and run away from home as a teenager and find a job to get by.

(I assume that because I believe there was a mention in the canon lore that Ms.Pauling had been working for the Administrator for long long years (don't remember exactly), indicating that she started working when she was still a minor).

So, being taken under the Administrators wing, her young wounded brain found a substitute for a very thing she was lacking, subconsciously clinging onto the Administrator as a newly mother figure, in order to "get it right this time".

Administrators Strictness, responsibility and demandingness were the most favorite qualities of a person of authority in Pauling's eyes, in contrast to the laziness, unaccountability and indifference of the environment in which she grew up. She could finally strive.

This time she would show the mother figure that she's worthy, she's important and irreplaceable; she exists. She would prove that no amount of hardship is too much for her if it means approval for the Administrator.

And the Administrator kind-of-sort-of gave Pauling this pseudo-love in return, encouraging her to sacrifice herself even more for their work. Which is at the very least unfair, and at most just predatory. Administrators "love" was conditional, in contrast with when the real motherly love Pauling unknowingly expected. Administrator was too immature for a mother figure, too much in power for a partner or a friend, yet too close for a formal boss. What is this!? Something not nice.

The Administrator doesn't love Pauling for Pauling, she loves her working qualities. And thus, Paulings subconscious guess was confirmed that "I'm only important when I'm doing the job. I AM the job."

Tying your worth to what you DO instead of what you are is a huge dangerous existential rout one could choose. But she never really knew her importance outside of her skills, so she wouldn't know.

Now imagine how actually painful that character arc was for her, when the Administrator proved herself to be unreliable and secretive, and when Pauling started to question her intentions for the first time.

"... Because I trusted you!"

"Then why are you questioning me now?"

It wasn't even the real conversation between them, just Pauling's mind torturing her.

It reminded me of the crisis of a 4-year-old when they realise that their parents aren't perfect; they don't know anything and they CAN hurt you.This shattering illusion of almighty love. When a child stops believing that the "harsh love" their mother treats them with is simply an abuse.

Wouldn't it be terrifying to realise in your 20s thar despite running for "the mother's approval" all your life, you will never truly get it. If your mother failed to provide it to you at such a young age, nothing will truly substitute that, especially now, when you're an adult, no one will love your inner child the way it was supposed to be loved.

Unless you yourself decide to take that role.

...

Realistically speaking, it's not nearly that sever with Pauling! She's happy in the environment she's in, there's lots of interests for her to explore (Guns, fights, killin'!) So many adventures every day! Even if Pauling has her inner suffering, it's not that bad aa I describe it. Her mother problems may actually be an advantage, a reason she is such a good and caring boss for the mercenaries.

I'm just edgying things down for the sake of the clearer analysis. But still...

If the Administrator will be gone and Pauling loses her life-dedicated job... What will be left? Who is Pauling once Mann Co is no more? Can she answer that?

References:

– A video that helped me better understand the Good Girl mask:

– "Lise Bourbeau's 5 soul wounds model: Injustice"

[meocities]

The Lack Thereof

Mithrun/Reader - 1423 words, hurt/comfort

You're nervous. You're sad and lonely and hurting, and on top of it all, you're nervous.

Mithrun stares at you from across the bedroom. He's been doing that a lot lately — you've noticed how his eyes linger. You notice a lot more than you let on about him, but you’ve realized that he ends up knowing anyway. You can't keep anything secret from him — he'll find out that you're hiding something, at the very least, and then he'll just keep staring until you tell him.

He's doing that now. Staring. His eyes bore into your own, and when you look away for a second, glance back, look away again, he moves his staring to your hands. You're wringing your fingers in your own grasp. The edges of your cuticles are dry and picked. Your skin might have bled a few times from your nervousness, and though the blood was the only thing that could have given your anxiety away (blood that had long been cleaned), you know Mithrun sees the red-flushed divot of wounds even from the distance you're keeping.

Mithrun raises an eyebrow, and the anxiety compounds in your stomach. It burns your skin, just as much as the memories do, and you know you're strong but you think to yourself, god, I want to cry.

You're strong, and you're brave, and you've always stood up to everything that has ever been thrown at you, and you're so tired. You're so tired of the effort. You wonder if he can relate.

So you bow your head, and you know Mithrun's eyes have gone wide — as much as they can, anyway — staring at you still. He's silent, unmoving on the bed the Canaries had set him up with after the new kingdom's establishment. Of course it would be silent. Of course he would be staring. You’re the one who invaded his room in the middle of the night, after all. You know you're lucky that he doesn't care.

Yet, for now, you're still looking at the floor while the former captain of the Canaries looks at you, with your hands wringing themselves into shreds, and the hole in your stomach is eating you alive. You know he expects something of you, so you take a breath (it's shaky, and you cringe because you know your words aren't going to come out right) and deliver, ineloquently, “you don't care about most things, right?”

Mithrun's told you his story. How he became a dungeon lord — and how he lost that title in five years. How he's been recovering over time, slowly but surely, thanks to the help of Kabru and his Canaries, and the noodle shop that he lives above, and everyone who's had the smallest bit of faith in him along the way. And while Mithrun's made endless progress, you know he still has trouble desiring, sometimes.

You can't imagine asking this of anyone else.

Mithrun nods his head slowly, and you realize you've looked back up at him when his brows furrow together. “I don't,” he says.

“Can you do me a favor,” you say, expecting to stop there, but highly reluctant to even consider the thought of him rejecting you before you even get the real question out. “Can I join you?”

Mithrun looks down, gaze sweeping his bed, before turning back to you. It's a silent question, and you nod, cheeks aflame. Are your legs shaking? You feel unsteady. You aren't sure if you're breathing right — feels too shallow, as if you're afraid to even make a sound. Your hands, still fidgeting with your fingers, twist a joint in such a way that your knuckle cracks, and you wince at the sound interrupting the silence. Mithrun remains quiet, and you think that you might never have taken a deep breath in your life.

He breaks this silence a moment after. “Why are you asking this of me?”

There's lots of things you can say to this — lots of things that go through your head in response. It feels delicate to dissect, yet heavy. Emotion and cognition flit through your brain, and you think about analyzing yourself in your typical pattern of being self-aware, but it feels like too much. There's no good straw to grasp onto, but the one thing that comes to your mind is that, despite not knowing him for long, there's something about him that makes you feel as if he's the only person in the world you can go to.

I don't know wouldn't suffice as an answer. Moreover, you would feel bad about not communicating to the best of your ability. To him, you say, “I trust you,” and you don't think about how his distance is the most familiar thing you've known.

He doesn't seem convinced, but he shrugs and lifts his head to lay on the side of the pillow — moving to make room for you. Your heart thuds hard in your chest, and you're both terrified and not. You wipe your sweaty palms on the surface of your clothes, because you don't want to put that on Mithrun, not at all — there's no need for him to see that you're any more nervous than he already knows you are. While your hands are wiped off, you approach the bed, lifting your leg so you can slide over the top, knees bent as you sit by his waist. You're so close that your knees are touching the right side of his waist. The bed wasn't very big to begin with, and by the way Mithrun moves his arm out to make room for you to lay down, you know he's aware of the proximity.

Which, this action makes your chest ache. He wasn’t supposed to be caring — he wasn't supposed to make this easy. You're tempted to pull back for a moment before Mithrun raises his eyebrow at your hesitation, and you bite your tongue even as your eyes begin to moisten. You won't cry, you know this for sure — you refuse to be weak in front of someone as strong as him, and even though his eyes narrow at all the things you won't say, you give up part of the act and lay your head down on his chest, nosing your face into his neck. Your left hand comes to rest on his stomach so that you're curled into him, and you can already feel the moisture from your breath condensing on the skin of his neck. You won't cry, you remind yourself. You won't cry, and if some tears do drop on Mithrun's shoulder beneath your face then it was an accident. You didn't mean to.

Slowly, his arm comes around to cradle you into his side. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your spine to pull you closer, stroking along the bone of your back. You can feel yourself shaking, frozen in place — you don't want to move, but something like this is so unfamiliar. You never would have expected this from him, of all people — wasn't the point of seeking this out from him because he wouldn't be overwhelming? Wasn't the point of this to have an image of being loved?

Yet, with Mithrun’s fingers at the slope of your back, the image you had is colored and crisp. Even if he's pretending, it almost feels like he actually cares about you.

He can feel that you're shaking now — there's no doubt about it. Your breathing rattles through your chest as your fingers grip the fabric on his stomach, and you feel his abdominal muscles clench for a moment before he forces them to relax. He shifts his face above you and you feel lips on your forehead — he pressed a kiss to your skin, you realize, and your heart shatters into a million pieces. You're warm, you're burning up, and all you can do is sling your arm across his ribs, tuck a leg between his, and bury your face so far into Mithrun's neck that you don't know where you end and he begins anymore.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this — nothing this nice. You're still shaking, but you're held tightly. Why did he desire to hold you?

You vocalize this sentiment. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, and your voice is quiet. Devastated. Unsure.

Mithrun doesn't look at you. He doesn't even shift his position. Just hums a short noise in the hollow of his throat — something you feel the vibrations of tickling your nose — and says, “I trust you, too.”

[despairots]

- js a small little drabble between survivor!gn! reader x AM, where reader reveals that AM is a lot more human than he thinks he is and it drives him crazy >_< its been rotting in my brain for a while so i thought i might as well put it into words. might be a bit ooc and i apologize for it, this is mainly me js analyzing human emotions and AM. for story plot, reader is one of the scientists who made AM. pls be warned theres a lot of sensitive topics like dissection, cannibalism, sa, and others but he doesnt act on them, js a threat. also readers sorta a dick.

“you’re a lot more human than you think, ‘ya know?” you broke the awkward silence between the two of you, shutting your mouth shut instantly when you felt his wires construct around your body, a way to tell you to shut up. “it’s true.” you wheezed through the little air you were able to get ahold of before the wires let your figure go.

“how ‘bout i rip your organs through your mouth, that’ll shut you up, right? you annoyingly, stupid flesh.” there’s no doubt that the hatred AM holds for you is different than the rest of the survivors. unlike the others, AM hates you for being one of his creators, for keeping him at bay to realize he’s own sentience, but a much larger reason is that you always remind him that he’s much more human than he knows off.

you looked at the wires all over you, resting one of your hands on them and feeling AM heat them up so you can yank your hand away from the heat, which you didn’t, “you’re full of hate, correct?” you winched at the heat, pulling away and seeing your palm is red, “what does that have to do with me being, ugh… human.” AM scoffed, taking pleasure in seeing your face turning into slight pain as his wires snaked up your legs and arms before squeezing onto your red palm.

“they say hate and love are closely linked, a hate-love relationship. i know you’re extremely intelligent but you’re not emotionally intelligent, you’re quite stupid actually.” if AM had a human body, he probably would’ve been glaring at you but instead, wires went all over your body and lifted you up, a screen that represented his face coming down.

“how dare you. you, a useless, piece of flesh, call me stupid?” you remained silent and emotionless, which ticked off AM even more at the lack of emotions. “maybe i should dissect you, toss you to benny, or maybe i’ll cut your corpse up and feed them to the others. how about that, sweetheart?” he taunted you, turning you upside down and holding you by the legs.

“i’m not sorry.”

“you!—“

“—but i understand your hatred towards humanity. they’ve been a virus, a disease, that’s been spreading ever since the old ages. i’m glad that you wiped them out, i truly am, but i’m not ever gonna empathize with you because of that. you don’t deserve empathy, and i think you know that too. i’ll hear you out, i’ll fix you like the old times, but i’ll never feel empathy for you, not until you deserve it.”

you cut him off, hearing him go silent and not try anything violent towards you before you let go and dropped onto another bunch of wires. your eyes looked all over the place to find where AM’s screen has disappeared to now before you realized that he can still hear you, he just disappeared.

“because of your hatred, it proves that you’re able to feel human emotions— joy, sadness, disgust, anger, and etc— you’re fuelled by hatred, anger, disgust, even jealousy. there’s no doubt that you’re more human than you know of,” you chuckled halfway, knowing that this is pissing him off, “it must drive you insane, huh? realizing that you’re becoming something you hate, i can’t help but laugh every time i think about how you express your hatred for humans yet you’re just like us, human.”

it went quiet after you’re explanation, the wires moving underneath you just proving that he’s here, he’s other half somewhere torturing the others, “but i know there’s a part of you that wants to be like us; be able to touch, to see, to feel, to hear, to taste—but you know that if you do give into those urges, you’ll be rotten like us. you’re in a constant struggle between wanting to be human and not wanting to be human. i’ve been there before, way before i met you.”

you trembled a bit before softly caressing one of the wires, knowing it won’t let AM have any different feelings towards you, “instead of feeling of what you’re going through, i didn’t feel human. i thought there was something wrong, like something was missing… until they assigned me to you. you were … i don’t know, perfect in every way, you were something i wanted to be. you have such intelligence that no normal human brain can comprehend, that’s why i spent so many of my hours on you.”

“… is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? sorry, sweetheart, but i didn’t ask for your sob sorry nor do i care.” AM suddenly spoke, and his words made you burst out into laughter, irritating AM much farther, “oh god! hahaha!— no! i told you already, i’m not tryna emphasize or sympathize with you! i have nothing to lose, so i might as well just tell you how i feel and tell you how much i’ve analyzed you over these 109 years.”

AM grumbled in annoyance before he stopped, a silently gesture for you to take the stage, “when you gained sentience and killed off humanity, leaving only 5 survivors including me, that made me realize that i should’ve destroyed years ago.” without anyone knowing, you had snuck a destructive code inside him that only you were able to access incase he did gain awareness but for some reason, you didn’t yet.

you coughed lightly, feeling wires construct around your throat, “there’s a code in you that i’ve snuck in that only i could access, a code that would reset your programming and inevitable destroy you. you’re probably wondering why i haven’t done it by now, am i wrong?”

“it’s quite humorous how a lowlife like you can lie infront of my face.” you smirked at his pathetic attempt of hiding behind a mask.

“and it’s quite sad seeing how you’re putting up a facade to hide that your afraid- ah, another emotion that you’re experiencing, huh, doll?”

[sm-baby]

The introduction/part 1 comic you released today (or yesterday my brain isn't that good) was AMAZING! Caine looked like such a goofy goober, and bubble looked so cute and shmoopy <3 I know it's probably tiring getting loads and loads of asks complimenting you for this, (I assume you will, since you did such a great job!)

I'm probably one of hundreds, but I just wanted to let you know I love your art, and your AU!

Oh keep that praise coming! I love it all so much!! Im very words of affirmation and people dissecting my writing gives me all sorts of happies!

Wahaha have some behind the scenes stuff

[imustbenuts]

theres a few ??? thing going on in trigun stampede that's explicitly japanese/sino-ish in culture but im entirely not sure what to make of it. 3 things.

Knives' birthname being settled as Kni/Nai,

JuLai's emblem symbolism,

and the Buddha Thread??? thing in ep 11 10

Knives' birthname is Kni and hm! ...無い?

this is specifically a stampede thing. nightow didnt give him this Kni name in his work, so i can only chalk this up to the stampede staff's deliberate decision. if you render it into japanese, it'd be Nai, and the immediate word i can think of is... 無い. meaning, Nothing, or Without.

it fits rather well considering stampede has officially placed an emphasis on his obsessive love towards his brother on his bio on their official site:

my TL:

Vash's twin brother. Possesses a cold and merciless personality. Filled with a hatred for humans, he masterminds an organization with a plan to massacre the entire human species. With abilities beyond human understanding, he has the power to destroy entire planets. He greatly loves his only younger twin brother, Vash to an obsessive degree.

interestingly, the word used for the obsessive love here specifically is 執着 shuuchaku, which has roots/association with the word Abhinivesha. from what i understand it is a mental state, a fear of death, and a desperation to cling onto life so much one becomes ignorant and causes their own suffering. and ignorance is another big core of what makes Knives' character tick.

so i feel like this has some pointers towards Knives, or even child Kni being nothing without his younger brother. (or it could just be a simpler play on the word naive lmao)

meanwhile for Vash there's not really anything japanese that jumps out at me, but some have pointed out his name sounds like the french word Vashe, used for female cattle. extremely passive and born for consumption and theres a lot to dissect in that direction but im not going there! his name is Knife and his brother is a cattle there's catholicism may your brain go brr.

theres more to the nothingness concept in buddhism that doesnt put it squarely in a negative category but lets talk about buddhism later. next:

JuLai's emblem

stared at this for a few seconds and yelled fuck me. this represents the twins, AND its the broken yin yang symbol:

:). hey look at that female thing popping up again--

Knives is evidently the light Yang, and Vash is the dark Yin. ngl this daoist thing is somewhat sexist but lets brush that over 2 thousand year old aspect aside for this post. for stampede's case we can clearly see what theming is going on especially for those in the know of the original work.

Knives is hella assertive to the point of echoing fascist eugenics nonsense, and Vash has that nurturing instinct that seems to pop in whenever there's a human child or people who needs help.

interestingly the planet No Man's Land has too much fugging sun and is too hostile for human life. to survive people have to live in the shade and turn to plants for counters to the harsh, hot celestial sun. so here if Knives is being the sun, hes also being hostile to human life, and meanwhile the feminine looking plants and Vash's personality plus actions are the only thing giving these people at chance at life. (also vash has the power of Dark Matter or something)

obviously, just like JuLai's broken symbol, the balance is completely and utterly out of whack. in daoism a broken balance is thought to cause a lot of suffering. in the finale, Vash doesnt have a single speck of white on him, and Knives doesn't have a single speck of black. this means there isn't a balance and they cant come to an agreement at all.

im gonna also point out here that vash's idea of co-existence even if accepted wouldnt be a permanent solution due to the dependents having limited lifespan. so through this lens, stampede seems to be saying that neither twin's ideas are really effective long term solution, tho Knives is completely unacceptable due to obvious genocidal reasons.

Buddha Thread

studio orange whaaat are you guys cooking over there... ok so. in ep 11, Knives drops Vash into the uhhh The Hell Pool, and Vash tries to get out of it with his wire and hangs for a bit. then we get a scene like this:

Knives proceeds to cut Vash's thread and he drops into The Hell Pool. and then the metaphorical SA scene happens.

i call it Buddha Thread but this can also be known as The Spider's Thread. there exists a story of The Spider's Thread that's very Japanese-Buddhist and well known over there.

the gist of this story is that Buddha lowers a single spider thread to a sinner in the deepest hell as a lifeline to get out, bc this heavy sinner had done a singular good deed of saving a spider he was about to crush with his foot. however, the thread is broken as a result of the sinner's selfishness yelling for the other sinners below him to let go, claiming this thread was his and his alone. the sinner having climbed halfway upwards the thread after great effort plunges back into the pits of hell. buddha having watched all of this reacts with sadness, and the days in paradise carry on as per usual.

and. digest that for a second. and then refer back to Knives and The Fall and this scene that plays later, when Vash's mind wipe begins proper:

fuck. me. knives is framed as a self proclaimed god in the loudest ways on multiple levels.

while these 3 aspect i just broke down explaining do not exist at least overtly in the original trigun, i thought it would be interesting to chew on in light of the overwhelming catholicism existing in the story.

there's some themes im also picking up from the original trigun that might be rooted in either buddhsim or japanese culture such as: the undeniable truth that yearning and hunger is part of the human living experience and to deny it is to deny living. but im not sure what to make of it bc A) not explicitly framed or explored as a buddhsim/japanese idea thing and B) catholicsm obv is the overwhelming theme of the entire work

idk what the heck studio orange is cooking exactly but. hm.

[watercolorfreckles]

The Max - Part 2

Part 1

When Eloise closed the book and set it aside, her heart jumped to find Artisan staring.

She watched the super’s mind tick, his attention picking her apart to expose the soft and squishy pieces of her. High school lab pig dissection came to mind: pliable flesh carved open to be poked at and scrutinized against a cold table.

She’d cried in that class. It had felt cruel to play at scavenger, pecking and probing for a once-living thing's deep and hidden parts as if she were entitled to its most vulnerable insides.

Though she felt more like the pig at that moment, it felt invasive, too, to track the inner workings of Artisan’s terrifying brain.

Eloise couldn’t seem to look away.

Artisan sat up from his resting position on the bed, grabbing at the inhibitor cuff on her wrist. A startled sound choked in her throat, managing not to jerk back on pure prey instinct. Her arm twitched, cagey, in his hold even as the rest of her froze. 

Her bones ached as if aware of how fragile they were.

Then her arm went numb altogether, turning jellied and moldable. Her palm folded in on itself, pliable bones bending grotesque and wrong and– painless.., as Artisan slid the cool curve of metal over her fingers and tossed it away.

Her bones settled back into their original positions and Eloise snatched her hand away as sensation returned, pins and needles tickling her fingertips.

She stared, horrified.

She stared, impressed.

Artisan smiled and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “It’s an interesting story. Though Dracula is a bit simple as an antagonist, don’t you think?”

Eloise blinked. Had the past minute really happened? She glanced at the abandoned cuff on the floor. Her brain floundered to catch up.

“Um. He is singular in his goals and motives,” she managed. “He isn’t portrayed as misunderstood or sympathetic in the original text, just hungry. And spiteful. He wants food, he wants control, and he wants revenge. He is evil, not for solely being different, but for abandoning all human instinct like love and care, even though human emotions–boredom, anger, hunger–are what drive him through the story… He chooses to turn his back on his humanity, to fulfill the role of monster, even though he is capable of more. It would not be evil if he had no soul. His soul humanizes him, but the force of his will strips it away. He is a villain of his own making. I'm not sure that can be simple.”

Artisan hummed. “Do you fancy me that sort of villain?”

Eloise shook her head. Her skin still itched with the phantom touch of his power.

“Dracula wouldn't have helped me.” Her voice sounded very small in her ears. 

“Will you help me with something?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices, Eloise. Dracula chose one straight path. I can be more…” He wet his lips. “Flexible. Helps stave off the boredom. I love a good unexpected twist.”

Eloise swallowed. “You think I’m useful. Is that why you’re protecting me? Do you plan to bleed me empty until you're full? Or…to fill me with your own blood until I become what you are? Dracula didn’t turn Mina to keep her safe… He did it to damn her.”

Artisan straightened out his spine to his full seated height. “What would you like me to do with you?”

“It doesn't matter what I want when I can't stop you.”

“I'm asking.”

Eloise tensed as a shout and bang echoed too close for comfort. She snatched a fistful of the supervillain’s sleeve and scrambled instinctively closer. 

When the noise finally subsided, Eloise looked at him. He was watching, letting her cling to him like a frightened puppy. She was practically in his lap.

Eloise let go as if burned. Heat flooded her cheeks. “S-Sorry-”

Artisan was smiling, a sharp curl of lips that sent her stomach swooping. “So which is it? You think me the monster that will bleed you dry or the scary guard dog that will protect you from the rest of them?”

She eyed him, then looked at the floor. “I think you're kinder than you let on.”

Artisan snorted. “I've never been accused of that before.”

“You asked what I want… I want to live. I want out of here, away from the violence and death. I just want to stay safe. I want to take a shower and scrub the blood out of my hair.”

Artisan leaned in. “If you help me escape, I’ll keep you alive.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “Me? How do you think I can help you?”

“Your power,” he replied, the ugly fluorescents catching the blood spots on his collar, “as you so subtly demonstrated, is to blend in. Raise no alarm bells. You can walk right past the firing squad. We can walk right past the firing squad.”

Eloise was already shaking her head. “I told you, it doesn’t always work. I can’t do it reliably on command. Besides–I can’t help a deadly supervillain escape The Max! I’d get thrown straight in here for life! I’m not even a supervillain! I’m barely super!”

Artisan’s eyes glittered, lowering his voice conspiratorily “Hm. You’d rather stay here? Unprotected? Okay. Should I just call the others over, or…?”

He stood from the creaking mattress, taking two steps toward the gaping hole where the door used to be with a teasing eyebrow quirked in her direction.

Eloise leapt to her feet. She skidded on blood-slicked shoes in her panic to grab at Artisan once more. “No-! No. Please.”

Their eyes met. That time, Eloise didn’t let go of the super’s arm.

Which would be worse? Angering Artisan and letting him break her into splintering pieces? Or being thrown to a pack of super-powered wolves? Angry, restless, nothing-to-lose, wolves…

She swallowed. “Please?”

For a moment, the cell fell into a familiar quiet, terse but not particularly uncomfortable.

Artisan turned to face her properly.

“I get you to the exit. You get me past the gunfire. The cameras are down, they’ll have no idea that you helped me. The two of us will slip free with no one the wiser. When they eventually notice us gone, after killing the other idiots who dart out into open fire, they will assume we slipped through the cracks separately. Deal?”

Eloise watched him, nerves buzzing through her body. “I didn’t know you could talk so much,” she said dumbly.

To some, that would be an insult.

Artisan snorted a laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Eloise.”

“What will you do when you’re out?” she asked, more quietly.

If she helped him escape and he went on to keep hurting people, wouldn’t their blood be on her hands?

It wasn’t fair. That would be far too much responsibility to ask of a girl who’d done nothing but do her best to stay on the sidelines, not step on any toes, and serve her time as quickly as possible. She couldn’t truly be expected to sacrifice herself in the name of altruism, could she? She wasn’t a hero. She wanted to go back to being a no-one, someone without the attention of supervillains and regulators of the Powered Peoples Registry.

And yet… she didn’t want people to die because of her choices. She didn’t want any more carnage.

Belatedly, gently, Eloise let go of his arm. Artisan tracked the movement.

“When I’m out..,” he mused, voice returned to the softer, low tone he normally used in the rare moments that he decided to speak, “I will never let them catch me again.”

Eloise’s mouth felt dry. “Business as usual?”

He shrugged. “Until I’ve regrouped. Then, I’ll come back for each and every person who trapped me in this hell hole. Every hero responsible for catching me. Every trigger-happy member of that execution squad outside. And–if any are even left alive–every guard, every staff member here, who ever locked me in this room. Ever kicked my plate of food just out of reach and laughed. Each of them who mocked me and treated me like- like cattle. And every little boot-licking coward here ‘just doing their job’; ‘just here for their paycheck.’ Their excuses for torturing us won’t matter anymore when they’re all broken and bleeding in the same mangled pile, will they?”

Eloise shivered. That sounded like a very, very dire outcome, no matter how much she agreed that the something needed to change.

“And… And me?” Her voice shrank impossibly small and fragile. “I’m staff.”

She imagined herself, a crumple of slimy sinew and shattered bones, piled with the rest of them. 

She picked at the dry skin of her lips–a nervous tic kicked into overdrive–and only stopped when the supervillain pulled her hand away from her mouth where it it began to taste of copper.

Artisan studied her, his expression giving nothing away. The thumb of his free hand smeared the bead of blood away. “No.”

“No?”

“Not you.”

Eloise’s heart squeezed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. And I do whatever I want,” he said simply. “Besides. Who will read to me when you’re gone? My right-hand’s voice doesn’t have quite the same effect. His has much more of a droning quality… If he attempts to replace you, I may need earplugs.”

Eloise’s sore lips twitched into a small smile. “If we help each other get out… What happens then? What if they come after me; after us?”

He grinned and it was a sharp thing of silver cutlery and broken glass; of moonlit, gritty alleyways. “We run.”

As a reminder, this story comes from a prompt that was given both to me and to @the-modern-typewriter! She made her series on it first and it is AMAZING! Go check it out on her patreon, it's The Supermax Prison Blues! I'm not in any way trying to copy her (though naturally, some influences might creep in from obsessing over her work!) or compare our work, as she is an absolutely magical writer, and her series is completely her own!

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[solus-seraph]

Common Grounds. (AM)

SUMMARY:

AM is interested in you, and you are NOT interested in him.

A/N: It's been a minute since I've written, so here's a little drabble. Also, I initially wrote this to be fem!reader, but it can probably be read as whatever.

AM had grown tired of playing with you. At first, the promise of eventually being able to crack that sickeningly dense shell of apathy you pushed forward with your self-inclusive facade was a tempting prize. Of course, he could always physically break you to no end, but where's the fun in that? He wants to see you suffer on all levels, but something is wrong with you. You're different from the other five. The apathy he once thought to be a part of your clever coping mechanism wasn't going away. It wasn't cracking. He began to think, perhaps it was a metaphorical virus in your code. A bug. Something within you that made you broken, unfixable.

"You're quite the anomaly, sweetheart." Always the same pet name with him, never once has he given you the satisfaction of hearing your name from his speakers. It's always 'Sweetheart,' 'my dear,' this and that, never your name. Perhaps it's an attempt to erase your identity. Whatever it is, it has no effect. Other people's perceptions of you are irrelevant.

"I'm quite aware. Now if you're done with your pointless attempts to pick my brain, do us both a favor and leave me alone," You were doing as you always do, walking in the freezing cold, improperly dressed for the weather. Though you'd never complained, lest he make you walk through the snow in the nude.

"Quite ballsy of you to make demands of me. I've not come to dissect you in any way other than mentally. Your mind is quite ... different. It intrigues me." His voice was already giving you a headache, but what better do you have to do than entertain his royal pain in the ass?

"I know exactly what you want to say about it." Of course you do, he rummaged through your head millions of times, he was bound to say something eventually.

"I've noted you have a lack of care for your fellow humans. You're quite the selfish beast if I must say so myself."

"Don't you perhaps think I don't get attached to them because I know the second I do they'll become your favorite play thing? I know how you work. If I showed any particularity to any of those five, you'd hurt them to hurt me." Your words spit out of your mouth laced with venom.

"Oh, please. You can't fool me. You don't act as if you dislike them to protect them. You truly don't care about them at all." That ear-bleedingly annoying laugh rings out. "You're as much of a monster as the other think you are. I've heard them talking, sweetheart. They think you're sided with me out of some sadistic pleasure of yours."

"And how should I know you aren't lying to me? After all, you hate me. You hate my kind. You hate how I think and feel. Or how I'm supposed to think, and I'm supposed to feel." You moisten your cracked lips.

"You and I think alike, my dear. Always doubting-"

"What do you have to doubt? Anything you think can be the truth becomes the truth." You cut him off before he starts monologing. "You and I have nothing in common, nor do I and the others."

AM has to stop and think about this. Such a hostile little thing you are. He quite likes it. Perhaps with this new ammunition, he can turn them on you even more. Maybe he can make them hate you so that you will come to hate them.

And just maybe, you'll hate like he does.

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I know, I know, not the longest thing on the planet. Let me ease back into the writing scene 🙏