The Never-Ending You (Yandere!Doctor x reader)

What Couldn't be Helped

"I still don't understand why I feel this way...or why I feel sick," you admitted to the man in front of you. "Do you have any idea what the illness is?"

"Not yet, Ms. (y/l/n)," your doctor smiled gently to you. You had started feeling terribly sick as of late, and Doctor Romero had been highly recommended to you by almost everyone you asked.

It was a small town, so good doctors were few and far between. The man standing across from you was certainly odd looking, with short, wavy white hair and circular glasses. He didn't look old, but you also couldn't seem to guess his age. You also noticed his numerous little scars littered around the skin you were able to see, although you obviously didn't comment on them. His voice was gentle, which you greatly appreciated.

"But I am ready to work with you for as long as it takes to get to the bottom of your illness," he finished.

"Thank you..." you trailed off shyly. You felt embarrassed, but you had to ask, "Do you... know how much this will cost me?"

"Your insurance covers it," he nodded, flipping through the papers on his clipboard.

"Oh... Oh! Wow, thank you so much," you said with instant relief.

"Of course," he smiled. "Can you tell me about your symptoms again, please?

"Sure," you shifted in your seat. "it didn't seem serious at first—throwing up isn't a huge deal—but then it became some serious back pain and migraines. It still doesn't seem so serious that I need to go to the emergency room, but I can't continue living this way."

"Any fatigue?"

You nodded, "Yeah, it's hard to function."

"Any diarrhea or constipation?"

"No," you wrinkled your nose. Ew. Thank god I don't have that symptom.

Alright, Ms. (y/l/n), I'll take a blood test and then analyze the data. Will you follow me, please?" He spoke. You nodded and followed along, and, to your surprise, he had patted you a few times on the back. Was that allowed? Somehow you felt like doctors weren't supposed to touch you unless it was necessary. You weren't sure, though, so you didn't think too much about it.

After he took your blood, you thanked him and went on your way. He asked you to schedule a follow-up appointment in a week, so you stopped at the front desk on the way out. You were glad it was so easy--you had expected that Dr. Romero would be much busier than he seemed to be. It was like he just happened to have enough time for you.

Returning home was easy enough, although you still felt sick. You needed to eat, so you prepared something simple. You didn't want to eat—it only made you feel worse. Hopefully the next time you visited, they'd know what was wrong.

The next day, you felt even worse. Your stomach felt like it was twisting in your body and your brain felt like it was throbbing so much it might burst.

It was hell.

You considered calling in and telling Dr. Romero about this development, but you were also sure he was plenty busy with other patients. You thought perhaps you might leave a message with the front desk and request that they didn't tell him until he had a minute--in fact, yeah. That sounded like a great idea. You were so smart.

-

Dr. Romero was walking out of his office when he heard it--

The kind-hearted receptionist's voice rang out clear as day, "Sure thing Ms. (y/l/n), I'll let him--"

"Hand me the phone," he said as gently as possible as he marched to the desk.

"Huh?" She turned to him quizzically. He grew immediately impatient with her confusion, so he simply sent her a smile and pulled the phone away from her hand. He was excited--was the condition getting worse? Oh (y/n), you were weaker than he thought you were. Your body was at least--it was clear that you had a strong will. It seemed like you would far prefer to handle this on your own rather than call upon him for help... he would have to do much better at seeming appealing to you.

"Hello, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?" He asked, as if he wasn't acutely aware of who you were.

"O-oh! Hello Dr. Romero, it's me, (y/n). I didn't expect to get ahold of you honestly," you laughed nervously. Dr. Romero loved the sound. "I, ah, was just going to leave you a message for when you weren't busy."

"Don't worry about that, Ms. (y/l/n). Let me just transfer you to the line in my office," he spoke softly as he put you on hold. "I will always accept calls from Ms. (y/l/n). Her condition is fairly unique. While I don't think she needs to be hospitalized, I also want to focus on her when I can. Please transfer her line to my office."

"Oh, of course," the receptionist nodded. "That makes sense."

"Thank you."

-

You didn't have much to say, but he was glad to hear it. Your voice was so lovely. He was glad you were sick, truly. He had certainly made sure you would be, afterall. Eventually, he would move past the aggravating doctor/patient relationship and move to something more...substantial. Maybe eventually he could convince you that you needed to stay in his personal care--that one on one would be best. How could he convince you to do that without going to the hospital though? Perhaps if he waved free treatment in your face again, that'd work.

He'd never felt so strongly about anyone before and he was sure no one could ever feel this way about him. Because his heart was not open to love, love was not open to him. But you... he loved you and he would do what it took to make you feel the same. Even if he lost some of you along the way, even if he had to fry your brain into submission, if he could just get your sweet voice to say I love you, he figured he could finally die at peace.  

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More to come!