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dr. sunshine | jack abbot x fem!reader

authors notes: i love me a good age gap fic, HOWEVER, what if he had an equal aged and equally as stubborn girlfriend? guess we're about to find out. i loved writing this, i love writing for the pitt (even if it pushes me out of my comfort zone.)

warnings: reader has the nickname dr sunshine even though she's the opposite, reader gets assaulted by a patient, talk of healthcare workers getting assualted, they're both as stubborn as each other. i think that's it, but let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

summary:

jack loves you, he does, but when you take a hit out in the ambulance bay by a less than satisfied patient and try to brush it off, you test every inch of his patience.

masterlist!

you were fine. totally fine.

if you told yourself that enough times then you were hoping it would come true.

the cold concrete underneath your back and the blood in your mouth told you otherwise. you hadn't seen him coming, maybe that was made the whole thing worse. even if you had of seen him, he was way too big for you to do anything about. you recognised him vaguely, some disgruntled guy who'd come into chairs during day shift and was still there when you clocked in tonight—and looked like he wanted to take it out on someone.

#elle writes ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚#elle's the pitt ⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪⚕#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x fem reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot oneshot #jack abbot x y/n #the pitt fanfic #the pitt imagine #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you

silly idea I came up with while working on finals and grades:

While Crowley was oh sooooo generous to give you an allowance, most of it went to repairing the dorm, buying basic necessities, and Grim's never-ending appetite. You were left very little to get yourself clothes that weren't ill-fitting and moth-eaten, have a sweet treat now and then, or even just get something from Sam's that wasn't near expired discounted food.

Thus, you asked for permission to leave campus during your free days to go into town and seek employment. The headmage was initially against it, after all who else can he depend on to take care of all the busywork? But he caved in quickly when you told him that you needed new clothes and it was either he give you more allowance or you start going to class with the high probability that your clothes will literally rot off your body from age and bugs.

Thus, you went into town seeking employment from one of the many shops, cafes, bakeries, patisseries, restaurants, you name it. However, not having proper documentation not showing that you legally exist is a huge barrier, and while sympathetic, most of the owners and managers you talk to have employment laws that they have to follow.

Only one is willing to pay you "under the table", at least until they can get you some documentation that will allow you to work "legally," they're even nice enough to offer you help as they know people in similar situations!

Unfortunately, it's a maid cafe. Actually it's closer to the equivalent of an American restaurant chain named vaguely after the sound an owl makes.

The owner is actually a very nice lady, and all the other employees seem to really like their job! Plus, they tell you that they make hundreds in tips every week, which would be a godsend. It's just that maid outfits are so suggestive and you're not really sure if you're even pretty enough to make what the others to in a month, let alone a week.

Plus, it's in a part of town that a lot of students go to, and you'd be mortified if your classmates saw you dressed up like that! They'd probably laugh at you, or worse, ask you to serve them just to be dicks!

But, you really need the money, and this is the only place that is not only willing to hire you, but also pay you a decent wage. The owner offers to have you work the coffee bar until they have space in the kitchen for a new cook or dishwasher, making drinks and serving finger foods, though you would have to occasionally work as a server during busy hours.

Some of the other employees offer to help you do your hair and make up, one even asking if your classmates would recognize you all dressed up as he gestured to your ratty, worn uniform.

"It kinda dwarfs your body, it's all old and kinda gross—no offense—I mean do any of them even know what you look like all dolled up?"

He makes...a great point actually. And the more you thought about it, how likely was it that one of your classmates would be caught dead going into a maid cafe? You'll totally be fine!

Unfortunately, that reassurance only lasted for a few weeks when a familiar face walked through the doors of the cafe, and laid his eyes on you.

What asshole god decided to spite you specifically? No clue, your only saving grace was that he, as your coworker predicted, didn't recognize you in your uniform and make up. However...he was staring intensely at you, eyes wide and mouth ever so slightly gape, so maybe he was starting to piece it together.

To your shock, all he did was swallow, carefully approached your bar, and sat. You blinked at him as you handed him a menu and silently walked away, trying to busy yourself with cleaning countertops and cups.

When your classmate waved his hand and, almost bashfully, ordered a drink and pastry to go, you were confused at the weird look in his eye. Once he was served, your classmate paid, quickly scribbled something on his receipt, and left, his cheeks flushed.

As soon as he was out of your sight, you scrambled to the piece of paper, and let your mouth fall open as you noticed that in the tip line, he left you nearly 20 thaurmarks for a simple 8 thaurmark order. In the blank space at the bottom, he'd scratched out a bunch of his writing, though you could make out "pretty" and what you think was a beginning of your classmate's number. Instead, he simply wrote down "Hi" and introduced himself.

From then on, you had a regular that came in every weekend just to visit you. If it was busy, he'd the host if he could wait until your area had a free spot, always ordering the same drink and pastry, and leaving a generous tip. You never spoke to him, scared that he'd recognize your voice, but he didn't even seem to notice or care. Though, he barely spoke himself, only to order and say please and thank you, resting his chin in his hands as he stared, you feeling his love-struck gaze trailing after you as you moved around the cafe.

But now, he's starting to talk more, even trying (keep word try) to flirt with you, but you just get hot under your cheeks and nod silently. He asks your name, and you just make something up and write it down on your notepad, showing it to him. Every time he comes in after that, he asks for you by name, and says it so sweetly it makes your coworkers swoon and you flustered.

You almost forget that he's your classmate that you're trying to lot let it slip to that you already know him, and not just a sweet, generous customer, until you hear him talking on campus with your friends.

"If your cute little maid is so shy, why don't you just write down your number on a napkin and leave it for them to find? Worse thing is that they toss it out and you just don't go back! Best case, you two start texting and you ask them out on a date!"

Oh no. If you ignore his note, you hurt his feelings and lose out on what has become a regular and large chunk of your tips. But you can't text him back, he already has your number under your actual name. How are you going to explain that you've been hiding who you actually are and low-key taking a bit advantage of his crush because it's been funding your need for new clothes and enjoyable food?

Yeah, no, you're pretty sure that something or someone in the universe has been trying to make your life miserable for some awful reason.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #mmmm i think this is a cute idea #kinda maid sama esque #maybe ill replace my old events with this and start taking requests regularly again?#been considering cancelling my old events since it's been a long time since i wrote for them and i need something fresh me thinks

Office Hours: nerd!jo x reader

Summary: A high achieving student at TokyoTech whose grades start slipping in her physics class: PHYS 341 - Quantum Mechanics & Field Theory. After receiving a C on her latest exam, she reaches out to Satoru Gojo on a peer tutoring website to have him as her tutor.

A/N: Hi guys! This is kinda written for self indulgence because I'm a STEM student who almost just died from taking a bunch of physics classes. But if you like nerdjo the way I do, you'll probably enjoy this too. Just a note--this isn't proofread, revised, etc... I just spat this out for 2 nights at midnight on a Google Doc and called it good. Word count for this is roughly 4.4k. Also, I don't plan to make this a super long series but I am having so much fun being back on Tumblr and back to writing. I love you all so much and thank you for all the support when I was gone!

Love,

Still. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

“Holy fuck, I seriously think I failed that last exam.” One of your friends, Jane, complained to you while you two walked campus together, leaving the physics lecture hall with a collective, unspoken sense of anticipation for a big, fat F. You could feel a heavy weight pounding in your eyes after spending the last two hours staring blankly at that blaring white screen doused with evil little formulas you’d grown only vaguely familiar with. At one point, you stared for so long that they morphed into some ancient language you couldn't decipher—and even you, the perfectionist, had eventually just given up.

Being the overachiever you were, the moment you graduated high school you applied to TokyoTech—one of the most prestigious universities not only in Japan, but globally—and set yourself on the trajectory of one of the hardest majors known to man. Astrophysics. You thought it would be fun. Japan, new people, some semblance of independence. But instead of spending your nights underneath attractive men with powerful abs and sweet alcoholic beverages, you spent them underneath a blank ceiling with dangerously caffeinated cans of literal death, staring at absolute nonsense on your laptop screen—which might as well have been your boyfriend at this point, given how many tears it had witnessed.

"What the fuck is quantum field theory, why did the professor never once mention it, and why did I decide to take this stupid class," you groaned, dragging a hand down your face like it might restore some sense of being back into your body. It didn't. Your soul was already halfway out the door. You always did this to yourself, tortured yourself with the heaviest concepts in the world and then complained about it, knowing full well it had been entirely your choice.

“I don’t know, something about particles?”

“Everything in physics is about particles…”

"Oh. Yeah." Your friend laughed softly as you reached her bus stop. "I'll just study from the textbook for four hours. Again." She paused, then lit up. "After I find myself a hot tutor!"

You scoffed. She would do absolutely jack shit with an attractive tutor and you both knew it. She was the type to spend an entire lecture doodling in the margins and calling it multitasking, saying something about how doodling actually increases focus.

"We don't have hot tutors here," you said flatly, already pulling out your phone to find a tutoring service like a functioning adult who needed desperate help. "We have nerdy, scrawny losers who think they're better than everyone else."

“Nerdy, scrawny, hot losers who think they’re better than everyone else. Once I cop one, I’m never gonna live it down!” she exclaimed before getting onto the bus. You responded with a half-hearted, tired sigh, waving goodbye to her as the doors closed shut.

Tonight was going to be a long, long night.

Back in your dorm room, you cracked open those thick textbooks that contained nothing short of the devil's own scripture, lined up a small army of energy cans on your desk, and got to work. You read. You studied. You watched YouTube videos sped up. You worked through practice problems that were unreasonably, deliberately, almost personally lengthy and complicated and when you finally checked your answers against the key, your stomach dropped.

You tallied what you got right against what you got wrong twice, just to be sure. Then you circled the number at the bottom of the page and leaned back in your chair.

68%.

That’s a C.

Barely passing.

You stared at that circled number for a long, long time.

It stared back at you, unapologetic, almost smug. Like it knew exactly what it was doing to your GPA, to your ego, to the carefully constructed image of yourself that you'd been maintaining since the third grade. You had never—never—gotten anything below a B+ in your entire academic career and even that had felt like a personal failing. This? This was a war crime.

Your throat tightened in that specific, humiliating way that meant your body had decided it was going to be dramatic about this whether you cooperated or not. You pressed your lips together. Blinked once. Twice. You tried to hold it back, you really did. But you were sleep deprived, running on cheap energy instead of actual sleep and actual hearty meals. You felt your lips press hard enough it almost hurt. No, it did hurt.

Nope.

Your eyes welled up anyway, hot and completely unwelcome, and you hated yourself a little for it because it was physics, it was one practice test, it was not—objectively speaking—worth the single tear that escaped down your cheek before you could stop it. And then another. And then, against every instinct you had, you were fully, genuinely crying at your desk at whatever ungodly hour this was, textbook still open in front of you, a half-empty energy can sweating onto your notes.

You weren't even sad, exactly. You were tired. Tired and frustrated and a little bit scared, because you had worked so hard to get here. To this school, this major, this version of yourself, and the idea that it might just be too much, that you might have finally reached the ceiling of what sheer stubbornness could carry you through, was not something you were remotely prepared to sit with. So you cried about it for approximately four minutes, decided that was enough, wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, and got back to studying.

You were fine. Completely fine. But before you got back to the actual work, your phone buzzed on the desk.

jane: how'd the practice problems go!!!

You looked at the text. You looked at the circled 68%. You looked back at the text.

you: fine, i think i'm getting it.

A lie. A bold, blatant, completely unhinged lie that you almost believed yourself.

Almost.

Because here was the thing about studying for six hours straight. At a certain point, your brain stopped absorbing information and started simply performing the idea of learning. You'd watched four YouTube videos, reread the same chapter three times, filled half a notebook with formulas you couldn't quite explain but could write very confidently, and somewhere around hour five you had tipped over into a kind of delirious, caffeinated peace. A false summit. You thought you understood quantum field theory. You thought you were fine.

You were not fine. You were actually the furthest thing from fine. Not only did you not fully understand the content, you were actively losing sleep and energy for tomorrow’s lecture.

jane: ok but just in case. i found this tutoring site and there's literally a guy on here who looks like he was sculpted by god himself. like. y/n. Y/N.

jane: [link]

you: dude i do not need a fucking male pornstar as my physics tutor jane

jane: more for me!

you: goodnight.

You let the notification sit there unread, closed your textbook with the quiet, dignified composure of someone who had everything completely under control, and went to bed.

The next day, your professor handed back the graded exams with the kind of casual indifference that only someone who had never emotionally suffered could manage. You watched the paper slide onto your desk face-down and felt your stomach do something unpleasant. You were absolutely petrified. If you had gotten a 68% doing a practice test with that much effort last night, what could your score possibly be if you had given up halfway through the exam when you were actually testing?

You flipped the paper over anyway.

A 71%.

A C.

A literal, whopping, C.

You sat with that for a moment. Counted to five. Stared at the red ink like it might rearrange itself into something more acceptable if you gave it enough time. It didn't. You looked through every single page, every single sentence, every single mark, staring, reading, looking back at the professor every now and then like you were trying to shoot bullets through their head. You could already feel your guts twisting at the mere idea of your GPA shooting down after this term if you didn’t pick up the score. You grabbed your phone, decisively but impulsively opened your messages with Jane, and finally tapped the link she had sent you the night before.

Fine.

A tutor it was.

You walked out of that lecture hall with the energy of someone who had just received genuinely life-altering news, which, to be fair, you had. You were a smart girl. A smart, high achieving girl! It was absolutely ridiculous and unfathomable that you had ever gotten a C on any sort of exam, whether it was stupid marketing or PhD level physics! A C?! A C. You had gotten a C on an exam at one of the most prestigious universities in the world and you had to just walk around with that information in your body like a normal person. Like it wasn't actively rotting you from the inside out.

You found a bench outside, dropped onto it unceremoniously, and opened the link Jane had sent.

TokyoTech Peer Tutoring — Find Your Match.

The site was clean enough. Filter by subject, by availability, by rating. You tapped Physics without letting yourself think too hard about it, because if you thought too hard about it you were going to talk yourself out of it again and end up back at your desk at 2am crying into an energy can, and you simply could not do that twice. It was embarrassing enough crying alone in your room every night over physics, it was worse that there was a possibility that would happen tonight again.

A handful of profiles loaded.

You scrolled past the first one. Then the second. They were fine—perfectly capable looking, good ratings, available on weekdays. Normal. Exactly what you had described to Jane: nerdy, harmless, nonthreatening to your ego in every way.

And then you stopped scrolling.

Gojo Satoru. Physics & Mathematics. ★ 5.0 (47 reviews).

You stared at the profile picture for a second longer than was strictly necessary. Jane had not been exaggerating, which was annoying, because Jane always exaggerated and you had built your entire rejection of this plan on the assumption that she had been exaggerating. He was– okay. Fine. Objectively, empirically, he was unfairly good looking. White hair, sharp jaw, the kind of easy, unbothered smile that belonged on someone who had never once stressed about an exam in his life. Round glasses that should have looked awkward and somehow didn't.

You scrolled down to his reviews.

"Explained three weeks of content in one session, actually insane."

"I went from failing to a 91 on my final. I don't know how he does it but he does it."

"Weirdly funny for a physics tutor. Came for the grade, stayed for the bit."

You chewed the inside of your cheek.

This was fine. This was a completely normal, practical, academically motivated decision. You were not choosing him because Jane had sent you his profile with five separate Y/N's in caps lock. You were choosing him because he had a perfect rating and forty-seven reviews and you desperately, humiliatingly needed help. Not because his smile was deathly charming.

You clicked Request a Session before you could change your mind.

You typed the message out three times before you sent it.

you: Hello, my name is Y/N. I found your profile on the TokyoTech tutoring site. I'm currently enrolled in PHYS 341 (Quantum Mechanics & Field Theory) and I'm looking for consistent tutoring sessions. Are you available, and if so, what does your schedule look like?

You reread it once. Professional. Concise. Completely normal and not at all the message of someone who had cried at their desk four days ago over a practice test score. But for some reason your cheeks were burning and your throat was tightening. You have never, and I mean, never asked for help before. This was weird. This was unreal. You hated your brain for not having the intelligence of Einstein right about now.

You hit send.

His response came maybe four minutes later. Not that you were counting. (You were).

gojo: Oh yeah, PHYS 341. Good class. I can do that

gojo: My availability is pretty open—Tuesdays and Thursdays after 4, Saturdays before noon if you need extra time. Library study rooms are easiest for me, third floor

gojo: How often are you thinking

You stared at the texts for a second. No punctuation. Completely unbothered. The academic equivalent of someone showing up to a job interview in a t-shirt and still getting hired on the spot. But you liked it. It was easy, simple, and made you feel a little bit less nervous.

you: Twice a week would be ideal. Tuesdays and Thursdays work for me. How’s 4:30?

gojo: Sure. See you Tuesday, Y/N

And that was it. No "looking forward to it," no formalities, no nothing. Just sure and your name typed out like he'd already filed you somewhere in his brain under handled.

You locked your phone and stared at the wall for a second.

This was going to be interesting. No, this was going to be fucking horrendous.

Tuesday arrived faster than you would have liked.

You had exactly one hour before you had to be on the third floor of the library and you were spending it doing what any reasonable, well-adjusted person would do—standing in the middle of your dorm room holding a highlighter you hadn't put down in ten minutes, staring at nothing.

You were overthinking. You knew you were overthinking. Knowing did not stop you from overthinking.

What if he's an asshole?

Some people were like that. Brilliant and completely insufferable about it, the type to sigh at your questions like the mere act of not knowing something was a personal offense. You'd met the type before. You had survived the type before. But this was different. Technically, you were vulnerable. You were in the mercy of their hands. If someone had treated you like some sort of idiot liability, you’d simply crumble and remove yourself from existence.

What if he thinks I'm stupid?

You set the highlighter down. Picked it back up.

I mean. You weren't stupid. That was a fact. You had graduated top of your class, you had gotten into TokyoTech, you had maintained a GPA that most people would have wept over and called it a victory. You were not stupid. You were simply—temporarily—struggling with one very specific, very evil subset of theoretical physics that had been designed, you were now convinced, specifically to humble people like you.

But if you were so smart, you wouldn't have barely passed that exam.

You put the highlighter down again.

Okay but that's different. That's one exam. That doesn't define—

A 71, Y/N.

A literal C.

You picked the highlighter back up.

Okay. Fine. So maybe you needed a little help. That didn't mean anything. Plenty of smart people asked for help. Asking for help was actually the intelligent thing to do, which meant that by getting a tutor you were, in fact, proving how smart you were. Just not to your professor and to a tall, white haired nerd that you knew nothing about. That was just logic.

You nodded to yourself in the mirror. Okay. You were smart. You were capable. And if Gojo Satoru showed up and had even a single ounce of condescension in his body, you would collect your things, your dignity, and your highlighters and leave without a second thought because you did not need–

You thought about the 2am crying. The energy can sweating onto your notes. The red ink on that exam paper that had just sat there, unbothered, while your GPA quietly threatened to deteriorate.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

Okay. Fine. You'd give him a chance.

You stuffed your textbook into your bag, grabbed three different colored highlighters because you simply were not capable of going anywhere with just one, and headed for the door.

You were smart. You were prepared. You were absolutely not nervous.

You were a little nervous.

The third floor of the library was quiet in that specific, sacred way that academic spaces got on weekday afternoons. The sun was starting to dip outside the tall windows, bleeding warm amber and gold across the floors in long, lazy streaks beneath the green of the trees. The lamps on each table were already on, casting everything in that soft, honey-toned light that made even textbooks look romantic. It smelled like old paper and something faintly woody, the kind of smell that had no business being as comforting as it was. A few students were scattered across the room, heads down, unbothered. The occasional turn of a page. The distant tap of a keyboard.

You found him immediately, sitting alone at a desk as he adjusted a textbook.

Which was—okay. That was not what you had prepared for.

He was already set up at one of the larger tables near the window, textbook open, a neat stack of papers beside it, pen in hand like he'd been there long enough to already be doing something productive. His white hair caught the light in a way that felt almost deliberate, slightly messy in that aggravating way that took either zero effort or enormous effort and you genuinely could not tell which. The glasses were there—just like the profile picture — except somehow worse in person, sitting low on his nose while he looked down at whatever he was writing.

And the shirt.

The shirt was a Digimon shirt. A Digimon shirt. Worn soft at the edges, short sleeved, and fitting him in a way that should have been completely at odds with the textbook and the problem sets and the studious little setup he had going. The fabric pulled just enough across his biceps that it felt almost inconsiderate. His arms were delicately pale, the kind of pale that looked almost luminous under warm lamplight, and he had the sort of forearms that had absolutely no business being visible in a library setting, the thick, lean muscle rippling as he held a thick textbook with ease. Veins ran along his biceps beneath his skin in faint, lazy lines that disappeared beneath his rolled up sleeve, and he had one hand wrapped loosely around his pen and the whole thing was just—it was a lot. For a Tuesday. For a physics tutoring session. For a Digimon shirt.

You had maybe two seconds to process all of this before he looked up.

Direct eye contact. Immediate, unhesitating, like he'd felt you walk in before he'd seen you.

For a moment he just looked at you. Nothing strange about it, nothing overdone, just a fraction of a second where something shifted behind those glasses and he sat up a little straighter without seeming to realize he'd done it.

You crossed the room anyway because you were a functioning adult and you had a GPA to save.

"Hi," you said, stopping at the edge of the table. "I'm Y/N."

Something moved across his face; a quick, almost imperceptible recalibration, like two things he hadn't expected to be related had just suddenly connected. His eyes flicked to your bag, your textbook poking out of the top, and then back up to you.

"Oh," he said. And then, like he was catching up with himself in real time, "You're Y/N."

"...Yes."

"Right." He straightened up properly now, blinking once, and then this smile broke across his face. Easy and a little crooked and entirely too natural for someone who had just been visibly caught off guard. He extended a hand across the table. "Gojo. Satoru Gojo. Sorry, I just–you didn't have a picture. On the profile."

"Oh, yeah. I'm aware."

"Right. Yeah. Obviously." He laughed quietly at himself, just once, and gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit down, sit down. I've got the problem sets ready."

You sat. You placed your textbook on the table with the careful, composed energy of someone who was absolutely not internally screaming.

He was already uncapping his pen, pulling a sheet toward you, back to business like that little moment hadn't just happened. Like he hadn't just been cute about it, accidentally, without even trying.

What the fuck, you thought very privately.

Fifteen minutes in, you had decided that Gojo Satoru was, at the very least, not an asshole.

He'd started simple. Handed you a short diagnostic test, told you to just do what you could, no pressure, which you had taken as a personal challenge and attacked with the full force of someone who had something to prove. You finished in eleven minutes. You even let yourself revise over your work entirely, your eyes rapidly skimming over every single detail and answer. You handed it back. He looked it over with the kind of quiet, unhurried focus that made you feel like you were being read rather than graded, pen tracing absently down the page. Despite the lack of tension and judgment he was offering, you couldn’t be more horrified of what he was about to possibly say or mention.

Then he set it down and looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

"Okay," he said. "79."

"That's–okay, that’s…not horrible," you shrugged.

"It's not bad," he agreed, in a tone that meant and also it's not good, which you appreciated and resented equally. He tapped the pen against a specific cluster of questions near the bottom of the page. "Your math is fine. Your foundational stuff is mostly there. It's the conceptual framework where things are falling apart." He slid the paper back toward you and pointed. "Can you tell me what a quantum state actually is? Not the formula. Just—what is it."

You opened your mouth.

You closed it.

Quantum state? It’s fundamental. Well, of course it is. Everything in physics is “fundamental”, Y/N. Think harder. Your mind drifted to the YouTube videos, the textbook definitions, the notes.

You don’t remember ever actually writing or watching anything about quantum state. What the fuck was a quantum state?

"It's..." you started. "It's the... the state. Of a quantum. System."

Gojo looked at you.

You looked back at him, your cheeks flushing all rosy, your lips pressing like you knew you just fucked up. Because you did.

"That's circular," he said, not unkindly.

"I know," you said, with great suffering.

He moved to the next one. "Okay. Wave function collapse—what's physically happening? In your own words."

Your own words. Your own words were, at this particular moment, completely failing you. You knew this. You had read about wave function collapse. You had watched a twenty minute YouTube video about wave function collapse at 1am and felt briefly enlightened about wave function collapse. And yet, sitting here under the warm lamplight with Gojo Satoru looking at you with that patient, unhurried expression, with those painfully gorgeous blue eyes–which by the way, how was that color of blue even possible–anyway, every single thing you thought you knew about wave function collapse evacuated your brain entirely.

The silence stretched approximately three seconds too long.

And then something in you just—cracked. Because you’ve never felt more humiliated in your life that you couldn’t do something, let alone in front of another student at this school.

"Okay," you said, and your voice came out slightly higher than intended. "Okay, I—I don't know. I genuinely don't know, okay? And I know that's bad, I know that's bad, I just—" you pressed your fingers to your temple— "I got a 68% on the practice test I took two nights ago and a 71% on the actual exam and I have maintained a perfect GPA since I was literally like, eight years old and I cannot believe that this is the class that's going to be my villain origin story because I always thought this would come easy to me the way everything else did,"

"Hey—"

"—and I watched four YouTube videos, I reread the chapter, I did the practice problems, and I still barely passed, which means either I am not as smart as I thought I was or quantum mechanics is genuinely broken as a field and either way I'm the one suffering, and so are you because I am so stupid—"

"Y/N—""—and I'm so, so, so, so sorry, I know you probably think I'm an idiot, you probably took one look at that diagnostic and thought oh great, another student who doesn't know anything, and honestly? Fair. Completely fair. I don't blame you. I actually don’t blame you at all if you hate me already. I don't know anything. I got a 71% on an exam at TokyoTech and I have to just live with that and apparently also tell a stranger about it—"

"Hey." His voice was calm. Not sharp, not loud, just steady enough to actually cut through. You stopped.

Looked at him.

He was leaning forward slightly, elbow on the table, and he had this expression on his face that you couldn't quite categorize. Not pity. Not judgment. Something softer than both, which also terrified you, but it held just the faintest trace of amusement at the corners of his mouth that he was very clearly trying to keep in check.

"I don't think you're an idiot," he said.

"I don't say things I don't mean." He tapped the diagnostic with one finger. "You got a 79% on that cold, no prep, first session. Your problem isn't that you're not smart. Your problem is that you've been memorizing without understanding." He tilted his head slightly. "There's a difference."

You stared at him.

He stared back, perfectly unbothered, waiting.

"...okay," you said quietly, your voice shrinking into a lenient, open-minded sort of way that told him you were shy about actually having him help you. But it was fine. He thought it was cute. He thought it was charming.

"Okay." He uncapped his pen. "So let's fix it."

And somewhere in the back of his mind, in a place he absolutely was not going to examine right now, Gojo Satoru made a small, private note that you were–when flustered—incredibly adorable.

He did not write that down on the problem set.

He refocused. Professionally.

"Wave function collapse," he said. "From the top."

Hello!!! Fellow Dunn lover and writer ☺️

Could I request Ryan x Reader where they're FWB and sneak around in each other's hotel rooms when filming jackass or CKY 🤭🫣 lots of smut and making out maybe kinks or fluff included bc it's Ryan but also filthy bc it's Ryan 😮‍💨

sneakin’ around

warnings: fem!reader, camera(wo)man reader, play fighting as foreplay, ryan being vaguely submissive occasionally, handjob (m!receiving), size kink if you squint really hard, hair pulling, kinda breeding kink (?), not proofread.

a/n: i’m workin through all my requests slowly but surely!! im in nyc rn for a journalism internship so unfortunately i have very little time to write ryan fics which is so totally bumming me out. i will make it work though!!! written specifically w/ first jackass ry in mind and lowkey inspired by the ending of haggard <3

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You sure you don’t wanna go?” Bam asks, standing in the doorway, tossing up his car keys and catching them repeatedly.

“Yeah, man, I’m sure.” Ryan responds, snubbing out his cigarette in the motel room’s ashtray.

#ryan dunn x reader #ryan dunn #jackass x reader #jackass #cky x reader #cky crew #ryan dunn smut #jackass smut #cky smut

I'm too tired for any actually involved lore today, so all you get is this sketch of the Bazz Brigade in their teenage pre-Guard years. And they definitely had Reputation lol

#zora #big bad bazz brigade #bazz #rivan #gaddison #zora may #zora lore #loz #botw #totk #it became kind of a rivan backstory kind of post lol. but he is kinda the central figure in this moment of bbbb life so #hes wearing the zora equivalent of punk fashion which is oversized chain and shell jewelry on top of his standard set #also piercings! they were a pain to upkeep and he was kinda grateful when the guard made him take them out later #bazz might not be a leader here but it is the height of his shitty rich bully phase #he would abuse the hell out of his status just for the kick of it. and to avoid any consequences (well. most consequences)#and then he was also just strong (spear training!) and with decent wit in his speech which is a rather intimidating combo #they were lucky that the Domain was going through a major period of political instability and everyone was just trying to avoid trouble #(better not bother the military leader's kid too much)#or some asses would be whooped!#curiously seggins dislike of bazz's friends didnt extend to gaddison. was he impressed with her aggresive attitude?#sympathetic to 'losing-your-whole-family' angle? we might never know he certainly wont tell #also its one of the more overt cases on my approach to how zora handle emotional stuff #tldr they're a very emotion-forward people and Feel everything extremely strongly. and processing these big Feelings takes a long time #and then they also tend to not be great at concealing whatever they have going on #edit: okay had to change the image file. the screentone texture was doing something weird it should look better now

talking mostly nsfw of ftm! dbd guys ft. danny, frank, joey, renato, jake, and leon with a top reader

mdni no pronouns mentioned for reader. in the same format i’ve done before, contains afab language and talk of dysphoria, binding, and periods in the first half plus breasts. written with both pre-entity and mid-realm settings. ooc warning for sure btw lmao and also this is kinda longgg

danny’s not exactly self-conscious; he’s used his looks to lure people in, he knows he’s hot and he knows exactly how to make you bend to his every beck and call in the bat of an eye. with danny, every touch is calculated. the way he walks, every step he takes, every swindle of his hips, there’s no mistakes—usually, anyway. you’d be the first to see the cracks in his scripts. he never expects the spark of fire that ignites when your skin touches his. he’s not used to actually feeling, or at least feeling something other than a hunger for blood and gore and the sick satisfaction (and all the attention) that follows after. you make him long for something different and he hates it. he hates that he wants to kiss you and be kissed by you. his body leans into your touch and he despises it. even through his frustrations, he shudders when your teeth graze against that one spot just beneath his ear. it disgusts him how human he feels with you, but at the same time he can’t get enough of it. he wants to feel your hands on his waist and be pulled into your embrace. he thinks only for today will he let you do what you want with him, but he never was good at keeping promises. danny lets you hold him down, he lets you bind his wrists and hold his legs open and push him over the edge again and again until he can barely move and he fucking loves it. he loves you, in the only way he can. only for you does he slowly undo the buttons to his shirt, letting the fabric slowly fall from his shoulders so you can touch him and feel him up to your heart’s content because you know he likes your warm hands on his cool skin, dancing around his nipples until they’re threaded in his hair. only for you will he wear a specially picked out pair of panties beneath a pair of jeans that’s just a little too tight, hugging his curves and perfectly shaping his ass and thighs. he didn’t even mind it that much anyway, even when he discovers just how sensitive he is and how every little touch makes him feel like he’s going to collapse because everything you do to him drives him absolutely crazy. only you get to see this side of him and live to tell the tale.

danny is kind of all over the place. his mind runs a mile a minute, so you most likely aren’t going to stick to one position. if you’re having your first time together with jed, he’ll let you take him on his back where he can act accordingly as your obedient, submissive lover. he’ll appear a little nervous, trying to be smooth; he double-checks that you have a condom, and when you ask how he’s feeling he’ll play it cool, saying how he can take it just fine, but then he’s scratching down your back the minute you slide in as he tries to hold in his moans. he bears his throat, encouraging you to kiss at him, hoping you’ll sink your teeth into him and just bruise him up the way he wants you to. though he’ll continue holding onto you like you’re a lifeline, asking you to take him gently with half-lidded doe eyes. danny, however, is a little bit different. most likely he’ll want to be in your lap at first, you’re probably on his couch after you’ve just finished a horror movie and he’s gotten all jittery with excitement. he’s on your dick, not even bothering to put a condom on because he insists the pill is enough. he takes you to the hilt immediately because he loves the little burst of pain he gets from being stretched so suddenly. you’ll either finish with him in your lap, or you’ll switch to missionary so you can push one of his legs to his chest and take him even deeper. danny mostly likes facing you just so he can easily read your face, but he does get a little kick out of you pushing him onto his stomach. bend him over a table and he will just lay there and take it, completely relinquishing control. though, that, you’ll have to earn. danny secretly likes being roughly fucked and used, but he at least wants to try to pretend like he doesn’t. he’ll ride you in the passenger seat of his car, trying to pin your hands down while praying to god you get the memo and just hold his hips down to fuck into him the way he desperately craves.

despite what might’ve been said, frank’s a hard cookie to crack in terms of volume. usually he just gives some groans or heavy, shaky breathing, but he doesn’t moan unless he’s really feeling good. really, at the start the best you’ll get is some groaning and verbal volume, just whatever dirty talk that naturally falls from his mouth in the moment. it’ll take a while for him to get to a place where he’s comfortable even being too vocal, he’s used to sneaking into bedrooms or being pulled into nearby closets or empty cars, it’ll take some time for him to get adjusted to completely private spaces where he can be as loud as he wants without a problem. even so, his moans usually only come out when he’s being submissive, which again, is somewhat of a rare feat. you won’t hear him moan until at least almost a year or two in your relationship but when you do, it’s an addicting sound. it kind of needs to be wrung out; edge him a little, get him close only by circling his clit, then when you feel like he’s earned it, you can fuck him on his stomach, slowly dragging your cock against his walls until you can feel his pussy tightening in desperation. you may not even hear it at first, but when you thrust into him he’ll give out a soft moan. keep rocking into him, switching from shallow to deep thrusts and eventually the moans will build. go too fast or stop too soon and you won’t hear them again for the rest of the night, but keep the rhythm going and frank will keep giving you rough but pretty moans until he cums, and then his mouth will hang open before giving a final groan as his pussy pulses around you in attempt to milk every drop from your orgasm. you’ll be the first person to ever hear a moan from frank morrison; they’re reserved just for you. as long as you don’t bring it up he won’t either, and if you’re lucky and he’s feeling sweet, he may even let you put him on his back more often, resulting in his moans and stuttered breathing to be heard right next to your ear without a fuss—only because he loves you.

aftercare only happens for real if you’re the one to engage it, otherwise he just kinda lays there, saying and doing nothing until he falls asleep. depending on his mood, he either needs his space or wants to just be with you. he’s not the cuddling type, but he’s not against you throwing an arm around him and leaving some space between you else he’ll get really hot and push you off. it’s not until you fall asleep that he might scoot a little closer because frank can start to feel alone very easily, and though his usual defense will be to push people away in fear of rejection, he’ll take the opportunity to help himself to your warmth and comfort (even though you’re perfectly willing to give it) without the fear you’ll literally push him away, rejecting him. if you’re both awake and insistent on holding him, he’ll try to make it seem like he’s doing it purely for you, and even though there is just a little bit of truth in that, with him needing space every now and then and not really wanting to be uncomfortably swaddled in sweat and heat, he still craves you and will take the offer to have you without actually admitting it’s what he wants. sometimes he’ll fall asleep, but most of the time sex just gets his adrenaline pumping. he’s a night owl due to his rebellious hobbies, so it’s totally in his favor. if you’re someone who likes to sleep after sex, definitely don’t expect frank to drift off with you. he’ll probably stick around ‘till you fall asleep just for your sake, but if you’re not going with him, he’s just gonna dip and go smash car windows with his friends or something. it’s honestly a little embarrassing for him because his friends can definitely tell the difference between a recently fucked frank and a frank who’s simply just bored and wants to spend time with his friends. you’d really need to work him to get him tired after sex. it’s a fun little challenge figuring out what you need to do to get him exhausted. more than anything, it’s slow sex that will calm frank’s mind. quick sex is a heart-pumper, but slow, romantic sex tires him out mentally in a different but not entirely bad way. when you spend time together in bed, he likes it when you trace his tattoos or muscles. it makes him feel validated. he’ll lay his head on your chest if he’s reaaalllyy feeling lovey-dovey. aftercare with frank would be something special because you’d be probably the first to get anything genuinely sweet and loving out of a guy like him.

his bared neck calls you forward where you lay kisses on it, occasionally sucking a bruise or two. his pussy flutters around your cock that twitches in turn and it makes frank reel. his legs urge you for more, pulling you towards him to bury you deeper until you pull away and fuck back into him. you’re not going too fast or too hard but he already feels so close. you’re in the same boat, thrusting into him and meeting his hips until he feels you try to pull out, and then he’s locking his legs around you just for the moment to encourage you to cum inside. when you do, he feels light. he can’t speak, too stunned from the pleasure to even give you an abrasive comment. his legs are wide open, his chest and torso cold from the cool air of your room and his neck is throbbing from the couple of bites you left on him just after you came. he’s never felt more vulnerable, and yet he also feels nothing at all. he can’t even look when you pull out, but his legs close in instinct to keep what’s left of you inside. he wants to throw out all the condoms, wants to keep you for himself. he never expected to become so.. such a sissy. he wants to be mad, and in a way he definitely is, he’s seething and yet he’s so hopelessly in love and exhausted. it takes a couple weeks before frank wants to do it again, and though a part of him hoped that it’d just be a phase, he’d be back to normal in no time, engaging in safe, protected sex! just as his teachers and foster parents desperately taught him, but he’s the same. you cum into him and he can’t think straight. it’s a little more than last time and he can hear a thick squelch when you give one last weak thrust into him. before his legs shut, just after a beat, he lets them fall open, his cunt gushing around nothing as your seed slowly ripples from his hole. he got himself hooked, and he can see it in your eyes, that look of earnest intrigue and love, and he decides to blame you for it—if your cock didn’t look so tempting he wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place. you have no rebuttal, so frank wins. not only do you offer him two tickets to a movie he’d been dying to see, you promise the date will end back at your place, once again in your bed, with frank’s legs open and cum dripping from his cunt. it’s not exactly the typical definition of romantic, but frank is head over heels regardless.

i like to think joey is honestly pretty chilled out. he has his insecurities and flaws, but overall he’s pretty confident in himself. he figured most of himself out at a young age which made a lot of the rocky parts of growing up as a trans guy a little easier, especially when he found legion. a group of angsty castaways that like to burn and break shit? count him in. he’s had just a little bit of experience, mostly out of hormonal urges, but he’s had enough to understand a bit of the ins and outs of himself. he doesn’t mind having sex with a light on, he doesn’t mind having his chest touched or even having his shirt off, he doesn’t care about who’s dominant and who’s submissive, he just wants sex to be fun and enjoyable. the longer he knows you, the more knowledge and power he has. he’ll figure out pretty quickly what you like and what kind of things he can do or show you to make you want him. he can be an annoyingly huge tease when he wants to be. he especially loves showing off his torso and chest—he’s not super built, but he’s worked on his physique over the years and is very satisfied with where he’s at. he loves when you run your hands down his body as he rides you. he’s not super serious during sex, but if that’s a turn off he can definitely work around it and tone down some of his underlying humor. he’s very flexible—however you want him, he’ll do it. if you wanna just admire him and touch and kiss him, he’ll let you; he likes having his hips and thighs grabbed, and loves being kissed between them. if you wanna just fuck him until he cums over and over he’ll certainly be happy to let you use him how you wish, so long as you give him a little bit of what he wants as well. though for your first time together, he likes when you’re on equal footing. both undressed or dressed, mutually touching the other and kissing, etc. he wants to touch and feel you just as much as you do him. he’s not that shy the first time around, mostly just clouded with lust and love for you. he’ll memorize your body and know how to touch you in places you weren’t even aware you were sensitive at. he’s a little sensitive too, but it’s mostly just because he’s infatuated with you and anything you do makes him shake.

joey takes dick exponentially well. even during your first time together, your dick slides in so easily it might actually have you wondering if he prepared himself beforehand. his body is so ready for you that there’s little to no tension at all. you glide past his walls with ease, and once he’s become adjusted to your size, it’s like you’re a perfect fit. joey isn’t even aware of how much his pussy wants you. he’ll tighten around you each and every time you pull back, and he won’t even shake or quiver when you thrust back in, he just pulses with need as his cunt attempts to draw your cock further into him with its tight, slick walls. there’s zero fuss with joey, no trying to push you away when he feels overstimulated or uncontrollable spasming as he accommodates to your girth, it’s just smooth sailing, like his pussy was literally molded just for your cock alone. he’s good at keeping his legs open, never locking them around your waist or digging his heels into you. they stay wide open, his legs bent, only moving when you push them further up to his chest, where his pussy will convulse in pleasure from the new angle, gushing around your cock and smearing it with a coat of white when you pull out, if he’ll let you; his walls milk your cock until you have no choice but to either just cum in him or pull out, but his cunt is more often than not so enticingly warm and snug around you, it’s easy to forget to remove yourself. your cock will twitch as it fills him, his body completely still, except for his stomach that caves every now and then as his cunt takes the heavy load, and he can feel it because the head of your cock is barely an inch or two in him. you’re not even half-way done emptying your balls inside him and joey’s hips are bucking up. he looks tired, his neck speckled with a little bit of sweat and his face lazy and legs laid open like he can’t even move, but his walls still pulse with a need to be filled. joey’s got both the pussy and the energy to keep you up for hours more. you can keep filling him up more and more and more but it’ll be a while before he calls it quits when he’s so pumped up with adrenaline or bloodlust.

renato is another meticulous one during foreplay. he sees things a little more analytically. he’s not that confident in himself at all, so you’ll be the one taking the lead for a while at the beginning. he’ll be insistent on you being the one receiving pleasure, but once you ease him into being the center of attention, he calms down and is able to lay back and enjoy what you give him. you just enjoying yourself is the one thing he wants, so it’s easy to fluster him by telling him that watching him makes you happy. renato really likes slower foreplay, starting with over-the-clothes stuff before leading into more. he prefers gentle, sensual sex, but he’s got a bit of a guilty pleasure for heavy petting and things like that. it makes his face get hot when you cup his pecs or squeeze at his hips and thighs, then slide your hand down the front of his pants and just softly rub at his clit. even the slightest stimulation makes him grab your wrist in surprise. he will very quickly start bucking his hips when you get even just one finger in him, though. renato’s bad about keeping his legs open, always shutting them by instinct, so you’ll have to hold his legs apart if you want to properly finger him. it takes a little more time to prepare renato than you might imagine, which isn’t a problem for you since fingering him open is a sight to behold with the way his back arches off the bed and his legs shake to close when you start thumbing his clit in rhythm with your fingers, but renato is also a bit greedy to cum. he won’t be able to help himself to riding your fingers until he cums around them, and with too much stimulation inside him he might not be able to rack up the energy for the actual sex. still, he really enjoys jerking you off. he’s very mesmerized at the sight of your cock in his hand, and it makes him feel both embarrassed and proud to know he can make you cum with just that. even if he’s cum already, he’ll still pump your cock with bold strokes, and depending on his mood he might not be able to stop himself from sucking on the head, putting just enough of your dick in his mouth to catch all your cum, and like the good boy he is, he swallows it all (even though he hates the taste).

after sex, unfortunately renato can be very receptive to post-sex depression. they’re never too alarming, just randomly he’ll get kind of sad and need extra attention and gentle care. when he’s in those states, he doesn’t want you to leave at all, even if it’s into another room, so to play it safe it’s best to keep something beforehand to clean him up. wrap him in a blanket and hold him close, get a book out and read to him, or maybe even start a conversation about kites (deadass, don’t underestimate his fixation on them) and he’ll lighten up. start a puzzle together and it’ll be the only thing he thinks about until it’s finished. though since he’s pretty tired after sex, don’t get him too excited about kite-fighting or puzzles else he’ll just get sad he can’t do it due to his exhaustion. when he’s not feeling depressed (which a lot of the time makes him not want to do anything remotely sexual at all, so your clothes are back on and the only skin that’s touching is your hands or your faces) he likes to fall asleep with your dick still inside of him. he really likes cock warming, so the feeling of your cock softening inside of him as you drift off to sleep with him in your arms makes him feel really blissful and satisfied, especially after soft sex. no matter how he feels afterwards, renato really needs some praise and affirmations that he did good and that you love him. logically he knows you still love him, and that you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t, but he still has those self-doubts that plague his mind on the daily. you’re his favorite person in the entire world, so he’s going to need some reminders that the feeling is mutual. he likes it when you give him extra attention, running a bath for him and helping wash him, always being kind to his body and delicately brushing his hair and running your fingers through it. you always give him kisses, on his cheek or shoulders or hands. it flusters him but he loves it. he’s a bit awkward with giving the attention back, but he’s also a little desperate to make sure you get even half the treatment you give him, he’s just sweet like that.

one of leon’s favorite forms of foreplay is sitting on your face. he’s got a really sensitive pussy, so having you hold him in place to eat him out has him shaking real fast. he could wrangle you onto your stomach with your hands clasped behind your back in an instant if he wanted to but he loves rolling his hips into your face and feeling your tongue dive deeper into his cunt. it gets him teary-eyed very easily too, though he’s very good at covering it up. sometimes you have ‘play-fights’, where you challenge him to a wrestling match, just for fun. he always wins, and you know he will anyway, but it doesn’t fail to get him hot and bothered, especially when he can’t ignore the way your eyes are burning into his form, taking in the sight of him in your lap or pushing you against the wall. he can’t help but just kiss you, giving into your touch and letting you have your way with him as compensation for knocking you on your ass. though some days he likes to take a more forward approach, simply seducing you (which is very easy) but then having to resist just hopping on your dick so he can focus on you as he pumps your cock with a warm hand until you’re so hard you have to pull him into your lap and pound him. though he does really love slow, sensual foreplay that’s drawn out just as long as he can take it, where you’re groping and fondling each other in bed, kissing until you’re completely breathless and then ending the night with passionate sex. he’s a hopeless romantic at heart, but he’s not opposed to ravenous fucking every once in a while. his pussy gets super puffy and swollen very easily, it’s very sensitive, so prolonged foreplay with direct touch to his clit can put him out of commission pretty fast, even for a guy with such stamina and physique. in the fog you don’t have the luxury to tend to each other for hours, but he’s very happy to blow you before a trial, and will not be opposed to you returning the favor once you’re both back.

#dbd x male reader #top male reader #danny johnson x male reader #frank morrison x male reader #joey cadogan x male reader #finally has a last name omg #renato lyra x male reader #jake park x male reader #leon kennedy x male reader #afab character #ftm character #my writngs #i had this as a draft for literally ever btw i just now finished it #also im sorry im so bad at formatting LMAO

HI OH MY GOD

i was literally on insta and this hit me

percy x reader where they're on the battlefield and they got separated. once percy notices that reader is missing he starts kinda going violent af and then starts yelling for reader out of panic and stuff. this is very vague and i would LOVE to see what you do with this!

thank you so much in advance if you do this!!

touch her and die

pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

genre: angst

synopsis: As a demigod, you and your boyfriend were used to constantly battling monsters in an effort to stay alive. Though, that doesn’t mean its always easy when said monsters decide to work together and attack all at once when they finally regenerate. You may be able to hold your own, but that doesn’t stop Percy Jackson from needing to protect you at every moment. His fatal flaw is undying loyalty, after all.

warnings: fighting, panicking, violent!percy, “touch her and you die,” happy ending!

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: song lyrics in fic is give by sleep token

ྀིpercy jackson masterlist

#laurs⁴⁴⁴ fics #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy hoo #percy x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #heros of olympus #pjo #hoo #toa #pjoverse #riordanverse #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n

Do you think you’ll add in an option to have glasses? 👀

I’m asking because I wanted to do a scenario ask on how the RO’s would react to walking into an MC removing their glasses, maybe to clean them or to tape them back together (for the more clumsy people like me 🗿) and it’d be their first time seeing the MC without glasses. Maybe the MC would mutter something about needing to get contacts?

Ya know, I had a section for glasses in the early stages of writing, and then I convinced myself it wouldn't be necessary because I probably would never refer to them again. BUT I have thought about it some more; there can be a lot of small, intimate moments for people with glasses, so, to answer your question: yes, there will be an option to have glasses 🤭

Now, for RO reactions to bespectacled MCs:

Anjali: Pauses mid-step. Her eyes trace your face with open appraisal--not shy about looking. "Hm." That's it. That's all you get. But she's looking a little longer than necessary. When you mutter about contacts, she waves a hand dismissively. "Don't. The glasses suit you. Very chic."

Dmitry: His train of thought visibly derails. "Oh--I didn't realize--" He catches himself, clears his throat. "You have really nice eyes. I mean. Not that I couldn't see them before, I just--" He's spiraling. When you mention contacts, he shakes his head. "You don't need to change anything." Said incredibly earnest.