Dr. Michael Stone (Pt. 2)
Art and Character by: Spiderthingcoo on X
WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, forced voyeurism, body exploration, edging, double v penetration, female anatomy, rough and drugged induced sex, manhandling, substance abuse, 3some-ish, rimming (m receiving) nudity appreciation, breeding kink, a bit of dacryphilia, Objectification, overstimulation, filthyness undercut, no proofread, bit of cum play, bellybulge, electrocution, Michael is a sick fuck and I love him.
Miguelverse
Summary: Michael Stone has the time of his life.
A/N: I got too carried away and the fanart didn't help jskjs, hope you enjoy <3
Time ran at the speed of a snail. Each blink was torture, like you were removing seconds from the clock with each brief pause of your eyes.
How long have you been here? Certainly too fed up with trying in succeeding to escape. There was no punctual way to determine in which part of the day you were as there was no windows, no clocks, or anything of the sort that dictated the unstoppable force that always outlasted everything within reach.
Just dull pale grey walls, borderline white in every direction your sight stretched. Which wasn't much.
Your new habitat, was minimalistic, decored with the basics to sate physiological needs such as sleep, shower or pee. Ceiling too lowered to crawl or stretch your muscles properly when you tried to keep mobility going.
A fancy cage, nothing much, nothing less.
How long had it been since he slammed the door shut? Days? Week?
You didn't know. And the lack of a sense of time was irrevocably screwing with your head in a way it resembled how Michael had fucked your insides. There was no sun to bath in, no wind to blow and mess with your hair as you swung through the buildings, providing the right amount of adrenaline, no structures to crawl or stretch your muscles completely on. No external stimulus.Nothing.
Just a few meters of space that caged you like a live sample for a maniac's twisted experimenting and amusement. Fed and cleaned whenever you required it. It sometimes blurred the line between being a pet and a Guinea pig.
Just your cell, withering away your spirit. Even the food provided, lacked that homey seasoning you adored indulging in HQ's cafeteria after a mission. The only rift of color popping in the tray and around you were the vast array of vitamins and minerals, shaped in round and squared pills, nested within a metallic cup.
Cause according to him, if his offspring was to emerge within you, your body had to be properly nurtured. Ironically, the food was bland and tasteless, but you didn't starve. And it spooked you how easy your body took a liking to it.
Skin healthier, glowing and silky even, a soft natural flush dressed your cheeks, metabolism in its peak, a couple of pounds were lost, but that was the least of your concerns.
He was set into perfecting the vessel for his future seedling. You.
Michael was... You didn't even know where to start besides being the obvious doppelganger of Miguel. The only way you could tell them apart was because of his eyes. They were brown, like the most scrumptious shade of chocolate you've ever seen.
Unlike Miguel, he just took what he wanted and needed, everything in the name of science. He was the embodiment of 'the end justifies the means'.
Alluring, inviting you to a forbidden and fucked up world where he was the unanimous and dangerous sovereign. Like his whole aura. His impassive act was only a coy facade to hide what was underneath.
Madness, lust and something so dern you didn't want to try and decipher cause in truth, you were terrified to fuck around and find out. He had already gave you a little taste of his abyss, but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted you to drown in him and everything that rendered his mere existence.
He needed to crown a queen for his chaos. And what a better way to do it, than choosing you to give him a perfect offspring.
In his own twisted world the need of a superior being was a must. A need he was creating the proper foundation to sate.
He was prepping you to bare his child. And it scared you to no end. Not that you didn't want kids, but to be forced to fit into that role out of sudden scared you shitless.
And you didn't want to sour and make your thoughts awkward by knowing a variant of Miguel would be the father.
Fuck. No.
If your mind could have arms, it surely would've slapped itself for such thought. Not that you didn't think Miguel was handsome, in fact, you avoided being seen as that recruit that had the hots for the boss, lingering too much around him made you more nervous than you liked to admit.
And when you were paired with him, the anxiety of knowing you could mess up went heavenwards. Your Miguel wasn't one to dwell into conversations if they weren't necessary, canon before personal interests came first and always, awkward social skills that came out stilted and forced almost mechanically, specially when someone caught him off guard or in the high level of stress his gorgeous brain fed him on a daily basis.
Grumpy was his default emotional read, snarky or dry humored replies when dumb questions were asked, overworked to the bone. Secretly labeling himself as a bad man cause of the things he needed to do in order to keep the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse working, a walking failure through and through, weak for meeting his emotional needs and trying to be happy for once and failing at it, and apparently the only one that knew how to keep everything together.
And still, the first one that always replied the call for help by either sending a group, or creating an escape plan route to ensure your and the rest's safety with the help of Lyla.
Unlike him. The man in the flesh and bone, that would easily supplant him physically, and had been watching you ever since you awoke. You didn't have to turn to him to know his presence had invaded your already reduced and secluded space.
Brown coals raked over the slope of your neck, the dip between your shoulder and junction, gaze remained over your rising form in every disguised breath you took, hoping he'd go away. Long and tan fingers tangled softly in the silks of your hair and the touch alone made your skin crawl, and not precisely in a good and pleasant way, no.
Whenever he was around your spider senses tingled, sometimes you'd end up with a headache, unable to shut it off. You didn't have to look deep enough to know he was as messed up and unpredictable as the task he had bestowed upon you.
"Eres tan perfecta..." his impish titter made your heart wrench and anxiety to bubble in the deepest of your gut.
In other circumstances you'd be a flustered mess, flattered even to have such kind of man groveling over you. But this one in specific had you coiling away from his touch, hoping to vanish into thin air or turn invisible like Miles.
God, you really wanted to have Mile's invisibility powers right now, so at least you could have a chance to escape. But dreaming had gone out the window ever since he dumped you here.
He never lingered too much, even when he did routine checkups on you. Blood and other fluid samples were taken, he made sure you ate the bland and soggy looking food 'til nothing but crumbs were left, and then he'd leave to do whatever he did in the lab and wouldn't return until your next feeding time.
The only thing he had in common with your Miguel was the workaholic attitude. He'd spend hours if not days tinkering with canisters and things you low key feared to know their components. You've noticed the little parts of limbs floating in some recipients, none of them human.
What kind of things this Alchemax did? Cause the little you had seen so far wasn't nice nor pretty.
Alchemax took seriously their research, and with this man on charge, you didn't want to even think about what kind of ungodly horrors they harbored. There was a little slapping in the air as he removed his gloves, and it was your chance to crawl away.
Rough pads thrummed over your soft skin, sending shivers down your spine, breath hitched as he beckoned your forearm, the only part of you that budged, towards him in a demanding pull.
"Haven't had the time to properly examine these." he mumbled, more to himself than to you, as his thumbs squeezed soft circles, soothing the previous pressure's discomfort.
You gulped as he narrowed his eyes behind his glasses at the tiny circular slits indented in your wrist, a pale pinkish hue rimmed the tiny hole. The way he admired and looked with child-like wonder at your web shooters was overwhelming.
Cheeks grew warmer as the tip of his nose ran up your forearm to finally stop on the shooters. A soft salty musk emanated from them.
"Organic webbing... Fascinating." He crooned.
He closed his eyes to relish in the smell of your skin. A shaky breath came off your lips as his moist tongue rubbed a kitten lick on it, a bolt of electricity flooded your senses and earned him a whimper. Eyes immediately shifted on you, pupils widening.
Much to your dismay both had accidentally unveiled a borderline gruesome breakthrough. The twinkle in his eyes made your brows twitch in worry. Your neck gulped and his eyes caught the fraction of movement to then smirk.
Pearly whites shone with twisted pride upon the discovery.
"W-Wait-"
The tip of his tongue pressed harder on the slit and you couldn't help but moan. A lovely and surprising melody to his keen ears at your reactions.
Web shooters were a sensitive and therefore an erogenous area.
You tried yanking your arm away, but your knees trembled when he delivered a wriggle of the tip of his tongue, trying to worm into your veins, prodding and tasting unabashedly at your dint.
With every coil of his moist muscle your brain sparked alive, neurotransmitters soaring in wicked delight. Your teeth clamped on your lower lip, stifling another upcoming moan.
The wet sounds and pops of his mouth made your insides clench involuntarily. Legs smothered together, as he now sucked. His lips pursed in that familiar shape it reminded you the way he ate your engorged and sensitive nub.
Head split in two, fighting over what side of reasoning you'd agree with. One side was ashamed such ministrations from your wretched captor turned your unwilling body like puty within seconds in his dexterous hands, and with this newfound information, his power over you just increased tenfold.
Or aghast for allowing such thing, for allowing him to cage you against the bed and his formidable frame while he devoured and toyed with your wrists, and for him to make you feel revered like no man ever had, even if it was for the wrongest of reasons. Brown eyes stared at your countenance with such curiosity and enthrall, as if you were everything he needed. Like his prayers had been answered and delivered in silver platter with you on it, right in his hands.
It didn't help your shaky resolution he squeezed and draped his other thumb in your other slit. Rubbing in lazy circles, pressing the right amount to have your clit throbbing and your mouth panting. The vibrations of his low groan on your skin sent your brain in tiny shortcuts, your synapses were howling.
A shiny streak of his saliva connected with the left wrist. The irisdiscent shine of your webs connected to his bottom lip.
"Tad salty" His tongue licked the web away, His thumb moved in a back and fro motion, alternating between circles and soft licks from his thumb pad.
"Hnng-" Your toes curled in, as your hips stuttered but he grounded his even more on yours, preventing you from shifting too much.
"Stop squirming" He huffed, annoyed, trying to focus his sight on the tiny crevice.
"F-Fucking stop then" you panted in angry breaths
Michael smirked, genuinely amused at your unexpected reaction.
"Why would I? This is the most exciting part of the research."
Shit.
He took your other wrist and kissed the dent, your eyes went shut as he pressed both wrist above your head. Thumbs kneading with a bit more of pressure right above your tiny holes. And God, it was embarrassing hearing yourself mewl like a needy bitch.
How couldn't you notice such thing about yourself after so many years of being a Spiderwoman?
Fuck
And why the fuck were you about to cum while having your wrists stimulated? But more importantly, was he really having a boner by toying with you?
"God, you're a pervert..."
You couldn't help but mumble and he pressed tighter on purpose, sending a muffled whimper through your throat, silencing your yapping.
"I rather the term, Man of science, pequeña. Now stay fucking still."
But you couldn't, not when he kneaded so closely to a spot that send your mouth gaping like a fish out of water, begging to be thrown back in the liquid oxygen. He pressed two inches away from the bitty hole, and that was it.
Jaw clenched and your spine arched. His brow quirked with clinical curiosity at your thrashing despair. Breaths paused and shallow, still deciding whether to moan or sob.
"Nmh-Fuck, fuck, oh my god-" Your eyes rolled back, and your insides clamped. Brain vaporising any coherent thought, mouth too busy catching air and sputtering dumb babble at the consuming climax. Contracting and pulsing at nothing as the little dent squirted a silky and sticky rope towards the wall with a soft Thwipsh. He blinked nearly stupidly at what he had just achieved, cracking his apathetic stare for good.
"Dios mío..." He pressed again and again and you sobbed as the web spurted hapzardly, diverting in every direction and etching to whatever surface it touched or landed. He stared with wide eyes between you and the webs. Limp limb suspended in the air.
Toes curled and clenched at the bedsheets, attempting to anchor yourself at the overwhelming sensations that clouded your judgement. Head spun and buzzed with the thrill not even you achieved when handling those annoying reminders of your solitude in your own hands.
For once your spider senses tingled deliciously. His cock twitched almost painfully at what he just witnessed, he groaned and cupped your face to deliver a deep and breathtaking kiss.
"I knew someday, all my work would be rewarded. All those sleepless nights, those sacrifices, would bring someone like you to me."
He panted, examining you with wicked excitement, shaking you softly in his aroused wake.
"You and I, will create something so beautiful even God will be jealous!."
If it wasn't for the ominous meaning behind those words, you'd be amazed and moved at his overboard thrill. He rested his head on your lower belly, a dark grin plastered over his face, fingers padded your skin, warmth spreading through his hand.
Where are you, Miguel?
"I can't wait to see you swollen, carrying the future of this earth, pequeña."
I'm scared
But as quickly as he laid down, he bolted out of your cell, too enraptured in his musings to actually care for your rattled state.
Now that his motives were clear, your need to escape was greater. But maybe if you played your cards well, you'd have a chance.
I need you.
----
The table landed on the wall, shattering in smaller shards that splintered all over the place. Michael's back rose and tensed so tight, his lab robe wrinkled, trapping the fabric in between his muscles.
The corner of his lip twitched, almost like a tick, teeth menaced with baring, fury boiling underneath his skin. If he could, the steam would blow off his ears, but instead he prowled over your unsuspecting and sleeping form in the very back of the lab. Mind assaulting his reasoning with so many questions, but one in particular made his hands to clench into tight fist.
Why weren't you pregnant?
He had came inside in your most dangerous and fertile days, and still, you weren't pregnant.
As much as he was a patient man, he was throughly disappointed at his own failure. Was his seed defective? No.
He had run studies on himself and his results were everything a desperate man in need of children could ask for.
Fertile, fruitful, healthy.
And still, the screen shone brighter on the 'Negative' results.
Hot and furious breath fanned over the glass wall where he saw you sleeping. He'd have to run even more tests on you, start all over and wait for another two weeks.
But what if your body refused him again? Your womb's rejection was an open slap on his face, when he had been nothing but kind to you. He had been taking care of you with the best things, and this is how you repaid him.
It frustrated him beyond reason. But he was a patient man. Weeks were nothing compared to all the time he had already waited. With a final huff, he returned to his lab to correct your stupid hormonal imbalance that was costing him his valuable time and resources.
However, a Public Eye officer barged in, breath in his throat. His personal hounds, and whenever they came in, it only meant one thing. They had found something, and by the scratches and claw like marks on the officer's bleeding shoulder, meant it was something good.
You had to wait for a moment longer.
-----
"Lyla"
Miguel's gruff whisper came behind the corner of the structure he was in. Lyla appeared right on his shoulder.
"Any readings?"
"Some-" She froze for a second, "Ssft-"
Her yellow shade glitched to then appear right before him, she was speaking, but Miguel could barely understand her.
Fuck.
The place's interference was messing up with her programming. His gizmo popped with a message, your location. Beeping in a bright yellow dot within the ever tall and imposing Alchemax building in the middle of the city, like a watchtower.
Your last signal. Earth S-2015.
If you were here, he was sure you'd quip up something about a movie reference, something about a Mordor, whatever the thing meant, to lighten up the mood. He'd never admit it, but it always made him a bit curious as to what you watched or did to entertain yourself. The things you spoke were beyond absurd and still, he listened, inwardly pondering as to what kind of substances your universe used to get that sort of inspiration, but now there was nothing but silence at his side. And he grew tired of it.
No matter how much he had tried to recover or track you, the signal vanished into thin air. And he wasn't happy. At first he thought the gizmo's self restart feature would bring the signal back, but days kept passing, and nothing happened, he even went to the extent of rewiring the trinket's code to see if there was anything between lines, but there was nothing after the current location he was in.
Miguel swung through the buildings, avoiding the constant and alert drones soaring through the sky. Alchemax safety propaganda was plastered all over the place, but this earth's inhabitants looked everything but happy. Unlike his wonderful and manageable utopia he had helped to improve.
Fear was forever etched in their faces, constantly moving, never lingering too much around those mean looking officers. The Public Eye.
Their image all over the city, with low key subduing messages as 'Keep The order', 'Report any anomaly in the nearest station.' It set perfectly with the gloomy, authoritarian and heavy atmosphere of this universe. Chaos brewing in the darkness, awaiting to be unleashed.
His gut felt queasy. He might not have spider senses, but intuition never failed him. And right now it was telling him to find you and get the fuck out as soon as possible. Precisely in that order. He didn't want to pull out a Miles, even if he wanted to on this wretched world. Frustrating as it was, Earth S-2015 was a necessary evil, like his ruler and his major minion.
Not that you were incapable of fending for yourself, one of the main reasons he didn't act right away, but knowing who was in this place, and the possibilities, made his chest constrict with a new wave of underlying anxiety and dread as there was no Spider in this earth to protect it.
His watch buzzed a bit too late with a new message from Lyla.
RUN!!!!
A hoard of drones shoot his way, creating a sequential line of explosions, he dodged, tore, and crashed the drones against eachother, as if they were bugs pestering him.
"Look! Another one!"
Some officers didn't wait to appear and shoot their best shots at him. They fired and Miguel fought back, talons in hands, ripping and tearing flesh.
They had taken you, and a cold sweat ran down his spine.
Mierda...
He took one officer by his neck, masked face came into view as his teeth bared.
"The other one, where is she?!" he seethed but the man was stupid enough to oppose. He thrashed, which only added gasoline to Miguel's already blazing fury. Talons dug in the man's tender flesh, but even so, the officer had managed to impale a needle on his arm. It's liquid immediately melting into Miguel's muscles.
It stung.
With a hiss, Miguel let the man go, too focused on the sudden burning sensation spreading through his arm and body like a wildfire. Breathings took a couple of seconds to turn erratic, lights flickered and dances before his eyes.
Concéntrate, mierda! (Fucking focus)
The remaining officers jumped on him, using their subduing tools on him, an electrical shock here and there, a couple of stabs that had him kneeling, punches that definitely got all air out of his scorching lungs. It hurted to breath, to move, to see. His photophobia was rampant as lights were suddenly on him.
Miguel tried to cover his eyes but punches kept coming, he lunged and swung back to nothing but air, as his faculties were in a painful sensorial overload. The last thing he could manage in between blurry and prancing lights was the officer's wicked smile, stretching. Darkness claimed him.
----
"Me estás hartando, quédate quieta de una vez!" (I'm getting tired of this, stay still!)
The lack of exercising had made you slow, he didn't give you enough time to fight back when dragging you by the ankles while you were in the best of your nap. The alerts in your body kicked a bit too late, and like he had done before, his hips grounded yours, suffocating their squirming as his hand squeezed the wrists, needle menacing on his other hand, a pinkish liquid shook within.
"Fuck you!"
With a low growl he smashed your hands against the mattress, earning him a painful yelp, and it was his chance to sink the needle on your neck, a sting that immediately stifled your body, a brief itch spreaded through before turning into a cool shot of drug.
"Don't worry... We'll get to it later. But I need your body cooperating first."
You tried batting his hands away, but he held your face, and you gulped. He was staring.
Michael Stone was staring at you.
Thrill, joy, and something eldritch within his beautiful eyes. It scared as it intrigued you.
"What did you just put in me!?"
His nose nuzzled on the crook of your neck and crooned, "Nothing you should worry about, pequeña. Just a little enhance that will take my investigation to the next level."
His nose revelled up to your neck, body shuddering with the soft kisses left imprinted on your skin. It confused you.
One moment he treated you like the best thing he had ever had, and the next he manhandled you like a rag doll, pumping whatever substances he thought right into your bloodstream.
"Ger'off me!" A backlash and he chuckled.
"You're amusing. Might keep you as a pet once my child is born." He frowned suddenly, like if an idea had came into mind, pondering.
"Or not, I could grow it on my own... But, no no. It wouldn't be the same, wouldn't it?." His peering landed on your abdomen, ready to see it plump. "Call. me traditionalist in that way, but there is nothing more beautiful than seeing life growing within a perfect specimen." His eyes twinkled.
"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"
"You loved having this sick fuck inside, pequeña. Your mouth might be spilling nonsense, but your cunt" He cupped it suddenly, shutting you up right away, "neither data lies."
A thick lump was swallowed down your throat.
"Rest well, I've got a surprise for you."
The smirk on his lips was everything but a good omen. And the heat increasing on your body didn't help. Hormones were slowly coming to a riot, spider tingle ringing harder for a moment.
Great.
Fingers rubbed on where he sunk the needle, wishing that for once he wouldn't use the thick ones. A tiny red smudge came into the pad of your fingertip.
Asshole.
----
Disgust, curiosity and repulsion.
Those were the main reads on Miguel's bruised face when Michael was before him, having a taste of his lips, but quickly backed up upon feeling the prong of his fangs grazing at his tongue. Miguel spat away his taste.
"Vete a la mierda, cabrón!" (Fuck you, asshole)
"Oh" His smirk went wider, almost wicked. He wasted no time in securing his grip on Miguel's chin to probe and poke at his mouth, revelling at every single thing within his structure.
"This is... perfect! With you and my vessel, we'll create-"
Michael jumped backwards as Miguel tried to lunge for him, but to no avail, chains clinked on his feet and wrists, restraining him.
"Now, now. What happened to that... friendly neighborhood thing your species used to preach? Is it a ruse?"
Miguel's fury burned brighter than the sun, he was ablaze, the Ethyl Chloride still railed within his bloodstream. He'd have to wait a bit more, just a bit for it's effects to leave his system and he'd free himself.
Never in his life had the urge of hurting someone came so strong on him, but he needed to be as collected as possible if he wanted to find you.
Even if his evil twin's hand roamed over his chest, measuring and probing his physiology. What's with everyone trying to get a piece of him?
His sight landed on something that undeniably belonged to you, a piece of your suit, under a microscope. Michael followed Miguel's line of sight and smiled, naturally, proud even.
"She's been a good specimen. The best one I've got so far."
A cold shudder ran down Miguel's back, eyes immediately on him, venom dripping in his words as they came out in a growl
"What have you done?"
Michael shrugged nonchalant, pride swelling up his chest. "Nothing but my work, Mr. O'Hara. And now that I've got you, you'll help me too."
"Te juro que si has hecho algo para lastimarla-" (I swear if you've done something to hurt her)
"Oh no, no. Im not that kind of monster." Michael tinkered with some tubes as he pulled a couple strands off Miguel's head. The Boss shook his head away from his tweezers.
"But she can get annoying sometimes. Nothing that pleasure helps to shut her up"
Miguel's eyes went wide, horror and anger in tandem within his crimson gaze.
His talons poked out, itching to tear the man before him, until he was nothing but bloody chum, fuck the canon, fuck this dimension. He'd do everyone a favor, unlike the first time he broke the rules.
"But dread not. Tonight is very special" Michael smiled at Miguel, but it didn't reached his eyes. The same pink liquid he injected on you was now flowing in Miguel's veins, thanks to thw needles in his shackles.
"Mating season is around the corner , isn't it?"
Miguel scowled, wary as Michael made his arms and legs restricted to the metallic wall of his confinement, hitting his head in the process. A wave of pain invaded Miguel's skull.
"I won't hurt her, no. But I won't allow you to take her away from me."
Michael pressed a button, sending shockwaves through Miguel's body, suit glitching out, until it disappeared, leaving a bare, righteous doppelganger of himself at his feet, panting, gritting his teeth and growling in pain.
Michael leered at Miguel unabashedly, smoke oozed from his shimmery tan skin, and the madman nodded, pleased.
"You spider-folk are unique and wonderful creatures indeed."
It was the last thing Miguel heard before another electrical and unexpected shock subdued him to darkness.
----
Miguel
His mind was a puddle. Nothing coherent could properly take shape in his brain. His body was heavy, doused in a borderline painful heat, the same sort of feeling he'd get once his body entered this spider-like urge to mate.
Miguel!
The voice calling him was familiar, but it's tinge sent a delicious pulsation right to the tip of his already twitching cock.
Wake up!
Leaden-lids parted enough to take in his surroundings again, consciousness returning to his empty body. But as it did, the strong tidal waves of his arousal drowned him in.
It didn't help he kept hearing these delicious mewls and pants, begging for him to do something simple as to wake up. The constant slaps of flesh and the breathless moans made a trail of precum escape his flushed and sensitive tip. Thick veins decored his pulsating girth, aching painfully to sink in something. To be wrapped in nothing but snug zeal.
"F-Fuck... Wake up, please!"
Another garbled moan that ended in an acute whimper. And that made him growl. His toes curled in, bleary sight finally taking focus on what was going on.
He could only blink at the scene. Stupid and high in need. Dying to be free and unleash himself.
"Ohmygod-" you hiccuped, watching him, flushed cheeks, mouth gaping and panting, exhaling deep and sweet mewls his body yearned to induce
"Miguel!"
You called, waking him up despite your insides getting a good rearrangement by Michael. The latter was too keen in watching his reaction as he smacked himself against you, his cheeks reddened in want.
You were spreaded like a book ontop of the sitting madman, back colliding with his bare chest, hands cuffed within two metallic hoops, hooked behind Michael's head; cunt swallowing him inside, choking with his continuous thrustings, slapping the back of your ass over and over as his hands kept your thighs apart and close to your chest, providing Miguel with a 4K image of your bullied and glistening pussy.
The way Michael pushed in so swiftly made Miguel's cock to erupt with another pre cum bead. Your breast swayed and bounced at the rough pace settled underneath. A rhythmic slap, like a perfect metronome for an obscene and wet melody.
The little rational part of Miguel told him, demanded him to look away. To spare you some shame, but his body had been rewired in such way he was unable to tear his oggling away, cause he could feel the need to break the chains and do a better job than Michael. He'd destroy you. He needed to.
Michael's hands made you hold the back of your own thighs, so he could plow deeper. And your spine arched as your toes curled, legs shook and a sweet acute cry echoed through the lab, announcing your first orgasm.
Miguel's sore cock twitched. Begging him to jump into action. His mouth watered as your pussy swallowed Michael's cock so deep and tight that a frothy, creamy ring nested at the base of his tightened balls, contracting as the madman came inside your snug hole.
Your arousal awakened a primal need in him, to the point that his talons dug in the fat of his palm, cutting skin and bleeding, like his bottom lip. Plump mouth heaved, his throat rumbled with gutural growls the more he stared, hypnotized at your post-bliss face.
Miguel whimpered, like a kicked dog, a deep flush invading his heaving countenance.
"Seems the serum is also making effect"
Michael slicked his hair back and gave an excited sigh, "I think it's time to see his performance, right?"
Michael pushed you away from his body, Bambi-like legs failed their attempt to hold your whole frame. You fell on the ground with a wheeze. Miguel immediately lunged, but his restrains held him back, prevented him from achieving his main goal.
Crimson eyes turned darker, nearly matching Michael's. The latter pressed a button and the collar on Miguel fell with a clank on the floor.
"M-Miguel" it was difficult to find your voice when it was scrapped raw and dry, but still, you had to try.
"We... we gotta leave. Do you hear me?"
Of course he did, but his mating cycle was on peak, thanks to Michael. He had messed up the natural process by accelerating his heat prematurely.
Why would he leave when he was about to wreck you?
His feet were unlocked. You gave Michael a pleading look while trying to crawl away. When the last lock clicked free, your breath hitched.
It felt like a slow motion as you looked over your shoulders, marked with hickeys Michael left. Pupils wide blown as Miguel lurched forward, stalking and hovering over you. Cock smearing his pre cum in whatever skin it landed, marking you with his scent as he manhandled your hips up, aligning them with his girth.
His hand was big enough to keep your whole head on the floor. Michael cackled as Miguel sunk in deep in a powerful roll of his hips, earning a stuttering grunt through clenched teeth from you.
The fat of your ass trembled, your clasped hands curled underneath your torso, in dire need of holding onto something, cause Miguel merciless plows were fucking any coherent thought.
Your whole body shook underneath him, cunt ever tight, your juices and Michael's cum made him easier to delve in a pace you knew would scrap your knees, cause he wasn't stopping nor waning.
Michael circled you both, hand on his cock, stroking himself at the sheer display of primal desire. The whole show made him hard, specially when seeing your engorged clit peeking underneath Miguel's jackhammering frame, flushed from the unceasing beating the hero's balls provided it.
"Just like that" Michael husked, and whimpered as you did nothing but sputter nonsensical and lewd blabbering.
Miguel's fingertips sunk tighter as they grope your hips firmly to keep you from lurching forward, despite him plunging into you with abandonment, as if with every thrust he'd say take it.
Take it for disobeying.
Your toes curled in and your jaw slacked open, unable to keep it together.
Take it for not following instructions.
"M... Mig-"
Bendito... He was just starting and you were already clamping onto him in a grip so tight it only matched the way he was holding your beautiful and generous hips.
"You're almost there, Mr. O'Hara! Keep it going!"
One specific thrust had your eyes watering and rolling back. A pathetic and incomplete scream made Michael to kneel behind you both. His eyes were too dazed in how Miguel fucked you. Dancing up and down, like the strokes of his hands on his cock.
Miguel secured your head in a tight headlock that cut your air supply enough to clench on him, again. Strong biceps trapped your airy head, clouded with a biting desire that came stronger every time you breathed.
Michael groaned when Miguel pulled a last thrust, sheathing to the hilt, forcing a powerful and milky kiss on your cervix. The madman's mouth wasted no time to sink in between Miguel's firm glutes, tasting him, squeezing and pushing him towards his face, tongue fucking the tight hole, earning a low but stuttering growl from a surprised Miguel. Glasses fogging at the rising temperature.
"Fucking delicious." He mumbled with a smack of his lips to focus his attention in your flushed and sensitive cunt. When Miguel pulled out, Michael was already pushing him away, to then prowl at your throbbing cunt, gathering the leaking cum on his tongue, revelling in the taste as he pushed it back inside with a soft dribble.
"W-Wait" You hissed, his moist muscle had been wonderful once, but right now it felt rough. Flesh too sensitive to the touch.
Miguel staggered, body overridden with a relentless urge to be inside you again, but his body screamed for a rest, the venom still lingered on his muscles. Michael on the other hand, cradled and sunk you once more ontop of him.
"The more you take, the more chances you'll get pregnant are." He explained underneath you. Tears rolled down your flustered cheeks, overstimulated and pearled, glowy skin by the thin layer of sweat etched in every slope and dint in your body.
Michael licked them with a groan while his hips smacked yours in a slow but deep, deep rut, pulling the last coherent thoughts through muffled groans and hiccuping mewls, while you shook your head vehemently.
"You're so perfect, pequeña"
"T-Too much" you croaked
Michael sunk you in a swift move, as his slapping hips met yours upwards, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.
"No, no. you can. You're strong, bonita. You can take me." His crooning was eerie, yet so alluring it blurred the line between monster and devotee.
Pleasure clung to your brain with such force it was dizzying. Every pore of your body oozed with the pheromones the serum produced, creating a tantalizing smell that lured Michael and Miguel's attention.
The grumpy hero could only watch you squirm as another cock that wasn't his, wrecked your insides in a tortuous pace.
"Fuck" He grunted, feeling the consuming and mind numbing drug licking at every inch of his cinnamon skin, imploring to feel you again.
Even though the Ethyl Chloride's effect had been long gone, the serum reacted to your pheromones. Meaning he'd need to provoke one more peak to have the effects completely worn out.
He'd feel sorry and awful all he wanted later, his priority was to get you out of this madman's claws. But...
It was impossible not to think in how good you felt, how delicious your whole body contorted while witnessing the way Michael subdued you to ride him as he captured one of your nipples in his urgent mouth. Lovely and plump bumps of flesh jiggled at the tempo, outer folds that without a doubt would be so sensitive to the touch, parted and guzzled Michael's veiny cock.
Miguel crawled to you both.
How well you had taken them each., Adjusting perfectly at their sizes, like a perfect flesh sleeve.
He hovered over the both and smoothed away the strands of hair that stuck on your flushed and gorgeously fucked out face.
The heat was consuming, and Michael's pace wasn't enough. The madman noted you were reaching the peak of the serum functionality as you urged your wobbly hips clumsily on his.
Despite you not being able to properly verbalise your pleasure, you still sought it. Michael's wicked fantasies came true when Miguel pushed you tighter against him, as if wanting to flush your body and Michael's as one being, just to have a proper glimpse of the sight that had him guiding his tip towards your already stuffed entrance.
Detente (Stop)
But he couldn't, he couldn't stop himself from entering you, knees flexing as he lowered his pelvis, pushing inch my inch deeper. Earning an ascending pleasurable wail from you.
Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched, baring your teeth as he also sheathed inside, womb so full it bulged.
Michael's laugh echoed through the room. Everything had came as planned.
"Let's make you a wonderful mother, mi pequeña."
Oh my god.
A panting groan escaped as Michael moved in first, igniting the painfully delicious friction inside you. He wasn't only stimulating you, but Miguel as well. The snug crevice too tight for them to coexist in peace, yet there they were, fighting over who pulled the last peak and thread of rationality out of you.
Their cocks pumping and prodding had your spine arching. Miguel grabbed a fistful of your front strands and pulled backwards, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, letting your chest exposed to Michael. He wasted no time into pushing both of your breasts together, tongue alternating between the left and right.
Sucking, lapping, wriggling his hot muscle on your taut peaks, making a mess out of them by creating more hickeys in every inch of salty tasting visible skin.
"Michael!" You whimpered and it was enough for Miguel to plow harder. The sinful makeout session of their cocks inside your walls made you pant, beg and laugh like a total loon.
A streak of saliva escaped the corner of your gaping mouth. Head lolled back and fro, fried brain with the lust both men induced you, floating on cloud nine. You didn't want to come down to earth, much less when Miguel and Michael's groans and moans over you, urged you to be the best cum dumpster ever.
Miguel pulled your handcuffed hands underneath your chin, beckoning your lips to his. His mouth suffocated any future moan as you bounced on both.
Your one and only boss didn't need you wailing his name to know you ached for him. But Michael was set into having a proper taste out of you both.
He pulled you closer, pushing deeper inside you. Michael's lips erased all trace of Miguel's on yours, to then kiss Miguel. To his surprise, Miguel didn't oppose, too gone in the sensations this mass of tangled limbs offered.
Michael hands roamed your body and Miguel's, feeling his own climax approach.
Hearing Miguel's animalistic growls on your ear, made your clit throb. He pounded with every fiber of his body, urging you to reach the stars and play with them.
Your cunt soaked them, too wrecked and ruined to care. Like your mind. It didn't matter who fucked better, all your body asked was fresh cum, deep in your womb.
The serum coaxed you to move faster, almost matching the rhythm of their whomps. The sound of your greedy and drooling hole being battered was music to their ears.
Michael whimpered and his spine arched, finally reaching his peak, spurting his hot sticky scent inside. Miguel hissed and held Michael close, watching him.
Limbs nearly cramped as they curled in, hands fisted tightly on each side of his trembling body, eyes rolled back, mouth panting, head too heavy to think straight. And that's when Miguel sunk his fangs on his neck, injecting his paralyzing venom on his bloodstream.
A pornographic and slurred moan erupted from Michael, his wicked smirk widened as his body slowly but surely, lost all control of his nerves, unable to command them to move.
Miguel had to resist the urge to come inside. He knew he had a couple of minutes before Michael regained mobility, and as heavenly as you felt, he pulled out of you, drowning his orgasm with regained self control, earning a small hissing as he pulled you out too, gently, off Michael.
Legs and body refused to cooperate. With clumsy steps he stood, taunting the surfaces for support. He slanted against the table, gasping for air.
Miguel shook his head and threw a quick look to Michael, still on the floor, but now groaning in discomfort. Even his tongue had numbed out.
Miguel didn't waste time and sauntered over the next table where pieces of his gizmo laid neatly arranged in a metallic tray. He swept them all in a container, along the tubes filled with his samples.
Like Hobie, he took other parts of machinery in a quickened pace to finally grab a couple of lab robes. He wore one and covered your overworked body, to then throw you above his shoulder.
"Nos vamos." (We're leaving)
Michael groaned, loudly. Anger was felt in every gurgle his throat did. Despair widened in the only thing that still remained movable in his numb face. They darted between you and Miguel, begging him to leave you there.
He groaned again, losing sight once Miguel swung with you from a window.
"Hold on tight if you can" Miguel's voice cooed as you two escaped.
-----
Michael had to douse some pain killer spray on the two slits done in his neck.
How could he not forsee this? How could he miss something so obvious that ended up messing his one decade old plan?
He let his emotion get the best out of him, fouling up his usual calculating judgment, replacing it with excitement.
A Public Eye squad remained before him, awaiting for his orders.
"Find them. I need the woman alive, understood?"
"What about the... other one? The monster?" The same officer Miguel had sliced through and marked, spoke.
The lights in the screen gave Michael a sinister red hue on his face, light reflecting on his glasses.
"He's not a monster, Johnson." Dr. Stone smirked, copying your information in his database, "There can't be two of us."
Johnson, the captain, nodded. The squad obeyed, and the hunt was on.
-
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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 ♡
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