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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

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Hardships

Warnings: hurt, angst, conflicting feelings, misunderstanding, a quarrel, open final, ooc Medicine Pocket, gn reader, Medicine Pocket - they/them.

Synopsis: everyone misses what abruptly disappears. When a quarrel has hit a nerve, but you can't give up on each other - is it so important to give in to the moment rather than realize exactly why the conflict occurred?

World count: 2100≈

From author: I wrote this on emotion, and I think it came out not bad. Anyway, I like the way it turned out, even if it seems a bit out of character for Medicine Pocket. I'm not sure I was able to convey the entire situation after editing, but I felt it was unnecessary to add anything else. So there it is.

But I don't think I'll ever reread it.

English not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

It started so abruptly.

You guys... Had a big quarrel.

And then you two went to your rooms and stopped talking. That's just it.

Honestly, you didn't even think that you could almost hate each other at one point, to the point where you decided not to say another word. Not you, not them even remembered, and what, in fact, was the cause of the quarrel?

What prompted you two to put duct tape over your mouths and not try to talk?

Medicine didn't want to believe it was possible to have such a serious quarrel. That you can be offended by their behavior or comment when you have never once rebuked them for it. That it was possible to get angry at them so... Strongly.

That you, who has never had a quarrel with them to this extent, knows how to yell. Can defend your position as vehemently as they do. All Medicine Pocket remember is the look on your face: annoyed, depressed, betrayed. Detached. You weren't a berserker, but it was worth it just to get a closer look at your emotions, into your eyes, as it was clear:

You're hurting.

It was already clear to them that you see the same pain in their eyes.

They're hurting, too.

They knew they weren't going to hear it directly. You wouldn't say it. You left just as they did, unable to cope with the wave of those thoughts and unpleasant words.

Of course they would have support you and try to comfort you, in their own style; like they used to when you were out of sorts and in pain. When you didn't want to cry, but howl, and you couldn't even be in the same room with them because that's not something you want to show.

They understand.

Because that's what they do when they want to cry.

They go away. Hide. Trying to be strong even when there is nowhere to vent their pain, and tears become the only true solution.

But when you roared unceasingly, tucked into their shoulder, when you grabbed onto them as if they were the last log you could grab onto and float through this tsunami of problems and not get lost in the kaleidoscope of emotions, when you apologized with all your might for this "circus" or "over-dramatization," when they could have been there for you and said:

"It's all right. Cry. This stays between us."

When they hooked every edge of your clothes with their fingers and pressed you against them, just afraid that you would disappear into this maelstrom and you would be much worse off. Much worse. They hated being afraid, and still they couldn't destroy the sprouts of that feeling at the sight of someone else's unplayed and not fake pain.

The pain they'd let coursing through their veins if there was such a way. A substance.

If it would make you feel better.

If you don't tremble in their arms from fatigue and exhaustion, if your heart doesn't beat so furiously that it's about to pierce it's about to puncture your rib cage, if you don't suffer - their pain is not such a big price to pay.

For them, being in a state of "rocking" or "suspension" is much more familiar than being completely calm and harmonious. And just a new, regular substance that requires a test will not be something special. It will be the price they pay for not being able to transcend themselves.

Again.

They're sure you'd do the same for them.

Even if it was just being there for them. But they knew you couldn't go and comfort them the way they want to comfort you. You don't want to say goodbye to those hard feelings right now and make unbalanced decisions that will lead nowhere, but only add salt to the situation and tear your expectations of each other to shreds.

They would love to be in your arms, the same ones they give you when you're upset. If they asked, even without words, you would definitely hold them until they felt better.

All that remains is silence and reflection.

Medicine Pocket aren't master of words. They cannot express well enough all their worries for you, especially for themselves, for every feeling flowing through their chest, through every cell. They can't string two words together, either. They are trying so hard to let you know that they is here, that they will not abandon you, even if they don't say those necessary words to you in a fragile moment. That you shouldn't go through this alone. That you shouldn't beat yourself up about how you feel.

You are you. You are as chaotic as they are, you are their favorite chaos they have no control over and watch with a smile on their lips. You are something they would like to keep for the rest of their lives. But of course, they will never accept these feelings.

Understanding what you feel, what you sense, is one thing. It's quite another when you try to accept it.

They still cannot accept how precious their partner is to them. How precious you are in every sense. Such situations help to remember it, understand it, try to accept it and show that you should not throw rotten words at emotions.

But now Medicine Pocket can't take the cold of their own room, even when the bright, hot sun shines through the windows, warming their shoulder blades as they stare at the floor and clench their fists.

And they're angry again. But at themselves. Because they haven't made an attempt to talk to you for two weeks now. Why not? They don't know. It's pride. Stupid, unnecessary pride.

It's so easy. And yet, they're here, not next to you.

It's all stupid. They're stupid. A researcher could have written or saying something a long time ago, saying how sorry they are that things turned out this way... So- So wrong!

But they can't even whisper any words with their dry lips. They can't unclench them or even say a single mute word.

They hate this feelings. This unknown. This wrongness. This emptiness.

This feelings - not even guilt or anger or those stupid five stages of grief that everyone talks about, no, it's much worse.

It's just pain. Dull, fixed, repetitive pain.

For yelling at you. For letting the echoes of your words turn into shards of broken glass and cut they heart from the inside out. For allowing yourself to be weak and leaving it at that. For not being able to even work now because, for the first time, they don't know which way to go. They're stuck.

Stuck because they realized they still needed time. Time to recover.

They had clearly let something slip past their ears for their own good then, but even so, one should have realized how you had come to such a... Painful quarrel with nothing good to come out of it?!

Ordinariness had been replaced by silence. Everyday life had become routine, it was no good now, now that they couldn't even relax. It wasn't like that.

It pisses them off. What pisses them off is their own pride, their desire to just say "Fuck it!" and go and talk to you, even if you don't see fit to apologize for what you said, then apologize, then come to your senses, they'll give you time to chance, hell...

Just take away that your invisible presence in their lives for a couple of days until they realize why you said so many dirty words to them and why they chose to respond in kind.

And yet, evil tongues are scarier than a gun. Scarier than anything.

Doggo bit their lip and felt a scarlet drop of blood run down their chin. It was too much this time. But it didn't matter.

It's cold in the room. It hadn't been this fucking cold in their room that Laplace had provided them, not even in the first few days of their stay here. But here they're freezing and goosebumps are running through their body.

A lot of your stuff is here. Insignificant things. Clothes folded on a chair, a stack of books you should have returned days ago, a notebook with your notes in which Medicine liked to leave a piece of themself in the form of sketches and short letters, and you did the same in their notebook, a few of your bling on the table, a hair band on the nightstand...

None of that matters now. It was as if time had stopped, even as the red slider on the calendar moved forward, counting down the second week of silence.

Medicine Pocket sigh deeply and wipes their face with their hand, the glove absorbing the blood. They grin bitterly and walk away.

To the lab. To work. Where the chill of your absence is less palpable than in this empty room.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to see them. Hear them. Feel more than just being around them.

They're like that. Normal. They act like nothing happened. Like you two weren't quarrying, arguing, shouting insults and grievances that have built up over time.

It wasn't all their fault. It was just as much your fault, if not more.

And now you're disappointed. In yourself.

And how are they doing? You didn't want to leave them alone, especially after a situation like this, and you're sure they didn't either, just the misunderstanding was stronger. Medicine, though harmful, is still a human being. A person who probably took some of the frustration of the situation too. Took some of that pain for themselves, and it's hard for them, too. Which is probably why, for the umpteenth time, they are simply ignoring your existence. But you know that's not true.

And yet... yet...

You so seek their presence. In every project, in every object, in every word, a resemblance to them. Dogs are one of those constantly carry their image, their noise, their absence in your life, but they are the ones who, with their sad demeanor, remind you that they care when they rub their noses on your hand, as if apologizing for their negligent owner and calling you to apologize too.

You know that.

To think of a week. It used to seem to you that even the hours in a day were not enough to get the job done. But now, everywhere you look, you see time and days passing, while everything around you seems to be frozen.

In any other case, you both would have survived a week without each other, and a lot more if you had to go somewhere else. It's a little sad, unpleasant, but... Tolerable.

But you're both in a quarrel. A hard quarrel. A quarrel that still hurts, and you need to get over it before you go over and apologize.

You follow them without even hiding, and you also have so much luck and need to work there too. And it's getting harder and harder to look at this biologist calling someone an idiot again. You're swallowing a lump.

Why don't you say anything? Say something. Right here, right next to they. A simple "hi" will suffice.

They are literally a meter away from you, standing there, long fingers typing on a keyboard, hollering to a colleague to help with the notes. Your mutual acquaintance looks at the two of you as if he's seeing you for the very first time. You're both around each other, and you don't help each other with such a simple task? Have the poles on the planet reversed? The puzzled look is enough, and you lower your eyes to the keyboard, continuing to type letters, numbers and other combinations.

You think this quarrel has already become a Polichinel's secret. Let it be.

We need to focus on work. You're sighing noisily.

The smell of Medicine Pocket hangs in the air, creeping into your nostrils, tickling your lungs, but you continue to stand silent. You're a masochist. You want to stand here and breathe them, even at arm's length.

Almost there. Close enough to touch. You reach out towards them...

And you take the edge of the calculation paper with your fingers. You keep working while your heart beats beneath the layers of clothing, about to pierce through your rib-shaped defenses and just tear your skin out of frustration. It's frustrated. It's in pain.

You can almost feel the tears in your eyes when you step away to the other side of the lab for a long time. You feel uncomfortable when there is no clap on the shoulder, as usual and so simple but necessary:

"Good luck with that."

It's like there's a live parasite inside your heart. It wriggles and beats against the walls of the heart so much that you could swear you have a problem with this stupid, loving organ. At the same time, someone outside, like a sadist, like the most evil person in the world, is inserting thin and sharp, rusty needles into your muscles, staggering each one back and forth to make the hole bleed as much as possible, and then pouring alcohol into it and watching you, so cold and strong, hold your soul in your hands and keep on working.

You don't resent them anymore. You're not angry. It's just painful.

It hurts because the mistakes have already been realized. You've cooled down. You've been able to find the right words for reconciliation. You think you're ready to talk.

But every time you remain silent, you don't even dare to reach out to this genius.

And each time you walk away, you leave yourself and them with nothing. You're a coward.

You want to hold them so badly. To wrap your arms tightly around their neck or their waist and just be in their warm, safe, secure embrace. Just fucking touch them.

Just comfort them like they usually comfort you.

The blood on the glove is conspicuous. But they didn't change it, which is odd. Maybe they didn't notice? But they're not the kind of people who'd miss it. You need sterility everywhere and all that, and here...

You look back. Just a little, with one eye.

And they look back, too. You see their yellow eyes, like newly-issued gold coins, and you clutch the folder with the documents tighter to you.

Talk to me. Please. Say something, give me a sign to say something.

I want to end your suffering.

Please, please.

I really, really miss you.

You look into their eyes and you can't look away. You don't seem to be feeling well. They don't feel better either.

You both want to talk. But you're both still hurting, each other's harsh words hurt from the inside out. The guilt for what each of you said is there, too. You don't like torturing each other.

You need to calm yourself down. Sometimes the attraction and longing for a loved one clouds the mind, and it is impossible to assess what has happened normally, without a veil over the eyes, without the desire to just be near. Sometimes you need to be alone with yourself, think, reflect. Make sure you know what to say, how to apologize, before you hug each other like hungry wild animals.

Not one of you looks away.

You're drowning in each other's eyes. You sinking and not even grabbing for a lifeline when your colleague shakes you by the shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay? Come on, there's more to do!" — it makes the same motion several times, but it's a nuisance, preventing you from fueling yourself for further solitude for a couple more days. You can't help but think about how it gets in the way. But you do.

You should be ashamed that you miss them. You should be angry. Resentful. You're both too proud to walk over and fix things just like that. There's gonna be another quarrel.

And each of you understands that. You can't judge each other for the way your partner experiences pain. In a week, in two weeks, maybe one of you will need more. After all, you did say some nasty things to each other that, though forgotten in the heat of rage and the moment, are only reminded of themselves by a dull, deafening pain.

At this rate, you two won't last.

But now is not the time. You should miss each other more, better understand how the situation will go after cuddling, if there will be any in the near future. Thoughts and breakup do not visit either of you, they seem to be nonsense, no one even hinted at such a thing.

You both lower your eyes and turn away, going deeper into your own affairs.

And live another day in pain, which requires not only willpower from longing for the usual pastime, but also rational and correct reflection on the situation.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Thanks for reading!

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

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NEW MITSUAYA CONTENT VIA INSTAGRAM!!! 💚🤍

sumiko's says they're inspired by Maddy + Rue, can't get enough of those two lovebirds (by agu_knzm)

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

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am i too woke or is mocking people that can't spell, don't understand jokes and in general are just Slow At Processing Things ableist as fuck and something that needs to quit asap.

its something that i genuinely get so fucking mad at.

i straight up saw someone ask if something was real and obviously thought said topic was real (when it was a reference to something, i'm assuming.), and someone responding, saying, "imagine not knowing what this is" and the other person was like "im not a science person idk this stuff, what is it?" and then the other person proceeded to mock them. like can we quit this???? please????

"haha you can't even spell [xyz] right " i hope your ceiling fan falls on you.

"Imagine not getting the joke " im gonna fucking kill you patrick bateman style.

can we stop making people lesser???? just because they dont understand things???? please???

ive genuinely seen people get made fun of and get talked down too because they misspell something???????

can we stop bullying people because they dont get a joke????

can someone articulate this in a smarter, better, way??? genuinely. i can't express what/how i want.

im genuinely so fucking upset. fuck!!

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

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Negative indicators

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 - this.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, profanity, happy ending, ooc Medicine Pocket, Medicine Pocket - them/them, gn reader.

Synopsis: Did you know that they're people too? And that they may not be perfect either? Right?

World count: 5000≈

From author: This part didn't want to come out the way I would have liked at all. I was afraid to move away from the recognizable character. And I couldn't figure out how to move forward. So it was quite hard to write. (That part is not there, we will still love them, wake up and love them further).

English not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

Every person has a negative sides.

As sweet as this relationship may be, we should not forget that Medicine Pocket are human beings just like everyone else in the world, and they are not without their mental and social problems.

Let's start with the fact that they are workaholics. No matter how crazy people call them, no one dares to say that they don't do anything. They devote all their time to new research and don't let their colleagues down. They don't tolerate laziness.

They often lose track of time doing experiments, filling out papers, or looking for something new. They need something to keep their attention, so they look for anything that will keep them busy. How else do they make discoveries, you ask?

That's not to say that they don't know how to rest and be fully lazy, but research does take up 60-70% of their time.

Medicine forget about food, water and etc, and can sit in their lab for long periods of time working. If you try to distract them, they will not respond, or they will first "politely" ask you to back off. If asked by coworkers, they are quickly told to fuck off.

This can last from a few hours to a few days, and when they "withdraw" they are quick to seek you out. Then the rest of their free time is spent with you, with friends and socially. You could say that research is their way of discharging, and spending time with someone is their way of getting energy for further work.

They can be docile from time to time and then suddenly become as active as if they had a thorn in one side. At one time they may be relatively quiet and harmless for a few days and then become like a raving psychiatric patient. This is when they need to let their energy out and enjoy spending time, if you and everyone else is not so busy.

About that. They don't mind if you are much quieter than they are and less mobile, but they do spend a lot of time outdoors and they would like to spend it with you. If, however, you don't like a lot (when I mean a lot, I mean a lot) of walking, well, there are going to be discrepancies here.

If they walk around Laplace, I think they get into every place they can. They'll stick their noses in everywhere and drag the others with them. It's fun to find more and more interesting places in Laplace, right? I think in their hometown, they were the most active kid too and poked around every millimeter looking for interesting things.

Medicine Pocket can't stand not being given their own personal space. Working and hanging out together is great! But they just as seriously need a few hours to themselves, just to themselves. If you don't give them their personal space - they'll start cursing and getting angry. It's not on purpose, but they really don't like it.

They are very emotional. Especially when something doesn't go as they planned. Sometimes you can calm them down with dog toys, and sometimes even those don't help. On one hand this is good - they are more open, more honest with their emotions and not afraid to show them. On the other hand... Sometimes it can be... I don't know, annoying? Tense? It takes some getting used to, I think it'll give you a headache at first.

As I mentioned, they're damn loyal partners. Like dogs, yep.

This is why they don't tolerate lies in relationships. They're open about their judgments, opinions, what they're doing, where they're going - they'll let it all out without even thinking about it, just because it's not a big deal to them. You know, like, what if you come by after work to pick them up?

But if you start lying to them often, they become resentful. They're loyal to you and they care about your opinion - so why don't you even want to tell them what you're doing? It's not that hard to tell them what you do during the day or what's bothering you.

They are in no way controlling you. Their concept of being honest is to share your opinion even if it is radically different from theirs, to warn you if you are unavailable and to tell you if you are not satisfied with something. This is the most basic thing you should at least be doing. They... Like to get to know you.

But how do you involve them in your affairs if they disappear, come back and pretend that everything is okay without asking about you? Or rather, they do, but not what you want them to ask?

You just have no choice, you know? It's very hard to get rid of them sometimes, the energy clouds their view. They've just worked so hard, now they deserve some rest! What could be better than a rest in the fresh air and with you?

But... Actually, if you say it in a more "clear", straightforward way, they will generally understand. They're not idiot, after all. The relationship will be up to both partners, actually.

Except sometimes it feels like they're the only one in the relationship, and you're... Well, a ponytail.

Just like lying in a relationship, they do not like control. They are free-spirited and liberated, and controlling this dog makes their opinion of you... Questionable. They do not control you, and they will not tolerate the same for themselves.

They also don't tolerate being made jealous. Pocket are not the kind of people you can lead such an emotional roller coaster with. The only reaction you can see on their face is indifference or annoyance.

It doesn't mean that they are completely indifferent to you. They are not ready to share you with someone else, it's true. For them, fidelity in a relationship on both sides is the most important thing, but deliberately making jealous, flirting with other people is not their style. And they hope it's not your either.

They're just good at other emotional merry-go-rounds, okay?

They are lovers of spending money. They don't care about money, however they need it. Spending a huge sum of money is no problem. They don't leave themselves with empty pockets, but why would they look at something cheaper when the first option is expensive but the best option? It's easier that way.

And so they will not tolerate it when you reproach them too often for spending money on sometimes, frankly, not the most understandable things. Especially when their superiors have already squeezed them for funding for a new project, and they have nothing to surprise their investors with. They need it, you know?

Sometimes they do not take your words seriously. Not just words, but complaints, annoyance about certain things, etc. How can you be angry with them? It's such a small thing, well, calm down.

But compare this their lack of understanding of your claims as slowly putting stacks of poison on a character in a game that slowly destroys you.

Only when they see on your face a sincere expression of anger, misunderstanding, or, even worse, tears, will they realize that they have devalued your feelings and given you a reason to be truly offended by them.

Then the situation gets more complicated because they don't know how to apologize. No, I don't mean apologizing for the sake of apologizing. They don't know how to sincerely apologize and admit a mistake.

They're not ashamed of it, but... It's hard for them. They're stubborn to the end. Until you have a final fight and the situation gets out of their control. Then they too will start to open up all their emotional gaps and realize how much they may have hurt you with their comments.

Hey, that doesn't mean there won't be an apology. There will be. "I fucked up. And... You don't deserve it. I was an idiot."

It will take a long time, but they'll learn to apologize to you genuinely, and the sincere "I fucked up" will evolve into an equally sincere "..I'm sorry. I really miscalculated. You... You don't deserve it."

But if you've already offended them, they expect an apology. They will think over all your pretentious actions and words against them and point out exactly what offended them. It is often quite difficult, but not impossible, to hurt them. Keep in mind.

Speaking of comments. They tend to pick up on small details in you or your behavior. Sounds like a good thing, doesn't it? They'll be the first to notice if you've trimmed your hair a few millimeters or something. But it also means they might misunderstand some of your claims.

They often want what's best, but don't consider the factors that get in the way of that "best".

Like, you can tell them one thing and they'll chew it up into something else entirely. It's like talking to a toxic parent who can both hear you and turn the situation in their direction. Sometimes they do it on purpose, for the sake of a joke, and sometimes they don't notice how such jokes can hurt you.

Sometimes they can be very annoying. But they will understand if you don't want to hear from them for a while. Just say so. In fact, they always hear you. They just don't always understand exactly what you're trying to convey.

Just accept the fact that fighting with them is like putting out a fire with gasoline, i.e., it's best not to even start.

They also sometimes don't respond to messages, they just read. You know that type of person who reads, mentally replies and closes the chat? That's them.

And if you have any personal problems because of this, tell them right away. It is not a fact, of course, that they will try and constantly answer, but silence of problems pisses them off as much as presenting them.

They're the ones who work in a large circle of people every day. They're the ones who aren't afraid to speak their mind, to say what they want. They're loud and quick to lose their temper.

They're also the type of person who, even after all that, won't let people get close to them. Seemingly ambivert and etc, but they are the type of person who is as open as they are closed. You can tell you know them, but do you really know and understand them that well, do you think? They'll argue.

No one can ever truly look into another person's soul, but they will be truly grateful if you at least try to understand them.

They do care, but in their own way. More brutal, more... It's not even a hint of caring. But a lot of people just don't look at the bottom line, they just pick up on superficial words. For them it is not difficult to ask you to be more attentive to yourself, to eat, to sleep and everything like that, but because of the immediately following unpleasant words - it is not clear what they mean.

They're not the kind of people who cry or whine a lot about something not working out. But I don't think it doesn't happen at all. They cry, it's just that no one ever sees it.

I think they only cry when they don't have a chance to let out absolutely every emotion. It's as if they have to be pinned against the wall on all sides and not given a chance to get angry, bite someone, or speak out. It's as if their feelings are deliberately shoved into a barrel so that they accumulate and accumulate until the only way out is to cry.

Their noise, screams and bites are like a way to get rid of unnecessary, heavy emotions that only exhaust them even more. And when a person is shoved into a glass flask of water and corked, leaving them gasping for breath, you have to do everything you can to break it and break free. Medicine Pocket cry because it's their way of dealing with suffocating emotions and feelings.

Like I said, they don't like being seen by anyone. They're not too pretty when they cry, and yes it causes new problems due to their reluctance to open up to someone with that sensitive side. But... If it's you?

I guess it doesn't take a lot of words. No action either. Sitting down and being quiet is the best help, that's all you can offer right now. They'll talk to you when they're ready. When it's not so hard for them.

We all know that Medicine Pocket are amateur at testing drugs on themselves. Not amateurs, professionals.

Have you ever considered how dangerous it could be? How many times do they put themselves in danger? Countless times.

How do you usually hold up because of all this? Hard to say.

Usually, when they are testing something on themselves, they don't let you near them and they don't approach you themselves. Because sometimes it's not the most pleasant sight (amazing resilience in their colleagues, actually). All it takes is one or two people to record everything that happens to them. And Medicine don't like to be disturbed or interrupted.

Then you find them in a hospital bed. How does that make you feel?

Especially when they may be near death. Or in such a serious condition that it's easier not to even go into their chamber, because it's so hard morally.

But I think fate has favored them in such a way that even if they're on the verge of death 100 times, they'll still make it. And yet it can make you very uncomfortable.

So if you don't accept it right away and often discourage them from experimenting etc, you're sure to have a lot of arguments.

Relationship them is a ticking time bomb. In every sense. Especially in health, both physically and mentally. Without realizing it, they can smack you around on all fronts and not feel guilty about it. No, they're not assholes who like to play with other people's feelings.

It's just that they've been used to dealing with their own feelings and problems for so long that now digging into other people's is an unknown luxury they want to touch, but that luxury is crumbling before their eyes.

Like... Like they want a relationship, but at the same time they feel good enough. There can be serious misunderstandings because of this, because most of the time they might act like you're friends and not lovers.

They're really trying. They try to understand you when you talk about something, they try to accept the fact that they can hurt you as well as you hurt them. They try to consider even the silliest (or not) reason you resented them for and not repeat it. They are learning how to run this experiment next, and this is the first time they've had it so difficult.

They are often lost and angry because all these feelings are a novelty in their familiar life. Give them and yourself time. Medicine Pocket... really love you. And they will try, even through their own resentment.

Do not approach them when they are angry at others. They can bite when they are too overexcited. They almost bit your hand once in that state, and they've been staying away from you ever since when they're so angry. After all, they don't want you to forbid them from biting.

They are clearly the kind of people who can often bite their lips in anger, but it happens so rarely that it's not even a bad habit. But reworking is a serious and bad habit.

They never immediately talk through problems, if possible. While they are working, their thoughts still return to this or that conversation, and only then do they start to draw conclusions and make logical chains. Then they put their work aside and with an angry "damn it" they start thinking.

And they're usually just as quick to go solve the mystery. The first thought is the right thought, you ever heard of that? It doesn't always work with actions, but... I think you get the picture.

For the past day the reports have been hovering around the lab like a black storm cloud, sometimes rattling with reminders of deadlines and a strong wind in the face of other colleague's discontent, and they don't give you a moment's peace of mind. Your temples are pounding, your thoughts are glued together, and the time hasn't even reached lunchtime, the sun is only just knocking on the window. The earliest morning, an ordinary morning, a familiar morning. A morning that didn't portend a grand change in plans.

That's what you thought while you were putting another stack of papers to other stacks of the same kind, and they only grew and grew exponentially.

Everyone is bustling around. Everyone's working. Everyone...

"Hey, Y/n! Where'd you go?" — of course. Everyone. Except for your partner, who apparently decided to distract you from your work since they finished it themselves. Unless something new and uncharted was found that they could study for a long time.

Your gazes crossed, and you smiled tiredly. Still, it's nice to see someone smiling in this room, not in a strained way, but from the heart. There is something about it, something good, and it colors your day with warmth and joy.

"Oh... Medicine, it's you. You scared me," — and though you say it sluggishly and without mimicking their vigor, as if you don't need them here, Medicine Pocket know you're always glad they're here.

They wave off the fake scare, standing up next to you.

"Yeah, yeah, but I haven't started scaring yet. What's up?"

The casual conversation should distract you a bit from the impending wave of work yet to be done, and you're willing to slow it down for the sake of this conversation.

"Not bad... Working as usual."

If 'as usual' can refer to the stacks of papers that look more like endless, skyward-facing pillars, then yes, it's working fine. But from the sour look on the researcher's face, it's not hard to realize that they don't like any answer. Where is it seen that this is the norm?

"And you like taking longer than you should with all that paperwork... You've got to moderate it, you know. You've got such circles under your eyes... Terrible," — first they examine the paper, then you, from top to bottom with a loud whistle.

"They're always like that."

Well, they're obviously not going to leave it like that.

"And now it's gotten many times worse. Have you seen yourself in a mirror? You definitely need to take a couple hours away from all this nonsense!"

They raked all the papers into one pile, pushing them to the opposite end of the desk. Now you should be devoting all your time to them, not to the boring report you have to hand in... This evening.

But... you don't have time for fun now.

"Hey... I'm working," — it sounds so lame, it's not even a complaint. You're just tired, honestly, no energy to argue or figure out what they suddenly need.

But it's not on Medicine Pocket radar, and they pull you from your workplace towards the exit by force, and you can't say anything - they interrupt you faster than you can digest it.

"You'll work later. I'm sure Lucy won't complain if you take these papers later. Dump it all on me, as usual. A deal?" — enthusiasm is in the air as you and them walk down the hall.

Only this enthusiasm doesn't reach out to you at all, on the contrary, you scare it with your ominous and tired atmosphere.

"..."

What else is there to say? You were hoping that you wouldn't be dragged somewhere, but just distracted for a few minutes.

They started talking again about something new, about what they were up to and the workers were about to bring it to them, walking you through the winding corridors. You sigh.

They won't listen if you say it anyway.

"Deal."

If you managed to turn in that poor musculature last time and no one reprimanded you at the last minute, it's pure luck that you probably gave it your all. Other times, it's unlikely to fly.

You seemed to have a little fun, your brain cooled down and ventilated, it was easier to breathe and think. And then you came in and you just sorted everything out real quick. Everybody's on the plus side! Right?

That's right. Everything worked out fine that time.

Now you're sitting with Medicine at the same table with a bag of cookies in your hands. You can't even get food down your throat.

Not because you don't want to eat, but because you would be doing something else right now instead of sitting in a public place listening to other people with their vague, obviously useless to you, conversations.

Medicine Pocket are saying something, loud and clear, and your head is starting to hurt from their voice. Their voice is very beautiful, pleasing to the ears at any time, but not now. Now it hits them like a jackhammer or a drum, no pauses or breaks, just a monotonous chewing of another of their projects.

The tea had gone cold, too. Not a sip was taken, even the sachet was left in the glass.

You just stare somewhere behind Medicine Pocket, trying to take in their loud speech, but it doesn't work. Words fly out of your ears in milliseconds. It made the task more difficult and just cluttered your head more.

"You're kind of creepy today. Did you get off on the wrong foot?"

You flinch when someone walks noisily behind you, or maybe it's because of an unexpected question from someone you're talking to. Or both.

"Sort of," — is the short answer that doesn't go without detailed scrutiny. From the look becomes more grave.

"That's not an answer."

"Why?"

"Give me a clear and articulated answer, not an undeveloped piece of it."

Oh, there you go. It's your fault. This time they dragged you off the lab under the pretext of going out to eat or you'd be only skin and bones. It's great on the one hand, they care about your health!

On the other hand, you almost fell asleep on that couch, even though it wasn't too comfortable. But Medicine didn't care too much about that.

"I just didn't get enough sleep, what else is there to talk about?" — and that's the truth. Maybe they'll remember why you didn't sleep well.

But instead only a chuckle follows.

"Of course you haven't slept, you're trapped in a castle of papers and files! I really appreciate your hard work, but you don't live on work, or it will suck you dry."

Do you often take your own advice? you really want to ask this, but you hold back because you don't want to start a fight over nothing. It'll be even harder to clean it up. The packet of cookies is discreetly put on the table. It's redundant in this ridiculous conversation.

"...Uh-huh," — it's easier to agree than to ask them, seriously! What are you gonna say now? You went with them. There's no excuse. You could've said no and moved on to a pleasant dreams.

"..." — they stop talking, too, but stare at you absently, as if waiting for another answer.

This can't go on like this. You're too tired, and it's strange that they haven't figured out why.

You move away and stand up, catching the surprised look on your face. You shrug.

"...I'm a little tired."

"And?.."

"I'm going to go lie down. Good luck with that project," — you turn around and walk away towards the exit. To be honest, you weren't even listening to what they were saying. You'll try to get it out of someone later.

Medicine Pocket tense their shoulders, but say nothing. They just stare at you. For a long time, until your figure disappears through the doorway. Only then do they return to your empty seat.

"...Have a good rest, I guess."

Today you would like to lose yourself in the fog and never return to the place where you work.

Sometimes you get the impression that people are either too dumb or want to test how dumb you are. Either you have done something wrong to someone and now you are being tortured like a child to a parent in a store, or today the planets have got into the most disgusting position and decided to kindly take out all their accumulated anger on you. Otherwise, there is no other way to explain why you are being yanked around more often today than anyone else in the room. Even if that is, to some extent, your job.

Would you like you to get the files from desk because they really need them right now? Uh, fine. Record data while someone's doing an experiment? No problem. Help them set the temperature for boiling? Okay.

At the end of the day, everyone is tired but they did a good job. Well done, what else can you say to them and to yourself?

Now, sitting at the table in your room, you have to finish some work. Thankfully, there's not much to do! You're a lightning today. That's something to be proud of.

But as soon as the pen is between your fingers and your head is set up for productive work, gathering the rest of your strength in all departments, of course you are interrupted.

You don't have to imagine them.

"Hey! What's going on?" — you sigh. The whole mood is killed with one ball, a three-pointer. But with that comes misunderstanding.

"What else do you need from me today..." — you cling to their facial expression. And what happened today that was so unpleasant that their eyebrows drew together into a house? "Did something happen?"

"Did something happen? Are you serious? That's what I want to ask you!"

You frowned, pushing away from the table.

"What do you mean?"

Medicine Pocket take the nearest chair and sit down across from you, staring firmly into your tired eyes. There's no reproach or the usual irritation in their gaze. It's incomprehension.

"You haven't responded since yesterday morning."

You blink in surprise.

Oh, they mean you haven't answered them for such a long time..

"...No?"

"Check if you don't trust me."

The smartphone in your hands turns on, and... You see about 25+ messages blinking reproachfully on the screen. That said, your phone was not in silent mode.

"Oh..."

The chat opens, and your finger slides across the screen, reading the messages in passing. You seem to have missed a lot of important stuff.

Budget Buster

Hey, you left your bag in the cafeteria.

If you don't pick it up yourself, it'll stay with me until tonight.

Yesterday, 9:28 a.m. reading

If X comes to you with another request to participate in the experiment, fuck him. He's been on everyone's ass today.

Yesterday, 11:47 a.m. reading...

Hey, when a person writes, it's nice to respond.

But not silence, that's gross.

Yesterday, 8:00 p.m. reading

Are you kidding? You always answer.

I won't believe you broke both your hands on pen and papers at once.

8:12 a.m, reading

Are you holding a fucking grudge against me and you don't even bother to tell me about it?

1:32 p.m reading...

The messages fly by one after another, while you try to think of something to reply to them.

Because you did ignore them deliberately to some extent.

Well, you had a difficult and hard day without them, and you had no energy left to answer, you didn't even want to pick up that rectangular box and type your answers.

Although you'd think they'd be more concerned about the fact that you're not responding to them rather than the fact that you've suddenly disappeared.

...It's embarrassing.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of Medicine Pocket watching every your move, the movement of every eyelash and breath, in an attempt to find something that will lift the veil of mystery and reveal the truth that they have already realized they will absolutely hate.

They weren't worried. It's just that you almost always respond. Almost instantly.

And now you've been silent for two days in a row, after leaving the cafeteria with a cloudy expression on your face as if you were about to throw up, but it's unclear why: they were sure you only see food 1 time a day.

Of course they'll resent the sudden change in attitude.

"So what the hell is this all about?" — they deliberately say indifferently, as if they came to you because you owe them something, but you know the true emotion hiding behind the facade: impatience.

They look directly into your eyes, trying to guess your emotions. They can't. It's all clouded by fatigue.

You sigh and look away. You think about how to start a conversation.

"Remember when you asked me how I was doing. I lied," — the hoarseness comes out before you can collate the words into more or less coherent sentences.

Your fingers clench awkwardly and carelessly, you don't know where to place yourself.

"Like I'm blind. I noticed something was wrong with you from the start."

"And why didn't you ask?"

This sentence comes out so abruptly before you even realize it.

Unlike Medicine Pocket.

Their eyes widened, their brows furrowed even more. Like you didn't tell them how you felt, but something unpleasant, and now they're reconsidering their attitude toward you-that's how you felt.

"What? Why should I ask when I can already see that you can't even perform simple actions anyway?"

Really. If they can see that you are unwell, why ask? They have eyes and other senses that allow them to assess your already waning, volcano-like state.

You sigh involuntarily, deep and long, because the air around you has compressed to the point where you're about to be crushed to the floor.

"That's the problem."

"Clarify," — even though they seem to know what you're talking about, they want to hear specifics.

The fabric of your work uniforms is so uncomfortable. It's heavy, just when a discussion reaches its peak and demands an immediate response. You should have changed.

"I'm tired, Medicine."

"I see."

"You see, but you don't understand. I'm tired of you too," — you say it in one exhale because it's the unpleasant fact you don't want to talk about.

Medicine feels bitter on they tongue.

It's to be expected that you're tired of them. They get tired of themselves too, rarely of course, but tired. But... They didn't expect you to say it like that.

Straight up. Hurtful, yeah. Unpleasant.

That's what they usually do.

"How could you be tired of me if you've been ignoring me for so long?"

"That's why I didn't answer. It was horrible of me, I know... But otherwise you wouldn't have let up for a while."

Let up? What do you mean, they're let up? Oh, come on.

"I'm a human being, too. And I get tired, too. I thought you understood that," — you confession begins uneasily. The corners of Medicine Pocket eyes squint and they lips stretch into a wry streak. "I'm sorry, but sometimes I just don't want you to drag me on rest, because it's not a vacation at all. You can be totally the wrong kind of rest for me sometimes."

"You sometimes are absolutely not the rest I want," — the last phrase crashes into them very hard, and sticks in their heads like a cheap record in an old vinyl player, and with that squeaky, cliffy noise keeps playing, sounding only worse with each turn. Unpleasant.

They don't understand. They don't understand why you're suddenly talking about it. They don't understand why you're suddenly tired of them, why you don't even want to see or hear them, why you don't enjoy spending time with them? What did they do wrong that makes you feel so... so... Lame?

Hey, Pocket don't forget about you. They don't want you to live a 'work-home-work-home' life. If you're tired, of course you need to rest. If you haven't eaten, of course you should eat.

But... Tired? Of them? After all they've done for you?

"Noted," — the phrase came out too mechanical, like a robot, old and rusty. They rise from their chair and prepare to leave as you catch them by the sleeve.

"You don't get it," — your words, on the contrary, sound more alive because you've already made up your mind to say everything here and now. "Sit back down. I haven't finished."

They obey. But now they no longer sit firmly and confidently, and sometimes fidget in the seemingly so comfortable chair.

"I'm not a child to be told the obvious things."

"Why won't you even listen to me now?"

You drop them again when they've just returned to the pedestal of confidence. Twice.

"If I wasn't listening, I wouldn't be sitting here giving you an fucking interrogation," — they snap back, because they have no more avenues of escape left.

"I still love you," — the words the researcher dares not go against. They turn their head to the side, propping their head up with their hand so that their lips are not visible. Biting their lower lip. "But you don't hear me too often."

It seems like such an obvious truth, but here it is right in front of them-and they lose their temper.

"I didn't answer you, not because I was bored with you, but because I wanted some rest. I should have written about it, but the day was terribly busy and I was tired, and it was too late to write anything, you showed up on your own."

This time they choose to listen rather than be outraged, though their eyebrows are still furrowed and their opinion of the situation is still at odds with yours.

"Why don't you just say you're tired? I'm a sentient being, in case you've forgotten."

"Because you don't give me a voice. I'm trying to say something, but you're taking it to a point where silence is the best option."

"In that case, fucking speak up."

"I tried but... You're hard to argue with. And I don't want to hear some of the less-than-pleasant things said to me in these moments."

You suddenly realize you still have them by the sleeve of your other hand, and tug lightly on it.

"I know you're trying. And it makes me feel good that you want to help... But sometimes a simple 'how are you feeling?' is enough. And the question of whether I'd like to take a break... And what kind."

"That's three questions."

"Pff, Medi..."

You're not angry anymore. Almost. Just looking into their indignant eyes with a meek smile.

"Please... Listen about my condition too. I'm really curious about the weed you were trying to weed there, but-"

"It wasn't a weed."

"Oh, really? What, is it a plant from the emperor's garden?"

"I don't do plants at all right now."

An awkward pause ensues, which is immediately interrupted by your crooked and embarrassed smile.

"Sorry, I was so sleepy I wasn't listening to you."

"I already understand that."

Their expression brightens, and you can even see through the hand at their mouth that they're smiling. Then they tug on your sleeve in return, but more timidly and cautiously.

"And, ahem... I get you, too. Don't lecture me again," — you construe this as 'I screwed up, sure, but I kind of get it and I'll try not to do that.' No problem. "What's so funny this time?"

You shake your head negatively.

"Nothing. Just glad you understood."

You want to add 'not completely, but at least you heard.'

"I saw you've got that annoying idiot's molecular biology experience report in there, you know, let me see," — but they didn't need to, because they decided to take the conversation in another direction.

"Want to help?"

"I want to evaluate his work."

"Please, here you go. Like he's going to outdo you."

"Pff, I don't think so."

They stare at these papers and discreetly moved a little closer, then slapped the sheet with the edge of their palm indignantly.

"And he wrote this shit? Give me a pen..." — and they immediately start filling it out with already completely different data. If you're lucky, it's not your fault and those angry words are not addressed to you anyway.

You sigh.

You feel better. You've been heard. Not 100% understood, but heard. And that's what you wanted to think about for the rest of the day, while Medicine Pocket "discreetly" helped you sort out those idiotic reports (probably to make amends).

This Doggo help with the reports, even though they're the reason there's so many of them? I don't think you'd mind.

At least it won't be a big deal anymore.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Thanks for reading!

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

Text

This post is for ladies only. If you are a guy, GET out of here.

I bestow upon you this dagger. It is an ancient dagger. Use it wisely.

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

Note

Do you have another account we can follow on tumblr?

sorry i got to this so late but yes!! you can check it out here @xpiredcupid !! and it will be linked onto my intro post!!

i haven't been able to post anything due to exams and life in general but that will be my main account on tumblr.

for content wise i will do a mixture of some fics as well as my own drawings.

this isn't apart of the ask but the main reason i decided to create a whole new account is that i felt too restricted with this account since it was mainly twst and i felt myself i couldn't write anything else that wasn't twst (which is nonsense but oh well)

thank you for the ask as i forgot to even announce about the change<3

#જ⁀➴ cupids-desire ...#જ⁀➴ cupids-arrow ...#i hope people atleast understand my choice hehe #it doesnt mean i wont stop doing twst content #just less of it #and ill be able to write/draw what i want

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

Note

"Late Night Grilled Cheese" (Idk if that's a good title, so sorry if it seems weird...) + Medicine Pocket

The all-caps text ‘COME DOWN QUICK SUPR IMPKRTANT’ you receive at midnight sends you rushing down to Medpoc’s lab like the wind, fearing the worst. Has something gone wrong? Have they finally infected themselves with rabies? Are they about to die?

When you arrive, everything is in order. Well, almost in order. Medpoc strides up to you and thrusts a square of…something—hang on, is that grilled cheese?—in your face.

“Eat it.”

“Is this for some experiment? It’s not radioactive cheese, is it?”

They pull an offended expression. “No. It’s just grilled cheese. Like I said, eat it.”

You take a bite and discover that it is, indeed, just grilled cheese. Maybe a little burned in some places, but otherwise completely standard.

“And this is what you called me down for at… five to midnight?”

Medpoc shrugs and looks terribly satisfied with themselves for a reason you cannot place. You don’t bother to press for answers: you know that any effort you make will be in vain.

(Or, in other words, Medpoc overhears that a reliable way to let someone know you’re interested in them is to invite them to a meal. And hey, the initial test of the hypothesis… seems to have worked?)

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precure1ove-archive · 3 months ago

Text

For the sake of breaking a habit

Warnings: fluff, kisses, gn reader, ooc Medicine Pocket, Medicine Pocket - they/them.

Synopsis: Your lips are in a terrible state, and no amount of hygienic lipstick can save them. It's a habit that's hard to break without someone's help, right?

World count: ≈1700

From the author: Well, something uncomplicated before something complicated. I wanted something like this: soft, streamlined, and enticing.

When I have more of my story's, I'll compile them into a little masterlist.

English not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

We all know nervousness, right?

Nervous when you are working on a gigantic project, on which you spend all your energy and time. You get nervous when you present this project in front of dozens (if not hundreds) of people, explain every aspect of it, and then nervously rub the edges of the sheets in your hands and wait and wait and wait. Approval, a nod, a wave of the hand, anything to take away the aching pain under your ribs.

But you're not afraid of these people, no.

But you worry about your work as a part of yourself. Here, you have taken something from your soul, from the depths of your mind, and you put it all together in a presentation and present it to the big people. Funding for almost any project, you know, hurts you enough if it doesn't come from somewhere else.

The habit of biting your lips came quite suddenly that you didn't even realize your lips had turned into chewed mincemeat.

All of a sudden you found out that they started hurting. And when you looked in the mirror, you were stunned and wondered, when did it get so bad?

You put the stack of sheets aside, sit back in your chair, and finally let yourself relax. This day hadn't been too hard compared to the other days, when you'd been working hard to clear out the backlog of reports, but you were still exhausted.

It's after midnight and there's about three of you left here. You and two other subordinates finishing their work.

There was no need to stay so long, but man, you wanted to finish most of the stuff for tomorrow (because there will obviously be more tomorrow).

The muffled knock of the door opening into the half-empty lab didn't even make you turn around. Few interesting people would have come in this late, at most one of the other workers ran in to say "hey, idiots, it's past midnight, let's go to bed already!" Same questions for him, of course.

"Well, how long are you going to stay here?!"

Oh, right. There's a person of interest, and that person is welcome to drop by anytime.

"Sprawled out in the chair and now she's going to sleep here. Shouldn't you move the bed over here right away?" — you sigh when Medicine Pocket sit down next to you, only on the desk, disrupting your careful arrangement of papers. Ouch.

"I'm not going to sleep in here. But you're right, my strength is almost gone," — you hear the sound of sheets of paper shattering and frown. "You've ruined my meticulously organized stack of papers according to all canons of perfectionism."

"Oh, yeah? It was an accident."

"Sure you did."

You don't even turn your head away from the ceiling to pay attention to them. Not to say they don't like it, but it does make they worry.

"How many hours have you been sleeping these past few days?"

"I am a creature in no need of sleep."

"I don't think Lovecraft would praise you for parodying some of his creatures."

You laugh.

"I'm trying to get 6-8 hours of sleep..." — their face seems to lighten, but resentment catches up again in seconds. "... In 2 hours. It's not working yet, heh."

They're clearly not happy with your answer. And who would like to find out that their partner has suddenly decided to adopt their lifestyle and also sleep less than a giraffe or a horse, not even close to the numbers needed to maintain strength in the body?

"Like a child, for God's sake."

"What about you?"

"Well, you have to admit, I look a lot better after a few days without sleep than you do."

"You're such a romantic."

"But honest."

"Uh-huh."

The conversation is interrupted while their interest is piqued by your face, because over the past few days you've started to look like a person with a less than healthy lifestyle. Not a junkie, but on the right track. It's time to look for jokes on the subject and appropriate cosmetics.

Especially their eyes ran over the bags under your eyes. Goths would be jealous that you don't have to work hard on your makeup - they'll take you in, and praise you for being in character.

And their gaze stopped at your lips. And it lingered until you stared back at them in puzzlement.

Awkward pause.

"What, is there something on my face?"

"Your face looks more like a mask from the movie Scream right now. And what the hell happened to your lips?"

Oh. You have forgotten about them for the duration of your work, but they always remind you of them afterwards. On a brief inspection of you, people can't tell that your lips are suffering from a meat grater or a meat mallet. It's only when they catch your eye for a long time that you realize that things are just awful.

That's what nervousness brings people to.

"I don't know."

"How do you not know what you're doing? Are you using or something?"

"No, it's just a bad habit I picked up out of nowhere."

"You can't get rid of it? Or is it out of your hands?"

"I don't notice when I start doing it. It's fine in the morning, by the end of the day it's like kissing a grater."

"Nerves are fraying?"

"Along with the cuckoo, I suppose."

They don't say anything to that, which you can't tell by their facial expressions.

Annoyed. Again.

But instead of grumbling, silence follows. A brief hiccup before they climb off the table and hover over you in a chair. Their venomous eyes prickle you, and before you can make any sound, they take your chin and kiss you.

You don't even manage to squeak. As usual.

The feeling of fatigue was replaced by the anticipation and excitement of an unexpected kiss. And more than one. Your consciousness focused on every fleeting sensation, every tiny movement of your bodies.

Their lips are always wet. Wet and thin, like two strings, curved in irritation or sickness from something poisoning they've eaten. Cold, they leave a herd of goosebumps behind them if they kiss hotter parts of your bodies, and never warm up no matter how many times they kiss. Even after a hundred kisses before bed or in the morning. But that doesn't stop them from being persistent and not at all shy of outsiders you've already forgotten about.

They don't close their eyes most of the time, and today is one of them.

Staring point-blank, as if they were preparing to fire a gun at some animal and aiming without being distracted by extraneous sounds. In the light their eyes are like two Ilyich bulbs, and even in the darkness they will stand out with their sparkles. And they've never been embarrassed by it.

On the contrary, they like to place bets on which minute of the kiss you will avert your eyes. And it's very annoying and fun for you at the same time. It's like stepping on the same rake every time because you like it.

Their lips, although thin, are very assertive. They do not hesitate to take the initiative and apply more diverse actions. They have a different way of kissing every time, you can never guess what was intended for this time. They savor your already killed lips, push forward, don't give you a chance to get out of the situation and turn your head.

The fingers in white gloves encircle your chin and do not let you move, holding you firmly, but in their own gentle way, not forgetting to change the position of your fingers from time to time.

You hear your own heart pounding when all they has to do is run their tongue over your lips. Here's someone, but Medicine Pocket, after much practice, have gotten much deeper into kissing. And now they'll bet anything just to see the ripples of burning excitement on your face again.

They're so mean when they need something. So untouchable, but in need of that little act of appeasement. Screaming audacity in every action. You know you'll be in drool and hickeys (later) afterward, but you reach your hands behind their nape and use your fingers to part the strands of their hair.

They take it as a call and, most importantly, as a permission to take further steps.

And somehow, you know, it doesn't matter that somewhere out there the laboratory door opens and one of your coworker leaves (perhaps he couldn't stand the unexpected sexual pressure. You can understand him).

And you look away, unable to take the pressure anymore.

They love it. They love it to the point of shaking at their knees.

Like to tease you and pull you out of your frames, Medicine are happy to break them against their knee and toss them into the dark sea, to the bottom, where already lies a whole collection of what they have stepped over with indescribable pleasure. They bite your bottom lip with a mocking smile before you feel their other hand on your waist.

Under your lab coat.

And they slowly moves upward, their fingertips tweaking the fabric of the garment underneath. Carefully as they continue to run the other limb down your neck, squeezing it lightly. They're not sadistic, no, by any means, and it doesn't rob you of even a crumb of air, but the feel of long, slender fingers leaves you no choice but to succumb completely to their power. Which, by the way, they always have plenty of.

Hot breath scorches your face as they pull away - the air isn't infinite, after all - and leave a weightless kiss on your cheekbone with a sarcastic smirk and squinted eyes as if to scream "you just can't say you didn't like it."

They don't seem to be tired at all, and the air in their lungs never planned to be released, but you've been there before - once they didn't let you go for so long that you got dizzy. No, not from magical sensations, but from lack of oxygen. They've been trying to be careful ever since.

You breathe deeply, massaging the back of their neck with your fingers. They love that, especially when kissing. It makes them go crazy.

And they respond by weightlessly stroking your waist, sometimes squeezing it lightly.

But now they just slightly arch their head back before dropping their arms to the sides of your chair and moving closer again. Just a little more, and their knee will be between your legs for balance.

"I'd rather you didn't bite your lips anymore, but that's a buzz too," — they give out in one breath, still relaxed under your hands. "Your lips aren't lips, they're chewed up duct tape."

You take a deep breath. You try to keep a serious face, as if the job didn't end hours ago. Like it would have been possible to keep working if someone hadn't decided to show off and go on a "distract at all costs" mission. Who wants to be caught thinking, breath hitched just because of the person next to you who just kissed you with all the passion they're been saving up lately?

"Pff, what, so disgusting?"

"Mm-m, no, quite the opposite. 'Almost' as good as always," — they flick you on the nose, and curve up in a smile. "But you'd better not bite your lips again."

"Why would I?"

"If you want to kick the habit, you need to switch to something else, something safer."

"On you, or what?"

"You're guessing," — Medicine Pocket pull away with a noisy sigh. You cross your arms across your chest and pretend you don't want to continue. "You're going to get some kind of infection - and then what are you going to do? I'm not going to treat you."

"..."

You puff up your cheeks and don't say anything. Still in mixed feelings, it's hard to think as well as move. Your body still feels their touch at your waist. It's hard to let go.

It's hot, isn't it?

"You need to get better sleep. Otherwise you'll look like a pale grebe"

"Thanks."

"But honestly," — they shrug. They take you by the chin again and examine your swollen lips more closely. "I've got some ointment somewhere that's just right for this."

"...Can I have some?"

Not for nothing. Of course they won't give you anything for a simple thank you. Especially not to you.

And you can see their facial expressions become more condescending. You guess you're in luck.

"I will. On one condition."

Oh, right. Of course.

"And what's that?"

They poke their thumb at your lips.

"You stop biting them. And start control yourself."

Expected. But did they think it would be so easy?

"And what happens if I can't kick the habit? I don't control myself when I'm nervous."

They let you go, take a couple steps away, and spread their hands as if they're really upset about it too.

"Then don't expect me to kiss you again."

...

One second of silence.

And you burst out laughing.

"Ha-ha, can you contain yourself?"

"Let's just say it's a challenge for me, too."

Yeah, a challenge.

You roll your eyes tiredly. You know they're lying.

You know they'll break their promise tonight before they go to bed.

And yet you still listen. As if nervousness is nothing. It's just a little thing.

They're such idiots.

"Either..." — they lean closer and give you another slap on the nose. "...Remember this situation every time. What's better: biting and tearing your lips in cold, nervous, rotten loneliness or making out with a gorgeous person like me who loves and cares for you, you stupid lip-biting lover, huh?"

"...I'm gonna take that damn book of poetry away from you and throw it away, you've learned to talk too pretty."

They turn on their heels, starting to walk back towards the exit and make no response to the sarcastic comment.

"Think about it!"

And they hide behind the door.

You sighed, going back to cleaning up the mess on the table and floor. The papers were all scattered, and they hadn't even bothered to clean up after themselves. Well, nothing-nothing, you know how to retaliate terribly, he-he.

You stack the paper in an even, aesthetically correct stack and place it on the edge of your desk.

And then you meet the gaze of your remaining coworker.

...

Spark. Lightning... And the anticipation of a lump in your throat of shame.

Words cannot convey the shame and embarrassment on your part, and you just nod her and pretend that paper is the most interesting material on Earth. The best of the best. She walks by, pausing for a moment near the table, shrugging timidly.

"I'd agree to kick the habit if I were you."

And quickly retreats toward the exit. The lab is quiet and peaceful now, with only the occasional beeping of devices.

And suddenly you realize she's heard everything.

All the conversations, including...

...

You cover your burning face with your hands.

How much you love and hate that Doggo.

I already know I'm gonna need a couple days to rest. Well, you know, it's not like I'm an English-speaking person, and it takes me about... 3-5 hours? To edit this or that text and not to lose the meaning of each sentence (I just don't want to present everything in a horrible state I'm a perfectionist a bit).

That's why I post something once a week, you know, so I have enough energy to recover and +- enough energy to write something new. At least I try.

I will definitely post part 4 after «Love jinx» and part 2 «Bonus for waiting», it's just that right now they are in... A little bit in a stupor. I'm working on them, but I'm not really happy with what I'm getting. Plus I have more ideas lying around that I'd like to do, ahem, well, I'm working, just slowly...

Dividers by @petalpxl

Thanks for reading!

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