#disposable lab coats

[medilivescaremanufacturing]

We are leading Disposable Surgical Gown manufacturers in India. We offer a premium range of Disposable Surgical Gowns using high-quality nonwoven fabrics. The lowest price, best quality, on-time delivery, best coordination & good service makes Medilivescare Manufacturing Company Pvt. Ltd. one of the largest Disposable Surgical Gown Manufacturers, Suppliers & Exporters in India.

The Medical Gown is also known as Hospital Disposable Gown, Medical Disposable Gown, Surgical Isolation Gown, Disposable Surgical Gown, Reinforced Surgical Gown, Reinforced Gown, Doctor Gown, Surgeon Gown, and these are made from Spunbond Nonwoven PP, SMS, SMMS, SSMMS, and with or without PE laminations. We offer OEM Service also.

[321spongebolt]

Fluttershy reaching her hand out, but now with Fluttershy in her scientist outfit, just without the safety goggles. Fluttershy wore this particular outfit during the song, “ACADECA” from “My Little Pony Equestria Girls 3: Friendship Games”.

Credit for the Fluttershy character base goes to DeviantArt user   yaya54320bases.

[hope-to-hell]

Lab friends: are there OSHA regulations regarding laundering lab coats? Cuz I feel like having to wash out lab coats at home is extremely sus

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[eupheme]

— common ground [into the fire, part iii]

part i | part ii | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, sex for favors, 1 spank, sub/dom elements, light degradation, use of chems, shotgunning chems, riding, PiV, canon-typical violence and death

a/n: the scene where he complained about doing all the work had me like 👀 (reimagining), so here we go! 💖

“S’that right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?”

His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, “Well, I’d sure like to sweetheart… but it seems to me like I’ve been doing an awful lot of work around here.”

“Findin’ this place. Cleanin’ it out. Gettin’ you clothes.” A sigh, before his voice drops, “Makin’ you come.”

“Think you oughta return the favor, don’t you?”

(Or - you take the Ghoul for a ride)

"Fuck!”

You crouch outside as another loud shotgun blast fires - the wooden door next to you peppering with bullets.

This wasn't what you had in mind.

You had thought you'd find a chem station in the next town. A pharmacy, an old hospital. Something somewhat respectable - not standing watch as the Ghoul blew his way through a long-abandoned two-story home.

The layered yelling dies off with each pull of his trigger, until everything going silent.

He finds you there a moment later, still curled in on yourself. A roll of his eyes when he sees you - still unused to the violence.

"It's clear." The Ghoul beckons, "Let's find that station."

You follow him inside, your gaze boring a hole into his back. Trying hard not to look down, nose wrinkling when you almost trip over a set of legs that sprawl across the floor.

A hand pinches at your elbow, keeping you upright.

"What?" He asks, at your expression.

"Did you have to..." You start, as he checks down the hallway.

It's empty - the doors leading to two bedrooms. The bed frames bare and rusted, the rooms already picked through.

A shrug, "They shot first."

"You goaded them."

You could hear him, even from outside. That knowing tone - some kind of warning. A rough laugh, and then the firefight had started.

"We're looking for a chem station, sweetheart." He scoffs, head cocking as he backs you up against the door he just closed, "Think they're gonna share with you like you’re on a goddamn play date?"

"They-" You blink up at him, "They might have."

He clicks his tongue, giving you a long look,"You still got a lot to learn, Vaultie."

A second, before he steps away.

"These weren't those kind of people."

You find it in the basement. A man slumped just outside the cracked-open door, the weathered lab coat stained and splattered red on the left-hand side.

Anything salvageable from above must have been brought down here. Three threadbare mattresses behind a makeshift wall. A long couch that faces a television that still runs, the picture blurry with static.

The station sits along the back wall. A beaker still bubbles over the burner, the smell acrid. Bottles litter the surface - something being made in a batch.

Your mind is already racing ahead, eyes scanning for things you'll need. Too-large gloves shoved on, disposing of the burnt mixture while you search for an empty glass.

Missing how he angles the couch to watch, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table. That ever-steady wariness waning with your focus, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sinks into the cushion.

You're too busy to notice. Sorting the different ingredients, littered across the counter.

There's an excess of toxic soot flowers, their petals papery between your fingers. Opened packages of Med-X, a spilled pile of Buffout. A jar of acid.  

Psycho. Cut with something else, something stronger. You think the Ghoul was right - maybe you had been foolish to underestimate them.

You try to shake the thought away, as you gather what you need. Antiseptic, from your own bag. Three jars of glowing fungus, found beneath the sagging counter. Ground up and tipped into a dusty beaker, the heat turned down low.

"Can you get me some water?" You call from over your shoulder, a jar held in your hand.

There's no answer. Silence, until something hard presses into your back, pinning you against the table.

It feels familiar, the way his hips nudge against yours, and it sends your mind back. An urge to arch - bend low. Mimicking the days before, where you can still feel the twinge of him with the stretch of your thighs.

"You think you're callin' the shots now, sweetheart?" His voice is low, the brim of his hat brushing your head as he leans over your shoulder.

"No," You squeak - caught off-guard, "I just-, I can't leave this until it thickens."

"Mm.” His hum is low. “Too bad. Would've liked to see you try.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, that rough drawl, even after the last couple days. A thin layer of suggestion in his tone, as he shifts closer - his chest bumping into your back.

Your mind flickering through possibilities, before his voice cuts through.

“Said you need water?”

"Yes. Please," The nod you give is small - you have to start your stirring over, losing your rhythm, "I saw a few cartons in the kitchen. If you don't mind."

"Polite little thing, when you're distracted," He husks, "I'll have to remember that."

The Ghoul makes no effort to move, though. Fingers wrapping around the glass. His other hand gripping the edge of the table, boxing you in. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest, eyes fixed firmly on your work.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”

It takes you a second to answer - he’d had never offered many questions. Responses that were no more than a couple of words, over the stretch of long hours on the road.

“Uh, my Vault. We were short on hands, my mother was a chemist.” Your words are slow - a still-painful topic, “Used to make all kinds of stuff. Medicine and… and chems, alike.”

People who left were always brought back. Dazed and half-sick from the world above, whatever they had seen. Left at your doorstep to be patched up, if they made it that long.

You always told yourself that wouldn’t be you.

That when you were gone, you’d stay that way.

“Hm.” His tone flattens, “Wouldn’t have guessed. Don’t seem the type.”

“Yeah?” You head turns, catching his shadowed ones. Leaning into the welcome diversion, “What type do I seem like, then?”

The Ghoul’s eyes narrow, an unconscious flick down to your mouth.

“Trouble.” He husks, with a shallow roll of his hips. You can’t help the short inhale that he’s certain to hear, the way your fingers tighten around your instruments.

“Though I’m still workin’ out what kind.”

It’s there that he leaves you. Flustered and silently revisiting evenings before, a familiar anticipation curling low inside you.

The steps creak behind you as he slips upstairs. Returning some time later with what you need - twirling a dented pot found in the kitchen, so you can purify it. Folding himself onto the couch when you tell him it will be a while.

A cut glass decanter salvaged as well, that he drinks directly from. A rough gasp as the bitter alcohol floods through him. Helping himself to the chems that litter the tabletop - before his feet kick up, the hat tipped low over his face.

You think he does rest - a rarity.

You examine him then - as you wait for the water to boil, and then cool, before you can use it to mix with the other components.

Taking the rare chance to do it freely.

In the Wasteland you’ve learned to stay cautious. That you can’t fall behind. That surely he would notice, if your gaze lingered on him for too long.

But here, time seems to slow for a moment. Nothing to do but wait, as your fingers drift to your neck. Pressing into the bruise, as if you could feel the indents of his teeth.

His presence feels the same.

A mark left on you. Something you can’t help but want to touch, even if it aches. A reminder that lingers, and there’s a part of you that wishes it would stay.

It has you wondering, as your eyes sweep across him. Over the long-faded clothes, hiding rough and reddened skin - every inch of him wrapped away.

If you got close enough-

Would you find that he bore a mark of his own?

You make enough for a little over two weeks. Carefully poured and sealed into a variety of small bottles and tubes you’ve scavenged, scraping out every last bit that you can.

In the less-than-stellar conditions, it didn’t turn out so bad. The vials you had seen him buy was a thin, piss-yellow that had made you cringe. Poor work to begin with, and that was even before it was cut with more water.

What you offer out to him is thick - a sheen clinging to the glass as it sloshes, when it passes from your hand to his.

Liquid gold, in comparison.

“Mm.” The Ghoul hums - eyes greedy, as he examines, holding it up to the bit of light.

Before they’re focusing on you. Flickering from head to toe - considering - before his legs spread a bit wider. A hand clapping down against a thigh.

The look you give him is blank. A squeak when his fingers hook around one of your belt loops and pulls - hauling you onto his lap.

“You think I’m just gonna take somethin’ you cooked up?” His brow lifts, hands pinching against your hips, “Not a chance, sweetie. I think we oughta try this together.”

The Ghoul’s fingers slip up then, rucking up the hem of your shirt. His tone turning knowing.

“And I don’t think you’ve got enough in you.”

Your cheeks burn at his insinuation. More than aware, your breath catching as the rough tips of his leather gloves drag across your skin.

“Bet I’ve been leakin’ out of you since last time.” The Ghoul rasps, “Wouldn’t want to waste this, would we?”

He’s solid beneath you. Your thighs splitting on either side of his waist, knees digging into old cushions. Close enough to kiss - if you weren’t so certain he’d bite.

Lost though, on how to proceed. You don’t know the rules to his game. Always keeping you at arms-length - wrists bound, caught in his grip.

Would he let you touch him?

He mistakes your hesitance, his brow pinching.

“Spent enough time starin’. Lookin’ like you wanted to take a ride.” Acid slips into his tone, teeth bared, “Change your mind, now you’ve got a front row seat?”

That knocks you out of your thoughts - embarrassed that you were caught staring at him. Annoyed by his assumption. A scoff, as your hips start to move, a slow roll. Hands coming up to rest against his shoulders, meeting his eyes.

They’re pretty, like the rest of him. Shades of light brown - looking like they’re caught the sun, even underground. Thick lashes, above the deep hollow of sunken eye sockets, the split cavern of his missing nose.

Something that had startled you, the first time you saw him. Now, you hardly even notice. And his mouth -

“I’m not scared of you.” You murmur, watching the way his lip curls in a sneer. A soft sound bitten back as you grind down, feeling how he’s stiff beneath you.

You wonder how long he’s been this way. Hard, from watching you work. Waiting.

Another exchange, though you wish you could tell him it doesn’t have to be that way. You had meant what you said, when you had made your offer - even if you mean it a little differently, now.

Maybe you still could.

“You should be,” The Ghoul growls - hands ghosting over your sides, up to the thin cotton, “If you had any goddamn sense. Letting me touch you like this-”

A hand is cupping your breast now. A hard swipe of his thumb against your stiff peak, your fingers biting down into his jacket.

Your hips jerk against his. A soft moan, when the seam of your pants catches against your clit - leaving you clenching around nothing.

“I want you to.” You confess - catching the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, “Told you, whatever you want.”

The Ghoul makes a rough sound in his throat, watching as you tug the cups down to fit beneath your breasts, putting yourself on display for him.

“Haven’t learned, have you?” He warns, his voice low, “Don’t make an offer you can’t follow through on.”

The pinch of his fingers sends an ache down to settle between your thighs, the hint of pain pairing with your pleasure.

Your own hand wandering, wanting to see more. Sliding against a leather vest, the stained shirt beneath that was once as blue as your suit. Frayed, looping embroidery on the faded collar.

Feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug at the snap at his throat. An inch, and then another, before he’s catching your hand.

Dragging it up to his shoulders, fixing you with a look, “You best keep those right here.”

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You ask, eyes flicking down to the peek of skin at his throat.

“I want these off.” He tells you instead, snapping the waistband of your pants against skin.

You have to leave him to do it. Watching the way his arms stretch across the back of the sofa, as you kick the pants off, then your underwear beneath.

Bare again, as you settle. Fitting yourself against the curve of his cock. Leather and metal kissing your skin as you move against him, until his lips are parted with a ragged breath.

You can feel your muscles clench. The slick slide of your pussy against his bulge, barely nudging at that deep-seated ache to be filled.

“Makin’ a mess, sweetheart.” He husks, his hips lifting to meet yours. Gloved hands moving to curl around your waist - pulling you down to meet him, coaxing a lazy rhythm from you.

“Rubbin’ up against me like a bitch in heat. Should make you clean that up.”

It coaxes a whine from you, as you let him move you. The sound does something to you - the layered approval in his tone, the low rasp of his voice. Not so unaffected as he seems, with how hard he is beneath you.

He must see it in your expression, a hand leaving the couch to grasp at your chin. Flexing up and into you, letting you feel the hard ridge of him.

“This what you want, sweetheart?”

Making you meet his gaze, as you answer. All dark eyes and the flash of teeth, under the brim of his hat.

“Yes.” You keen, “I need you, please-”

“S’that right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?”

His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, “Well, I’d sure like to sweetheart… but it seems to me like I’ve been doing an awful lot of work around here.”

The hand leaves your chin to drop down. Slowly loosening a belt buckle, letting it pool on the cushions. Your cheeks heating when you see the slick shine to the front of his pants, where you’ve rutted yourself against him.

“Findin’ this place. Cleanin’ it out,” His eyes are on yours - your breath short as he tugs the zipper down. “Gettin’ you clothes.”

A sigh, before his voice drops, “Makin’ you come.”

You moan at that, a soft sound caught behind your teeth - fingers pinching into his shoulders.

Waiting for him to draw his cock out - fist wrapped around the base. Flushed and thick in his palm, inches away from where you need him.

The Ghoul does grin then, a wicked thing that shows his teeth.

“Think you oughta return the favor, don’t you?”

He’s giving you an inch - seeing if you’ll try to take a mile. A firm handle, still wrapped around a fist, but loosening the reins.

Letting himself watch.

“Seems fair.” You manage, breathless.

“Then go on,” He husks, “Show me how you can take it.”

Your hand reaches down, but then he’s clicking his tongue - fingers fixing back on his shoulders.

Leaving you to lift your hips. His cock slipping against your slick core, your teeth biting into your lip as you line yourself up - the rough head catching at your entrance.

It’s different this time. Sinking down on him, feeling each inch as it splits you open - instead of suddenly filling you to the hilt.

“Fuck,” You sigh, with the stretch. It twinges deep inside you, where his hips fit against yours.

Lifting yourself only to sink back down, his arms flexing beneath his coat as he lets you ride him, your pace slowly picking up until you’re bouncing on his cock.

As much as you enjoyed last time, there was something about this. Fully able to watch the way his lips part, hear the rattling groan when you tighten around him.

See the way his eyes skate across the bruise on your neck, only to drop down to watch the sway of your tits as your fingers lace behind his neck.

“Goddamn, sweetheart.” His hand flattens against the small of your back. The other gripping your hip, tugging you towards him, “You sure know how to ride.”

Not giving you time to answer, before his head is dipping. The brim of his hat knocking back when it hits your chin - the tips of your fingers just catching it. Slipping it on your own head for safekeeping before he can protest.

It earns you a sharp nip against the curve of your breast, before his lips close around the tight peak of a nipple and sucks.

You cry out, chasing the pressure that builds in your belly. Growing even more wet with the slick swirl of his tongue and the scrape of teeth - his cock grinding against a spongy spot inside you as you arch into his mouth.

“Please,” You whine, fingers flexing and then curling. Needing more friction against your clit, where your heartbeat has dropped and settled.

Trying so hard to listen, a whine between your gritted teeth. Your tits glossy with spit when he leans back, giving you a knowing look.

“You wanna come?” He husks - his eyes dropping, as you nod, “Only if you lean back and show me, sweetheart.”

Relief sings in you, as you adjust. Thighs spreading, as you grip onto his shoulder. Leaning back until he can watch the way he spears into you. How he shines, all slicked up, with each roll of your hips.

Your other hand loses its grip in his coat to slip down, press where your bodies meet.

Fingertips circle, a low moan at the much-needed touch. Your rhythm grows sloppy until his hands hook beneath your thighs. Guiding you into a harsh rhythm, each pound of his cock winding you higher and higher as the couch creaks beneath you.

“Come on, cowpoke.” He rasps, his hand cracking down against your ass, “Is that the best you can do?”

It builds - your fingers pressing harder against the slick bud. Whimpered noises that are more sound than words, as his thighs spread, feet planting so he can drive up into you.

“I said come on.” He growls, “Wanna feel you come on my cock again.”

Like before, it feels like the control slips through your fingers. Your own touch brings you close to that edge, but it’s the pounding of his cock that makes you fall.

Your back arching, crying out as your core clenches. Pleasure bursting deep inside you, racing up your spine and down to the tips of your fingers and pointed toes.

The quick thrust slowa into a lazy grind. A low “atta girl” that he grits out, as he feels the way you come hard around him.

Eyes dropping from your face to watch the greedy press of your fingers as you draw it out - until his own hand is wrapping around your wrist.

Tugging your hand away as the pleasure still courses inside you, hips still chasing the last ripples as you ride his cock.

Bringing your fingers to his mouth. Fitting them against teeth and tongue as his lips close around, tasting the slick that clings to them.

It makes goosebumps raise on your skin. The briefest thrill of fear. Certain that if you pulled your fingers free right now, the flesh and muscle would peel from you - leaving only bones behind.

He groans loudly around them, teeth indenting your skin. Tongue swirling against your knuckles, his hips rocking up to meet yours.

Freeing you, only to grasp at your hips - urging you to move faster. A loud slap of skin until his jaw is clenching - and he’s bringing you down once more against him with a rough sound.

Coming inside you again, but this time you get to see the way his head tips back with his snarl. How his fingers bite into your skin as you feel him throb - throat bared as he spills deep inside you with each rough jerk of his hips.

A flare of something flicking to life in your belly, knowing you did this to him. The groan he made when he tasted you echoing in your mind, giving you something to keep.

You make to move when he goes still, but a hand grips at your hip - holding you in place. Keeping you full of him, as the afterglow still glitters in your veins.

His eyes are dark, fixed on you. Taking in your shadowed, half-lidded gaze - sweat-dewed and bare skinned against him. His hat, still perched on your head. Looking like it belongs there.

A hand digs around in his bag. Pulling out the inhaler for his serum. Snapping it together without his gaze leaving you.

Bringing it to his mouth after - sucking in a deep, held breath. Those eyes closing with a low, contented groan.

A broad hand slips from your hip to splay across the back of your neck, fingers digging into your throat. Pulling you down to him - just as his head tilts to press his lips against yours.

Just as you soften, he exhales - the RadAway flooding through your parted lips. A stinging, metallic taste of iodine that makes you shudder, before you realize he’s deepening the kiss.

You lean into it without thought. The ache in your gums fading with the brush of his tongue. His grip anchoring you in place as he takes, licking into your mouth while his cock still fills you.

Leaving you breathless. Letting him, as your own arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close. Meeting the messy scrape of teeth and swirl of tongue. The sharp taste fading, layered with the whisky and a hint of you that still lingers.

Before he’s pulling back far too soon, eyes dark as he pants.

“Fuck.” He rasps - his tongue tasting where yours had been, flicking across a lower lip. Before he’s looking at the inhaler - shaking it for another use.

“Looks like I might just have to keep you around.”

You make what you can with the rest of the supplies afterward - waste not, want not. An extra stimpak. Swiping the rest of the mentats, keeping the grape and berry ones for yourself. Refilling your canteen with more of the purified water.

The rest of the chems you gather - packing them in a tin. Tossing them his way, a low whistle when he sees what’s inside.

It’s late enough that the Ghoul decides it’s best to stay here, and leave at dawn. Certain that he will catch up to the bounty tomorrow, already sure of two places where he might be offloading the stolen wares.

You don’t mind. The uneasy thought of sleeping in a house with corpses quickly overshadowed by the real mattresses waiting in the basement. Stained but there’s still bedding - patched up blankets.

A fire, that he coaxes to life in the fireplace upstairs. Dinner, roasting over it.

It almost feels like something. A moment you can play pretend - that these walls will keep you safe.

That maybe you could clean it up.

That maybe he didn’t despise you, and maybe he’d want to stay.

It’s a foolish thought, a sigh as you push it from you. Digging a spoon into the rusted can of Pork ‘N Beans you had scavenged - not trusting the look of the skewer he had been tending.

A thumb running across your lower lip, as you chew. Remember how his had felt. Examining the angry marks pressed into your knuckles. 

His shadow crosses over you, then - you have to crane your neck up to see him. His hat back where it belongs, much like your own clothes.

The tilt of his head, as he considers you again. Before his hand is slipping into the bag that slings across his shoulder.

Gloved fingers curling around something - tossing it silently into your lap, before he’s disappearing upstairs to finish his sweep of the house.

It’s golden, in the light of the fireplace. Seems like he’s already done a little looting of his own. A rolled up bag, the tube and needle tucked inside.

And a bottle of the RadAway you made for him.

save a horse, ride a cowboy and all that 🤠💖 (thank you so much for reading! would love to know what you thought if you enjoyed!)

[wachinyeya]

‘Ferrari in a junkyard’: Mules sold at auction are rare, endangered horses

https://washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2024/08/09/przewalskis-horses-rescued-dna-shrek-fiona/

Hannah Huckabay regularly combs livestock auctions online for horses she can rehabilitate and train at her Colorado ranch. But when she saw a video in February of a mule for sale in Kansas, she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

The stocky animal’s short black mane shot straight up like a mohawk, and its white belly stood out against its tan coat. As it nervously paced in its corral, Huckabay said it bore a striking resemblance to Przewalski’s horse, a critically endangered species she’d learned about while studying equine science.

“I was like, ‘There is no way. That is not a mule,’” Huckabay recalled thinking. “That’s a purebred Przewalski.”

Such a find would be incredibly rare. Once extinct in the wild, around 2,500 Przewalski’s horses remained worldwide as of 2022. They’re native to Mongolia and in June, seven were reintroduced to nearby Kazakhstan as part of an effort to return them to their natural habitats. They are the only truly wild horse remaining (mustangs are feral horses).

But scientists say Huckabay’s hunch appears to be correct. Hair samples from the animal Huckabay purchased - along with a second horse recently surrendered at a Utah sanctuary - were sent to Texas A&M University’s animal genetics lab. Both appear to be Przewalski’s horses, said Rytis Juras, the genetics lab’s director who tested both samples.

The hair test looks for genetic markers associated with different horse breeds to determine an animal’s likely ancestry. Unequivocally confirming that the horses are purebred Przewalski’s and not hybrids would require advanced blood tests that are expensive and would mean sedating the equines.

The blood tests look at the number of chromosomes in a horse’s cells - 66 in a purebred Przewalski, versus 64 in a common horse or 62 in a donkey. An even more advanced version could sequence the horse’s entire genome.

But Juras and two other scientists who reviewed the findings said the hair-test results are reliable.

“If I would have gotten it from a zoo … that would be one thing,” Juras said of receiving the samples. But two random tests with Przewalski’s results were “surprising and a little bit disturbing,” he said. “This is weird.”

How the horse Huckabay found - and the second in Utah - ended up in livestock auctions is a mystery, said Christopher Faulk, a professor of animal science at the University of Minnesota who has studied Przewalski’s horse genetics and also reviewed the DNA results.

“Someone had to have known what they were, they don’t just appear out of anywhere,” Faulk told The Post. “Especially to have been disposed of in that way is even weirder,” he said, since livestock that aren’t purchased at auction can end up in slaughterhouses.

“That’s like finding a Ferrari in a junkyard,” he added.

Huckabay bought the animal for $1,375 in February and, after three weeks in quarantine, the ragged and underweight animal sold as a mule arrived at her ranch outside Denver.

Seeing its features in-person left her even more convinced it was a Przewalski’s horse, she said. With a large clunky head and stiff black mane, her daughter said the horse was so ugly, he was cute, Huckabay recalled. They named him Shrek, after DreamWorks’s beloved ogre.

After almost two months of helping Shrek acclimate, Huckabay’s daughter stumbled upon a video posted on June 9 from a sanctuary in Utah.

“Did we just have a Przewalski mare surrendered?!” the caption read.

Kelsey and Gunnar Bjorklund - who own the Lazy B Equine Rescue and Sanctuary in Utah - suspected their mare was also a Przewalski. But they had no idea there was a second possible Przewalski, saved from another auction.

The Bjorklunds’ horse was brought to their facility after being purchased for $35 in January at an auction in Utah, where she was advertised as a mule.

“It takes more money to get your nails done,” Kelsey said, adding that her previous owner decided to surrender the mare after she flunked out of a professional training program.

When the horse arrived and was unloaded from the trailer, “we were just in shock,” Gunnar said. It was clear the animal wasn’t a mule or a mustang, he said.

“Anyone getting possible Przewalski vibes!?” the Bjorklunds posted. “A true wild, endangered species of equine‼️ How cool would that be!”

In response to seeing the Bjorklunds’ viral video, Huckabay’s daughter posted her own videos of Shrek two days later. One got over 11 million views.

After coming across Shrek’s video, it was easy for the Bjorklunds to settle on a name for their mystery horse - Fiona, the princess-heroine from the Shrek movies.

The rescuers were stunned that two possible Przewalski’s horses could have surfaced almost simultaneously. The Endangered Species Act allows private ownership of endangered animals, but only with a permit, and under strict stipulations. The law prohibits the possession of illegally obtained endangered animals or their transport across state lines without permits.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service declined to comment on whether officials are investigating the horses’ chain of custody.

Some livestock auctions have occasionally served as hubs for illicit trade in exotic animal species.

Because most Przewalski’s horses descend from only about a dozen surviving individuals, scientists closely manage breeding genetics for diversity. Compared to the feral mustang, Przewalski’s are more resilient, said Dolores Reed, a biologist who helps oversee a small herd of the endangered horses at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. Przewalski’s horses are built for the Mongolian steppe’s harsh climate, she said, adding, “they’re very tough,” and can be unpredictable.

There are about 100 Przewalski’s horses in U.S. zoos, Reed said.

Shrek and Fiona are adjusting to their new environments, their owners said. After keeping his distance from people and trotting in circles in his pen while stressed, Shrek has relaxed and moved to a larger field. He has bonded with two gentle mares and while he won’t accept treats from people’s hands, he loves when apples and carrots are left in his feed bucket, Huckabay said.

“He’s very piggy,” she said.

In Utah, Fiona has put on weight and made friends with a miniature mule and a quarter horse filly at the Bjorklunds’ sanctuary.

The rescuers wonder what would’ve happened if Shrek and Fiona hadn’t been saved. The endangered animals might’ve been sent to slaughter “and nobody would have known about it,” Gunnar said.

Huckabay and the Bjorklunds plan to care for the horses as long as needed, but said they’d prefer to see their rescued Przewalski’s move to a professional conservation program.

Shrek is happy on the ranch, but Huckabay said she’d rather see him with “a herd of his own.”

“That would be the best-case scenario,” she said.

[chocsra]

"I'm glad you understand me, though."

15! Dazai x fem! doctor! reader

a/n: sorry I haven't been posting! school starts on tuesday and i am not prepared to deal w these shitheads 🤧 (update, its friday and they are no new fine boys 😔😔)

to all my dazai fans 🫶🫶 also im working on a 15! chuuya x reader oneshot atm too!

also @sosograndii who wanted a dazai fic 😭 also lmk if any of you want a platonic! fem! reader x pm! dazai where its like "when I say I like all women you might actually be the exception" bc that would be hella funny

content: being teenagers, oneshot, swearing, mentions of suicide, injuries, dazai being dazai, reader is lowkey suicidal too, Mori is kinda creepy beware 😨

"Mori?"

"Yes, Dazai?"

The brunette adjusted his white cast, scribbling doodles on the supposed paperwork he was supposed to do. He currently sat across from the Port Mafia boss, Mori Ougai, who was folding Elise's clothes attentively in his leather seat. Dazai shifted and set down the chipped pencil he usually chewed on, facing him properly.

"Do you think there is anyone else in the mafia who rivals my skills?" The Demon Prodigy asks, it may seem like an arrogant or overconfident question, but the boy has been used to being a genius at such a young age; it was rather a question out of genuine curiousity.

"Besides me?" Mori 'charms' with a smile, not so charmingly earning a scowl from Dazai in return. "Yes, besides you." He grumbles begrudgingly, slumping in his seat thinking what to draw next. "No, not at all." The mafia boss states with full confidence, "You are my pupil, afterall." Dazai groans again, dropping the pencil yet again before yawning. "Not every intelligent person is of your work, Mori." He retorts with a bored face, causing the grown man to exhale loudly. "Fine. I suppose there is one person who may be up to your level."

Dazai's ears perked up, turning to Mori interested. "Who?" The man in the white lab coat adjusted his purple tie, fluttering his eyes shut mindlessly. "A girl your age, she wants to be a doctor just like her Boss." He smiles genuinely, causing Dazai to sigh in irritation.

"Yuck."

Yuck.

Is what you thought as you stare at the lanky boy who rested on your procedure chair. He was battered and bruised, previous bandages and a large cast wrapped around his left arm stained with sweat and blood; you put on a pair of gloves before grabbing a few tools to clean him up. He was a boy about your age, or so you thought, he was tall and lanky, a black suit with an oversized black overcoat messily draped upon his shoulders. He had messy brown hair thst framed his face, one eye wrapped around bandages along his face; shame, his eyes were a pretty sight.

"Where is your boss?" The brunette asks, watching you attentively as you grab his hand and begin to wipe his beaten knuckles, pushing the bandages wrapped around his hands up. "Out. I'm supposed to take over Mori's job while he's gone." You inform, scooting your chair closer in order to clean all the gashes on his hand. "Oh. So you're that girl?" You cock a brow, turning to look at him.

"That girl?"

"Mori's pupil."

You finish wiping one of his knuckles and dispose of the cloth, motioning the boy to remove his arm bandages before the cut bleeds again. "Oh. I guess." You quip, causing him to tilt his head in interest. "What's your name?" The brunette asks, complying and removing his stained arm bandage, placing it gently on the chair; you picked it up and disposed it yet again, grabbing disinfectant wipes as you wipe his knuckles once more. "[Y/N] [L/N], you?"

"Dazai Osamu, I'm fifteen." You nod politely, wrapping a new set of bandages around his hand. "Cool, me too." Dazai's eyes light up a bit at your responses, "I know." he nods, extending his other hand to repeat the same process.

"So," you pause, carefully applying the new bandages on his other hand, they were quite cold to the touch. "what happened to you?" Dazai sighs, tapping a nimble finger on the hospital chair. "I was trying to kill myself," Your eyes widen a bit at the honesty, giving a casual nod as if it were an everyday occurrence. "However, I didn't know that there were a few men who held grudges against me at the end of the river, so I had to take care of that." He answers, you gave a listening hum at his story.

"That's interesting." You reply, causing him to raise his brows a bit; looking at you as you get up and lift his messy bangs, urging him to take off his facial bandages. "Yep, I'm assuming you get a lot of cases like me?" You wipe his bleeding forehead, causing him to pinch a brown eye shut, "Not exactly; but I mean, I understand you."

Dazai tilted his head in confusion, crimson blood collecting on the abrasion on his forehead; he seemed rather amused yet surprised. "You do?" the boy asks, you nod your head in response, finishing cleaning the wound. "Elaborate, please." he requests, his brown eyes almost sparkled into yours. As if you two weren't terrifying mafia members, as if the world just for a second; stopped to understand a few dumb teenagers in weird situations.

"Who wants to live in this world anyway?" You ask rhetorically, chuckling a bit as you grab a few bandages and carefully guide them around the side of his face. The brunette for a second, was caught off guard; no one underestimated the Demon Prodigy, the greatest mistake for Dazai's enemies is that, they're Dazai's enemies, no? But, this time it was different, just one sentence and accomodating gesture, and he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Weridly enough, Dazai hummed in satisfaction and fluttered his eyes shut.

"I see." He replies, you finished wrapping the bandage around his head and take off your gloves, feeling satisfied with the mutual agreement. "[Y/N], right?" the brunette asks casually, causing you to nod your head in agreement. "Yeah."

"Would you like to elope out of the mafia with m-"

Dazai Osamu, that fucking womanizer.

[thewhumpyprintingpress]

Your New Lab Rat: A Guide for Whumpers Scientists

CW: Lab whump, dehumanization, implied captivity, torture, non-sexual nudity, and restraints

Congratulations on your new lab rat! This is a big step in any scientist's career, and in this helpful guide I'll walk you through getting your subject prepared for experimentation. I know you're excited and want to jump right into the science, but trust me, the proper prep work is essential.

First things first, you need to call your lab rat something. The following are some of the most common names, but feel free to be creative!

Subject (my personal favorite)

Specimen

Asset

An ID number

Their species

Did you pick out a name? Excellent! The next step is to strip away the rest of their dignity. I know this might seem a bit harsh, but it's the best way to ensure your subject cooperates, and you need their cooperation to get that sweet, sweet data you're after. Take away all their possessions, even their clothes. You can give them some scrubs or a hospital gown if you want, or you can just leave them nude. If they argue or cry, just ignore them. There's always an adjustment period when a subject enters a lab, it'll pass quickly.

Your next steps will vary based on the temperament of your subject. If your subject is docile, you might not need to do anything further in preparation and can jump right into experimenting. However, some subjects exhibit aggression, which is unproductive to data collection. You will have to tame them. There are a wide variety of techniques that can be used, so consider the resources at your disposal. Note that you do not want to cause irreparable harm to your subject at this stage. Here's a list of popular disciplinary techniques to consider:

Shock collar

Withholding food, sleep, etc.

Isolation/solitary confinement

Stress positions

Sedatives

And of course, give positive reinforcement when your subject completes a wanted behavior. Most subjects are eager to please once they understand that they will be rewarded for cooperation. Your subject will be behaving themself in no time!

Finally it's time to start your experiments. Stick to the scientific method, and remember results must be replicable to stand up to peer review. That means that you'll need to run the same experiment on your subject multiple times, and preferably have other subjects to compare them to.

A note on safety: even the best trained subject can act out if in pain. I always recommend the use of restraints during experimentation for your own safety. Additionally, always make sure you are wearing the proper PPE. Gloves, safety goggles, lab coat, hazmat suit, etc. Make sure you protect yourself!

Science is hard work, but by preparing your subject beforehand it will be that much easier. Whatever your research goals, I wish you and your subject good luck!

If you decide to write your own lab rat whumpee, consider submitting to The Whumpboratory, our lab whump-themed anthology! Submissions are open until July 31, 2024. More info here!

[bees-making-art]

Beat of the Heart, Chapter One: Electric Feel

This is the start of my silly little LoganxGN!Mutant!Reader story! It will loosely follow the plot of the first x-men movie. Basically just switch out Jean for reader as the center of Logan's romantic affection. Reader has a described power but other than that no physical description. Reader is also a medic/scientist like Jean and Hank. This is also cross posted on A03 if you want to read it there!

“So, do you know what happened to the new arrivals?” you ask Jean, who walks beside you to the in-school infirmary and research bay.

“Not much. I haven't had the time to talk to Scott or Ororo yet. All I know is that one is a teenage girl named Rouge and the one, we will see now, is a man.”

As you reach the door, you give a little hum to show her you're listening. You press your hand to the sensor. The device takes a minute to scan your palm before flashing green and opening the doors. 

Beyond the door is a sort of ‘mud room’ that holds lab coats, gloves, masks, goggles, and other lab safety clothing. You and Jean both grab your respective lab coats (which have your name embroidered on the inside) and a pair of disposable gloves. Once the equipment is on, Jean compels the glass doors open with her mind, and the two of you walk in. 

Immediately, you see the man Jean was speaking of lying on one of the many infirmary gurneys. Completely ignoring him for a moment, you gather a clipboard with pencil and paper to take notes and fill out the general form you have for everyone in the school. Only when you are beside the gurney with your note-taking supplies on the metal table do you really take in his features. 

The first thing you notice is that this man is handsome, but you bury that thought in favor of taking actual notes. The man has dark brown hair that is tousled but seems to have been styled into two little animal-ear-like points. His skin is a light tan, which is clearly due to working in the sun. The man's eyebrows are naturally shaped into a furrow, giving even his resting face the appearance of scowling. And on each side of his lower jaw are mutton chops that truly only a man as handsome as him could pull off.

His chest, arm, and stomach muscles are well-defined. You guess this is from the same work that gifted the man his lovely tan. Said places are also covered in a smattering of dark brown hair. It curls out from the center of his chest to the edge, down the valleys of his stomach, and disappears under his pants and over his forearms.

During your inspection, Jean puts little circular, sticky sensors on the man's chest in preparation for the examination machine. Once the sensors are in their correct places, she takes his blood pressure before grabbing the pen on the table to scribble down his results. 

You try your best to stay focused on the task at hand and not be distracted by this stranger's attractive visage but it's difficult not to when you have to focus on looking at him. Jean takes notice of your ogling and can't help herself but to smirk, giving your bicep a little nudge. You turn to face her, immediately annoyed at the expression you find on her face. 

“Looks like someone is enjoying their research,” she teases in a quiet tone. She uses her powers to hand herself a syringe from the metal table next to the bed, inspecting it to ensure it wasn’t tampered with or damaged. 

You roll your eyes at her comment, write down your observations, and fill out the parts of the form you can. The clipboard is set to the side as you grab one of the man's arms, lifting his hand up to inspect it and the pocket of his elbow for any scars or markings. You don't give her the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you simply elect to ignore her comment. 

Jean notices this and giggles as she grabs the man's other arm, lining up the syringe with the crook of his elbow. You place the hand you were holding back onto the bed. With clipboard back in hand, you write that he only has a few faint scars across and in between his knuckles, evidence of fighting but none of injection drug use. 

The two of you make eye contact, and after a shared nod, Jean begins to slowly press the needle into his skin and pierce the vein.

What happens next occurs in mere seconds. First, the man's eyes shoot open and flicker between you and Jean. Then he's standing up, pulling his arm away from the shot, the other hand curling around Jean's neck. He’s now standing behind her with his syringe-free arm wrapped around the other to secure it.

The man's eyes dart across the room before landing on you. You mentally note to write down later that his eyes are a deep brown with a speck of Hazel. But nonetheless, you raise your hands to your head to show you have no intent to harm the man.

“Hey! We’re not trying to harm you! I promise we were simply checking you and possibly treating you for injuries that you might have sustained from the crash and fight. We mean you know harm,” you try your best to convince the feral-looking man. 

His eyes flick around your face and then the room once more. A noise that sounds more like an animalistic growl than what a human makes leaves his mouth as he lets go of Jean with a shove and rushes out of the room. 

Jean coughs and catches her breath, her hands gently holding her own throat as you lower your hands back to your sides. You let out a sigh as you pick up the tossed syringe, placing it next to your clipboard on the table. You walk to Jean and put a comforting hand on her back.

“Well, he’s going to be a fun one,” you grumble, only half sarcastic. Jean’s laugh in response makes a smile cross your face. You pat her back before returning your hand to your side. She stands up straight and smiles at you in return, a quiet ‘thank you’ whispered into the back of your mind. You nod then look to the door where the man had left.

You shake your head and peel off the plastic gloves sticking to your hands, tossing them to the trashcan nearby. The lab coat slips off your shoulders as you place it onto the gurney nearby. Jean follows suit as you walk towards the glass door, beridding herself of her lab clothing and taking long strides to catch up with you.

“At least he has a pretty face to look at,” you hum, a laugh bubbling in the back of your throat. A giggle shoots out of Jean, tossing her head back in the laughter.

“I knew you were checking him out!” Jean teases, making your cheeks redden. 

You wave her off as the two of you exit out the second pair of doors, facing the long hallway to the stairs and elevators that lead upstairs. The two of you decide to split up. Jean checks out the rest of the basement while you head upstairs to look through the rest of the mansion. 

As soon as you reach the floor level of the estate, a familiar, comforting voice enters your mind. ‘The new mutant is in my office. Please meet us there for proper introductions,' Charles speaks. You assume that he sends the same message to the rest of the X-men. 

Luckily for you Xaviors office is only a few minutes walk from where you are currently. You waste no time in walking up the stairs past the many students and down the hall till you reach the ornate door at the front of the professor's office, a little golden plaque displaying his name about a foot and a half above where the handle is. 

You turn the handle and slowly push the door open, taking care not to accidentally hit the new mutant if he was standing right in front of it. Once you see that he is not there, you open the door all the way, leaning left against the door frame. You cross your arms in front of your chest. A smirk spreads across your face as you notice the jacket the man has seemingly ‘borrowed’ from the changing room in the basement. 

It's a blue-tinted medium gray zip-up jacket. And even though he's turned away from you, you know that there is a blue X-men patch on the left side. The hoodie seems not fully zipped as the fabric is not fully covering his shoulders and slipping down his back, perfectly showing just enough skin to tease your imagination. And god, does it look amazing on him like that.

Charles gestures to you with his left hand, a permanent soft smile on his lips. The man turns to face you. And it reveals just what you were expecting; the zipper is only up to about his sternum. Zipped up just enough to not show off everything but still down enough that you can see his clavicle and his chest that's painted with dark brown hair. It makes you want to slide your hands into the jacket to feel what you cannot see.

But hearing your code name coming from Xaviors mouth pulls you out of your thoughts. You push them far back as you give the man standing before you a little wave, meeting his eyes for the first time since entering the room. The deep, woodsy color is something you are slowly becoming acquainted with. A similar smirk to yours is plastered on his face as his eyes sweep over your form. If you didn't know better, you would say he was checking you out. 

You put your hand out in front of you, presenting it to Logan for a handshake. 

“Or you could just call me by my real name, Y/N. It's nice to meet you again.” This gains you a chuckle from the man and a playful eye roll from Charles. The jacket-donned man clasps his slightly bigger hand to yours and gives a half-hearted shake. 

“Names Logan, some call me Wolverine, but I'm willin’ to guess you already knew that, sweetheart,” the tone in which he says the pet name sends a shiver up your spine. And his damned smirk paired with it isn't helping your goal to not get flustered. 

So, why not return the favor? At least in some way. Using a bit of energy you always had stored away just in case, you give Logan a little shock. It’s nothing more than one of those prank hand buzzers. But it does get you the desired result, a wince paired with a hiss as he pulls his hand away from yours. 

Logan looks down at his hand to find not even a wound to be healed. His gaze turns back up to connect with yours as your smirk turns into a grin. You hold up the hand you just used to shock him, making the ‘devil horns’ with your thumb out. In between the two digits, a small, faintly purple-colored electrical current forms between them.

Logan's eyes drift to it as his hand returns to his side, then back to yours. He rolls his eyes at your unbidden glee. He tries to give off the impression he is not impressed, but you can see the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. 

“I can control electrical currents, manipulate them to make machines do what I want. I can take their energy, store it in my body, and send it back out just like that.” You return the energy you were using back into your body, veins in your hand and arm glowing for no more than a second. Your arms are back to being crossed, along with your shoulder being pressed against the door. 

Logan's mouth opens as if he is about to say something, but he shuts it as Scott and Ororo appear in the doorway behind you. They are closely followed by Jean. Who, unbeknownst to you, slips her hand into Scotts.

You move further into the room so that the other three don’t have to stand in the doorway behind you. Ororo is the first to introduce herself with a little wave and her usual kind smile. They each tell Logan their names, code names, and their powers. Jean is the only one able to show it as she lifts a pencil off Charles's desk. 

Throughout the entire exchange, Logan keeps an unimpressed look on his face. But it's a little more genuine than with you. You can’t help but giggle a little, covering your mouth with your hand to pass it off as a cough. The two of you meet eyes again, and Logan's lips twitch into a smile at your actions. 

Charles notices the two of you no longer paying attention to the others and claps his hands together. All the heads in the room snap to face him as he wheels around to be in front of his finely carved wooden desk. 

“Y/N, since the two of you appear to be getting along, please show Logan where his room is and give him a tour of the school.” It sounds like a gentle request, but you can tell from the look on Xavior's face that he is a bit miffed at your behavior. 

A blush blooms across your cheeks as you nod.

“Will do, professor,” you respond not a moment later. Your tone is much like that of a student who was just scolded by a teacher, and in some ways, your relationship with Charles was like that.

You turn to face the door to walk out. As you turn your head, you catch Jean's teasing smirk. You roll your eyes at her antics. You nod your head towards the door and only start moving when Logan follows. You only glance at him briefly as you quickly turn to exit. Storm bumps your shoulder almost imperceptibly and winks at you. You narrow your eyes in return to her gesture, waiting for Logan outside the hall. 

Once he stands beside you in the hall and the door is closed, you huff and drop your shoulders from where they had been practically pressed to your ears. You feel almost like Logan is looking at you, but you don't bother checking. Taking a step forward, you begin your tour of the institute. 

The air around you is filled with awkward tension. And part of you is tempted to let it stay that way lest you become distracted by Logan again. And his stupidly good-looking stolen jacket. However, despite your valiant effort, your eyes flit to Logan's face. 

From his side profile, you can see his defined jawline through the facial hair and subtle frown lines that stretch from the edges of his nose to the outer corner of his lips. 

Catching yourself, you return your gaze onward. You find yourselves at the top of the staircase before the entrance. You perk up a bit at the opening of conversation.

“This is the entrance to the school; you can access most of the inside areas from here. The kitchen is through there, the student dormitories are down that hallway, and the teachers are opposite. Classrooms are upstairs, as are the rest of the dormitories. Downstairs is where the infirmary, laboratory, and battle practice rooms are,” you explain as you walk down the stairs, pointing to each of the doorways and stairs to tell him what they are. 

“We were holding you in the infirmary early if you couldn’t tell, but we also occasionally use it as an extra lab. We have a library and a few common rooms on this level that connect the dorms.”

Turning to Logan, you see him nod, his particular way of showing you he was listening. You flash him a grin and head to the teacher's rooms. Walking down the hallway, you pass by a few students, to whom you give high-fives as you pass.

“I'll show you the room we’re providing you while you're with us. And I’ll tell you whose room is whose in case you ever need any of us.” Logan raises an eyebrow at this but doesn't comment. He just simply follows.

The hallway is mostly just a long series of doors. However, it is occasionally broken up by large windows with couches in front of them, bookshelves, and small tables with decorations and plants on them. As you pass by the doors, you point to each, telling Logan whose room it is and how to remember it.

“These two are Jean and Scott's rooms, though usually they are in one or the other. They’re the first room, so it makes them easy to find. This room right here is Ororo’s, and Hank’s is across from it. You haven’t met him yet ‘cause he's on a mission right now, but he’ll be pretty hard to miss when he returns. Hanks always has blue fur at the threshold, and you can usually hear music from Ororo’s.”

There's a bit more hallway that you two walk before you reach your door, and by some gracious being above, where Charles decided to put Logan. You smile upon seeing the familiar door to your room.

“This one is my room,” you say while pointing at the door. “It’s probably going to be the easiest for you to remember because it's right across from where you will be staying.”

A smirk spreads across Logan's lips, and he turns to you. “And I’m sure that was by complete accident; it's definitely just a coincidence.” He nudges your shoulder teasingly as he walks to the door of his new room.

You chuckle and roll your eyes at his insinuation. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no, I don’t have a say in how rooms are picked; that's all Xaviors doing. Trust me, if I had any say, I would be on the top floor with my window facing the backyard.”

Logan's smirk never leaves as he opens the door. The nod he sends your way gives you the impression that he doesn’t entirely believe you. He steps inside the room, looking around. You walk in behind Logan but stay near the door. 

“All the rooms have separate bathrooms, so don't worry about sharing. Right now, all we have is basic clothes for you, but feel free to get yourself some new ones. The closet's that door right there if you do,” you point to each door after explaining their respective purpose.

The room is in its basic cookie-cutter style, which all of them start with: plain off-white walls with wood paneling and crown molding. A window facing the outside has a plain queen-sized bed right under it. All of the cloth in the room is the same cream color. It gives the feeling of a hotel.

Logan turns to face you after sitting on the bed's edge. Arms propping him up from behind and legs mildly spread.

“What? Don't want me wearing your fancy X-men clothing?” Is his only response to anything you said. You smile and roll your eyes at him, one of your hands resting on your hips.

  “No, I just got the impression that you wouldn’t want to wear Scott's hoodie,” you gesture to the gray zip-up, which, in your opinion, looks better on him than it ever has on Scott. "And he won’t be too happy about it either. “

The way Logan looks at you can only be described as incredulous, disgust, and dread all rolled into one. It almost makes you laugh. But you manage to keep it at just an amused smile. 

“You're just saying that to get me shirtless again.”

You give him a shrug with your hands raised, “You don't have to believe me, but I can bet you $100s that Scott's name is on it.” The man grumbles under his breath about something you don’t quite catch as he unzips the jacket and strips it off. 

You’re tempted to look, but you peel your eyes away to show Logan you are being truthful and don't just want to see him shirtless. As you look away, you’re reminded again of how bare the room is. 

“You can also decorate how you like. Charles just asks to keep it child-appropriate in case one of them has to come in here.”

Logan chuckles and shakes his head as he tosses Scott's jacket to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I won’t get anything too ‘adult’.” He makes quotation marks with his fingers as he says, ‘adult.’ You smile in return as you catch the jacket. You drape it over one of your arms, willing everything that you don’t blush or start glowing. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to show you earlier, but the laundry room is further down the hall. It has a little plaque, so you won't miss it. You know, for whenever you do get your own clothes.”

You expect him to laugh at your retort, but he gives you this quiet smile instead. Not a smirk, a genuine smile, albeit a very small one, but a smile nonetheless. It makes a bundle of butterflies spread through your chest. Much like the blush, you try your best to suppress the feelings. You don’t need your powers giving you away this early.

All he says in response besides the smile is a simple, “thanks.”

You smile wider in return and give him a little nod. You turn and exit through the doorway, turning to him once you're past the threshold. 

“I’ll be across the hall or in the lab if you need anything.” You close the door behind you and walk over to your own. You let out a relieved sigh once in the safety of your room. A faint purple glow begins to emanate from your veins. A result of you releasing the hold on your powers. Once the light fades, you take a moment to collect yourself before leaving to return to the lab.

Hope you all enjoyed! I can't promise a consistent schedule but I'll aim for a chapter a week. Thank you to my friend c20w for beta reading! And credit to strangergraphics for the beautiful banners!

[medilivescaremanufacturing]

Surgical gloves are protective covers worn around the fingers, palms, and wrists during surgical procedures. Bacteria, viruses, fungi, solvents, and other chemicals that can be transmitted through touch are prevented. The risk of infection from surgeon to patient can be greatly reduced by using such gloves. 

[the-froschamethyst4]

Badge and Medics

𖤐Pairing: Cop! Gaz x Doctor! F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, heavy language, mention of needles, OD’s (overdose) and some violence, some sexism, married couple, kissing, drug usage, medical terminology,

𖤐Summary: Being married to a cop is one thing but married to a cop who somehow always gets the calls about people on drugs and he brings them to his wife’s place of work is another

————

————

"2-Adam-23, there is a potential illegal drug usage in downtown Manchester."

"Another one?"

"2-Adam-23, responding," Gaz flipped the lights on after responding to the radio. Price then drove to the address given by dispatch.

Beep, beep, beep, beep

"Heart is steady...keep an eye on him just in case."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Druggy coming through," Price announced as he held a guy by his left arm and Gaz on his right.

"Officers, what's going on?"

"Someone used an illegal drug, and now here we are," short and sweet, Price.

"We usually see Doctor Y/n."

"I'm here, I'm here," Y/n came walking to the two officers, she looks at the man sweating profusely. "Get him into room 6," she tells the officers who moved him to the room.

The man was shouting profanities at Gaz and Price, spitting which caused Gaz to shove the mans head to his stomach.

"You are not going to spit," Gaz warns him.

"Oh fuck you, you bitch! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! TAKE ME TO JAIL!"

"The jail won't accept you high off your mind," Price tells him as they cuffed both of his wrists on both sides of the railing and Gaz grabbed the spit hood putting it over the mans face to keep him from spitting.

"Okay, so what am I doing?" Y/n asked, she was joking, she knew what she was doing, this is the 5th person high off their mind on some kind of substance.

"I WANT A DOCTOR NOT A NURSE!!"

"I am a doctor-"

"FINE BITCH, I WANT A MALE DOCTOR!! NOT SOME WHORE IN A WHITE COAT!!"

"Watch it," Gaz says through gritted teeth.

"Easy, tiger...well no male wants to deal with you ass, so they sent me in because you...don't scare me, I'm not stuck in cuffs right now," she says, taking a needle and sticking it in the mans arm, he squirms and shouts and slowly starts to drift off to sleep.

Price was impressed with Y/n along with Gaz, he smirks and looks down at his wife.

"Woah." Y/n then uncapped another needle sucking the blood from the drugged mans veins.

"Give him a few minutes of sleep and it should be done and over with, we've seen him before, so I'm aware of his history, I'll also be giving this to the lab to let you know what he's on, but I think I have a sense on what he might be on." Y/n says, disposing her gloves and needles. "Anyways, come find me if anything happens," she gives them both a smile and a wink at Gaz as she walks away.

Gaz looks at his partner who motioned his head to follow you. "Go on, I've got it from here," Gaz takes off down the hall seeing you go into a room.

He acted cool, walking by and seeing you bending down on your knees talking with a child patient. Gaz leans on the door as you talked so gently with the child. Giving the child a stuff animal to hold as you pricked their shoulder.

"There, all done," Y/n says. She looks at the parents. "I'll have her blood tested and I'll be back with the results."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Of course, now...Olivia, I want you to hold on to this bear, he will help you with every Doctor appointment, just squeeze him and everything will be okay."

"Okay!" She gives Y/n a smile.

"Good...I'll be back," she turns and Gaz steps from the doorway.

"You spying, Kyle?" Y/n asked.

"No...just came to see if we are still having dinner at Sanders?" He asked.

"Yep, nothing has changed as far as I'm aware," she smiles up at her husband.

"Okay good...ummm~ sorry for bring another druggy."

"No, you're not, it's your way of saying I love you and it's an excuse to come and see me."

"....Yeah~ you're right," he says with an awkward smile.

"Oh, Aubrey can you take this blood sample to the lab please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, I also need the results by 12!"

"GOT IT!"

"Busy day?" Gaz asked her.

"Just a bit," she says, she looked around and stood on her tippy toes and kissed her husbands lips. "I'll see you in a little bit, go watch your suspect, officer Garrick."

"I will, Doctor Garrick." He says as they both walked away from each other.

Gaz was swooned seeing his wife for the millionth time this week. As he made it back to the room, Price could see cupids above Gaz's head.

"Hey, calm down now, you'll see the missus when you get home, Garrick," Price says as he stood with his arms still cross over his chest watching the drugged man.

"Doctor Y/n, your patient in room 5's blood is back..."

"What is he on?"

"He is running on many...drugs ma'am."

"Name them and tell me what his blood level is at."

"Heroin, meth and we think cocaine, he also has some pills in his diet, looks like anti-depressants, and Ibuprofen, and his blood level he is over 4 times the legal limit...ma'am I think he was trying to overdose..."

"I see..." Y/n took the test from her assistants hands and walks back to the room. "I have your tests," she flashes the clipboard to both officers looking at the man.

"Goddamn," Price says, reading the chart.

"We think he might have been trying to overdose."

"Oh without a doubt," Price says.

"If you two weren't there to control the situation, I think if he would have taken one more thing, he would have died, I mean, he's on the verge with the amount of shit in his blood right now."

"Agreed, we'll have to place him under arrest and send him to the Prison and he'll have to wait for a judge to see him."

"It's the weekend, so he'll be in there till Monday," Gaz says.

"Yep," Price pops the 'P'. The man stirs in his sleep and looks at Y/n and the two officers.

"Where am I?"

"The hospital," Y/n says.

Then all of sudden Price and Gaz walk over to him placing his hands behind his back and cuffing him.

"W-W-Wait, what's going on? I haven't done, anything-"

"Illegal usage of drugs, misconduct, battery on an officer, illegal possession of illegal narcotics." Price cuts him off to tell him everything he's been charged with.

"Doc, come on now, you can't let them take me-"

"Your chart says how many drugs were in your system, you were trying to overdose, and if these officers didn't get to you in time, you would be dead by now, unfortunately there is nothing I can do," Y/n tells him as Price walks him out of the hospital and to the cruiser.

"Thank you for your help, love."

"Of course," she leans forward kissing his lips. "Be safe."

"I always am."

----------

3 Weeks Later

Price and Gaz walk into the hospital, Price and Gaz were not happy campers right now. They had gotten a call from the hospital saying that there was man asking for narcotics that only the hospital can supply.

He's been harassing the staff since 10 in the morning, and Price and Gaz have dealt with this guy before in the past always jumping from hospitals to hospitals always asking them them to supply him with random drugs.

This time it was-

"MORPHINE!!! I NEED MORPHINE!!" He yells.

"Hey! Austin!" Price yells catching his attention. "We've talked about this bud, no hospital is going to supply you with any sort of drug, that you don't need-"

"I AM A PATIENT HERE, I NEED MORPHINE!!"

"You are not a patient here, Austin," Gaz jumps in. "Are you high again?"

"NO!"

"Then come on, let's leave and let these nice people do their jobs-"

"THEY CAN DO THEIR JOBS BY GIVING ME MORPHINE!!" Austin raised his hand slamming them on the desk scaring the woman behind it, she shakes and both Gaz and Price pull out their tasers.

"On the floor Austin! You've overstepped your welcome, now on your knees now!" Price yells at him.

Austin soon turns and starts to charge at both of them, they both released their tasers making Austin fall to the ground. Price jumping on his back and putting his hands behind his back and Gaz gave him cuffs for Austin.

"KYLE! Y/N WAS HURT!!" A nurse yells for Gaz. Price nods allowing him to go check on his wife.

Y/n sat on an empty patients bed, gripping the thin bedsheet as a nurse of hers was stitching up her arm.

"Love," Gaz comes in, hugging her side.

"Ow, easy."

"I'm sorry, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"What the hell happened?" Gaz turns to the nurses but Y/n started to talk.

"I thought he was regular patient, I've never seen him before, so I wanted to know if he needed help with anything, and he was...acting normal and then when he told me, he was here for a physical and I was getting everything I need, he then just started to shout 'I need morphine' over and over. When I tried to die down the situation, he grabbed a blade, like a razorblade from his coat pocket and sliced my arm pretty good."

"She didn't lose too much blood," a nurse tried to reassure.

"His name is Austin Hill, he's known for going around random hospitals always asking for a random narcotic you can't get from the streets, just last week he went to Downtown Abby and asked a nurse for Majorana and when she told him she couldn't do that for him, he went ape-shit, now he'll be under careful watch," Gaz said.

"Come on, Gaz we've got some booking to do-Y/n you wanna make a statement?"

"Yes, please," she says as Gaz gave her a pen and paper waiting for her to be done writing. He takes the paper and pen from her leaning down to kiss her and rushing out of the room.

"I'll see you later love!"

----------

An Hour Later

"Got another one for you, love," Gaz says as him and Price held up a woman who seemed to be...limp.

"Umm~ can she walk?" Y/n asked.

"She did..." Price starts.

"She collapsed on her way in," Gaz ends.

"Jesus-okay, get her to room 8," Y/n says.

The officers placed her on the bed, she has this...sort of creepy smile on her face, eyes widened and haven't blinked so far, she was still limp as Y/n did her usual exams on her.

"Umm~ a-are you guys sure she's not dead?" Y/n asked, writing everything down.

"Pretty sure," Price grabs her wrist feeling for a pulse. "It's slow," he says, dropping her wrist.

"Miss? Ma'am...are you okay? Hello?" Y/n asked, the woman's head turned to look at Y/n she jumps a bit from how creepy this woman was.

"You have a horn coming from your forehead."

"Edibles," Y/n immediately says with a straight and serious look on her face.

"I knew it," Gaz says, poking at Price's chest.

"Do you need any blood samples to convict?"

"Nah, we'll let her off with a warning," Gaz says. "Go ahead and knock her, love," he says, placing his hands on his belt.

"Will do," she uncapped a needle sticking it into the woman's arm, she slowly started to drift to sleep. "She'll wake up in an hour or so," Y/n tells both officers.

"Good-how's your arm, love?" Gaz asked, gently taking her hand.

"It's fine, I just can't do a whole lot at the moment."

"When's your break?"

"In 20 minutes."

Gaz looks at his partner and Price nods letting him know, he can take a break with his wife.

-----------

Y/n and Gaz sat outside in the courtyard eating some sandwiches, and chips. She giggled at Gaz's comments about the people he works with along with some random drama at the station, one being a cop and a possible inmate having an affair together.

"That's crazy," Y/n says.

"I know, so they are talking about transferring her to another station away from the jail," Gaz says.

"Good, you don't know what she could do for him while he's in jail."

"They've already confiscated two phones, toothpicks he could easily stab someone with, and a few shanks, he was in solitary confinement for 3 months," Gaz takes a chip in his mouth. "Anything crazy here, besides your arm?"

She just giggles. "Not really...so, I have a question?"

"Go ahead," he chuckles.

"When you're on patrol, and you get the call to go check up on something?" She questions her wording. "Why do you and Price always get the narcotics calls?"

"I don't know? I can do others like traffic stops, domestic violence cases, and others, but I'm not sure why we always get the narcotics calls," Gaz says.

"Well, my breaks almost up," she says.

-------------

Later That Night

Y/n was clocking out, telling her collogues 'goodbye' and 'have a good night.' She walks out of the hospital and looks around for her husbands car, she soon sees it pulling up to the sidewalk where she stood.

"Kyle," she coos and opens the passenger side door.

"I wish you'd let me open the door for you, so I can be a true gentleman."

"I am an independent woman," she says, moving the seat belt over her body.

"Oh I know, baby," he says, leaning forward and kissing her lips. "Let's go home, I want you to rest after what happened today, I know you pushed yourself today."

"Just a bit, I am tired," she yawns and let her head rest on the window as she watched the pretty lights of lit up building, apartment complex's pass by her window.

Soon her eyes were closed as Gaz drove them to their shared home. The golden lit up street lamps lit up the neighborhood and Gaz pulls into the driveway, gently shaking her thighs waking her up, she yawns and lets out a soft moan. Making grabby hands towards her husband.

"Hang on, baby," he says, going around the car and opening it, unbuckling his wife from her seat, and he bridal carries her into the house. "An independent woman, huh?"

"Shut up," Y/n says, snuggling into her husbands neck and giving her some soft kisses making him shutter.

------------

A Few Days Later

Y/n had stayed home from work since the incident, she stayed on the couch most of her time, her husband working, and coming home every break just to come and check up on her.

"Baby, I brought you some sushi," Gaz says, coming into the house, Y/n peaking over the back of the couch with a big smile.

"Thank you, Kyle. When is your break over?"

"In a few minutes, I brought Price with me, so we can head out immediately," Y/n stood up off the couch seeing Price sitting in the cruiser in the driveway. She waves to him and he waves back.

"Thank you again, Kyle, but I'll be okay, no need to come and check on me, I have your number if anything happens, and I have Price's number in case I get ahold of you, I promise, okay?"

"I know, baby, but I just want to make sure nothing happens while I'm gone on duty and something does happen."

"I'll be fine," Y/n kissed her husband, letting him get back to work, she ate her lunch and thanked him again for her food.

[nshtn]

a wesker hc for you — he represses a lot of his interests, everything from music taste, favorite foods, hobbies, etc. when he finds the time to engage with things that he likes it’s alien and uncomfortable, but also liberating.

Of course he's not going to eat that.

Birkin had offered him a candy bar as if placating a child in the middle of a debate - an argument, now - about the viability of the inclusion of Hantavirus as a way of possibly allowing Progenitor strains to aerosolize.

Wesker argued that it would induce a much faster death via cannibal disease... if the victims of something known for deadly encephalitis were even capable of living long enough to lapse into it. Their minds would be rendered a slurry too swiftly. They'd progressed past giant arachnids and crimsonheads, why did Birkin want them to go backwards?

But Birkin yapped that the ability for the virus to aerosolize and spread would make it so much easier to study that the potential loss of revenue in chasing the inclusion was worth the thousands of hours. Sonnentreppe were difficult, what if they were trivialized?

Couldn't Birkin see that he was trying to spare him Umbrella's rod? Did he have to say the quiet part out loud?

566 words, tw: childhood trauma mention, disorderly eating

The other man argued as though Wesker's points were personal ad hominems.

Wesker folded his arms and turned away, casting his chin up as if offended by the very notion, coat sweeping behind him. How could Birkin be so blind to his surroundings, so reckless? He was given passes other people could not afford in this line of work. Resentment, like a hot iron, pressed into Wesker's eyes every time he witnessed his lab partner snack on something that wasn't just enough.

He craved to have been allowed such niceties. His head turned, eyes flickering towards the sweet before shutting tight, face scrunching - it was an unwelcome reminder that breaks for sugar were beneath him, that they should be entirely unnecessary.

What would Spencer think of him...

Something else tugged on his grey lab coat, too, fought for a moment of his attention... his mind snagged on a memory closer to the surface now than he was comfortable with: a rare moment of his childhood where he'd stolen a piece of candy, before he'd truly learned how to fear the lashes he'd get, the memorized, prized taste of chocolate familiar and comforting and wholly intrusive against his carefully preened mind.

He chose to give it up. He chose willingly. He controlled his own diet.

He controlled himself.

He controlled his own body now. No one else, him, him, him.

He wouldn't take it and indulge in this triviality, he would not.

Wesker's hands grip his own arms so tight the fabric complains. The tension in his chest tightens, not from anger, but the weight of repression; it was infuriating, these human needs... he often wished he didn't have any at all.

And maybe one day he wouldn't, but one day wasn't today.

A dam cracks. His face softens, his shoulders deflate.

With a frustrated sigh, Wesker turns around, shades pulled down. He gives Birkin an embittered look as he snatches the bar away from his outstretched palms, ripping it open sharply. He doesn't even toss a glance back at him as he takes a bite. Then, he walks up to a hazard disposal bin and drops it in in one swift motion, turning back to face him.

It could've been disposed of normally, the spectacle was intentional, deliberate; Wesker was being personal.

"One day," he says, jealousy upon his face that makes Birkin's brows furrow unreadably as Wesker's mind churns and brews with something dark and stormy, "you will see that indulging in things that don't matter will cost you everything."

[el-warverine]

Wolverine: Weapon X (1991)

Wolverine: Weapon X is a MUST read if you want to get the full scope of Wolverine. This story details more than any other comic, exactly what kind of bullshit Logan was subjected to while being used for the Weapon X program.

The dehumanization of Logan during this comic is gut-wrenching for me, so i need to jabber about it. My favorite bit and some ramblin below.

Logan can hear and smell the wolves in the cage. The fuckers in lab coats know that he is receiving this stimuli, but have no idea why Logan isnt reacting, there isnt a single impulse to run or fight the wolves.

To Logan, the sounds and smell of wolves isnt a threat. Even when they knock him down, even when they bite.

He doesn't react until they are actually tearing him apart. Once the pain is too much, he fights back, and he roars.

"I dont think that's bloodlust, professor... I think it's pain."

"I'm enjoying this far too much."

The doctor claims Logan's roar is "relish" of the carnage, but really, he's just projecting. He is very fascinated by controlling this kind of power, and this is what he chose to do with it. He wants to portay this cruelty as some animalistic trait of Logan's, when really none of this horror would ever happen if he wasn't the one pulling the strings.

In Logan's mind, those animals were not disposable. These people rationalize their cruelty toward Logan by claiming he is not human he is an animal, when to him, humanity is not a prerequisite for respect or kindness. What caused this barbaric display was the very men sitting there watching it. When Wolverine was free, there was a time wolves were his family, his comfort.

So no, it's not "odd" that he wasn't afraid of those wolves. And no, it isn't pleasure in that roar. It's not just pain, either. It's grief.

This is how a fool can posess someone, violate their mind and body, control them, and still know less than he would if he just had a fucking chat with them. But the doctor doesn't want to learn anything from these experiments. He just wants to control Wolverine. Like a toddler wanting to drive a car, he doesn't even want to go anywhere he just wants to use the steering wheel.

Throughout Wolverine's life after this, the same thing will happen to him over and over again. Governments, lovers, friends, all of them will use him, and in most instances with the last two, he will allow it. He will give them the opportunity to use him, and in exchange, he gets a place by their side for as long as they'll allow him to have it. Even when they dont necessarily make him happy, because happiness isn't really what he's after. Maybe he wants to be needed, part of a unit, indispensable. That isn't enough in the long term, either, though. If his constant introspective inner monologues paired with his sudden outbursts of asserting who he is are anything to go by, being understood is also something very important to him.

It's a tough ask to understand someone who has been alive for nearly 200 years and been to hell and back, even tougher when at least half that life has been dedicated to suffocating the parts of himself that humanity would look down upon. For some time Logan strives for ideals like honor to keep himself on the track of being a man first and foremost, he tries to fight for what's right and control the wilder parts of his personality to prove to himself he isnt an animal. With time, he starts to accept those things as well, though. Being called an "animal" happens to him regularly regardless of what he does, and he is very capable of taking it on the chin without holding a grudge despite what he's been subjected to due to that perspective. Maybe it's because deep down he knows that being the animal isn't the problem. It's being in the wrong cage.

Anyway, ouch, movin on. Read Weapon X it's good.

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 2

prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist || next

Summary: Your first week on the job with Miguel

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings/notables: AU story. 18+, cursing, smut, p in v, masturbation, handjob, it gets messy, workplace nonsense, use protection people! a brief moment of throat squeezing. not beta'd we die like everyones uncle ben... mentions of blood. a mention of violence and death

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook those thoughts from his head. It was next-level annoying to have super powers at his disposal but still feel like shit half the time.

Blood was the key.

But in sustaining his body, he felt he was losing his soul.

He smelled you coming off the elevator.

New blood.

Fuck, he was hungry. He should have just fed last night. Then he wouldn't be distracted by--

"Miguel, your new assistant is here," LYLA chimed.

Miguel nodded to the hologram figure of his artificially intelligent assistant. "Thank you, Lyla. Send her in."

"I hope you're not attempting to replace me," Lyla voiced. "My capabilities are--"

"Yes, yes, I know," Miguel huffed. "She's not here for that. She's working on her doctorate and needs some practical--"

"Experience. Yes, I'm aware."

"Do not interrupt me," Miguel chided. "Just...send her in."

Miguel was a man who had no trouble getting a date. He didn't hire you for your looks. But damn if you didn't take his breath away as you scurried into his office, dressed to kill.

"Mr. O'Hara," you cheerily intoned, smoothing your sleek suit before extending your hand. "What an honor to meet you in person."

"Pleasure," he smoothly returned, taking your smaller hand in his while minding the retraction of his talons. "I've been anxious to meet you. We have a lot of work to do."

He shouldn't have touched you. Miguel rarely touched anyone unless he needed something specific from them. The blood temptation was too intense, and between talons and fangs and super strength - well it was better to just not bother.

Outside of the bedroom, he was sure he hadn't even hugged or held anyone since his daughter died... Better that way.

So the soft skin of your hand, so confidently extended - the gentle squeeze of your fingers as you smiled up at him beautifully - it made him jerk his hand away abruptly.

His eyes, which you noticed were dark red? in person, roved freely down your figure as if sizing you up, rather than checking you out. As his gaze returned to yours, you wondered how he managed red irises. They had looked light brown on your video call.

"You have excellent taste, but I’m afraid you’re overdressed," he voiced, turning his back to you as if he were busy with 100 other things. "I think you'll find that the work we do lends itself to a lab coat and goggles. I’ll see that you get some."

"Of course, sir," you swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. So much for a first impression. You would just have to impress him with your mind instead.

Hearing you call him sir sent a jolt of desire through his body.

You were a little caught off guard by the pierce of his crimson gaze as he turned back to you - and by the massive span of his broad shoulders. He was far more handsome in person, but you quickly reminded yourself that you were here for his brilliant mind.

"Let’s take a look then, shall we?"

Your first day in the lab completely blew you away. Miguel's intelligence somehow exceeded his good looks, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm. He admitted to you that he had hired you because of your specific theories on genetic coding an gene splicing.

"I've read all your papers," he admitted, "and studied your coursework, all the way back to high school."

You were floored. You might as well have been an aspiring songwriter hearing that their favorite artist wanted to record their song and sing it as a duet.

What Miguel didn't tell you was that he was looking for someone specific. Someone with your intelligence and specialties, but someone...pure. Someone uncorrupted by mega corporations, or too much success or money. Someone young and eager, whose ideas on genetics lined up with his own. He needed someone to eventually help him get rid of his affliction.

He didn't want to drink blood anymore. He didn't want to be Spider-Man anymore. After all his dark deeds, after losing his little girl - he only wanted to see if he could ever be human again.

Unfortunately...or perhaps fortunately, the mutual attraction between the two of you filled the air with questions for him. He could see the effect he had on you, and he was pretty certain that resisting the softness of your smile, the angles of your face - the curve of your body ... it would be a losing battle for him.

He wanted you.

The two of you didn't last a week.

Longing gazes lingered, hands "accidentally" brushed. Complimenting one another's intelligence finally led to remarks that really weren't quite suited to the workplace.

You weren't an idiot. Suspecting Miguel had likely slept his way through his entire staff, you assumed that giving in to this burning in the center of your chest (and between your legs) would make you a name on a very long list. But you were a modern woman. You could fulfill your desires without it reflecting on the quality of your work. Hopefully Miguel would feel the same.

The tension while working together became unbearable and you really started to believe that relieving that tension would actually help your progress in the lab.

The thing you loved most about being around Miguel was that, inside the lab, he was all business. A reputation for being demanding and condescending aside, he really did treat you like an equal. He listened, he challenged you and he did not flirt or make anything personal. In the lab, there was only the science. You felt free to express your ideas without feeling inferior or objectified.

In his office, however, his desires were quite clear - a little more each day.

"You look stunning today." Your third day.

"Come take a look at this, will you?" Your fourth day. He beckoned you around his desk, prompting you to lean over to peer at the screen he'd been studying. Your side pressed against his thickly muscled arm. Your face was close enough to brush up against his cheek. What you wouldn't give to climb across his lap and sink your fingers into his dark waves.

"I thought I told you not to dress up." Your fifth day. You wore a skirt and explained to him that you could still dress professionally under your lab coat. You liked to dress nicely and, honestly, you wondered how he would react. His scarlet stare fixed itself on your legs the entire day.

"You're so beautiful I can't think straight." Your sixth day. Miguel had thought that he would get your gorgeous legs off his mind by draining a criminal over the weekend. Today he was well fed, but it did nothing to lessen his desire to have you. If you planned to tell him to fuck off, or otherwise reject his advances, he'd rather know sooner rather than later. The tension was killing him.

"How do you think I feel?" You fired back cheekily. "I have a thing for shoulders. And dark hair. And jaw lines."

"I have a thing for legs," he darkly responded, easing out of his office chair and stalking toward you. "Can't stop thinking about how yours would feel wrapped around me."

"Can't stop thinking about how you would feel between mine," you shot back as he rushed forward, scooping you up to do just what he said. Your back hit the wall with a thud as he pulled your shapely legs around his waist, pressing himself against you.

"Best not to tease me like that, hermosa," he growled, pinning you in place with his hips while pushing up your skirt, his thick fingers caressing your thighs.

Hooking your heels into the round shape of his ass, you rolled your hips against him. "I don't tease when I want something this bad."

"Fuck," he gasped out, your delicious body writhing in his arms - your beautiful eyes just begging him to take you. "Better be sure, baby." Even as he asked for permission, he helped you hop down just long enough to yank down your lace panties while you pulled open his pants.

Shoving things out of the way and pulling him free, you let out a little whine at his sheer size. Grasping his hand, you guided his fingers to your center, rubbing your wetness over his knuckles.

"I'm sure," you panted.

"Careful," he chided, swiftly pulling his fingers away. He hadn't exactly explained his retractable talons to you. They wouldn't hurt you as long as he concentrated on keeping them down. But as you stood there, flushed and panting, soaking wet, he wondered if he would be able to keep his concentration in tact.

Frowning, you peered up into his ruby eyes. Didn't he want this?

"Come here," he breathed, lifting you right back up to where you started, but this time, as he pulled your gorgeous legs around his waist, he used one hand to guide his hard length between your wet folds - rubbing himself up and down, just feeling you. Shuddering at how hot and wet you felt on his tip, he somehow managed to control himself just a little longer.

Pushing the tip of his cock over your clit, he felt your wetness mingle with his. He grinned wolfishly as you hissed in pleasure.

"M-Miguel, god, please," you moaned, the sound of it sending desire thundering through his body. Lining his cock up with your center, he pushed inside, all the way in, and stopped.

Your body was suspended there against his office wall, held in place by his hands gripping your thighs and his thick cock shoved up inside you. But he didn't fucking move.

Your hands gripped his muscular arms, attempting to pull yourself forward, or use gravity's advantage to plunge you down - something to feel some friction.

"Wh-what are you--"

"Look at me," he darkly ordered, squeezing your hips to almost a painful point.

You complied, but he still didn't move - his scarlet stare burning you alive as his thick, dark hair tumbled across his forehead carelessly.

"This is how I feel between your legs," he gruffly teased, reminding you of your flirtatious words from several moments ago. "Tell me what it feels like."

God, you felt like an insect caught in a spider's web. If you only knew how apropos that analogy was.

Pressing one strong hand to your lower abdomen, he pushed down firmly. "Tell me," he growled, his playful disposition dissipating.

"Just like I imagined," you panted. "Thick. Hot."

He groaned.

"I feel so full of you, Miguel." You squeezed your inner thighs against his torso, using that leverage to manage a small thrust.

How he was able to hold his shit together was beyond you. He hadn't even fucked up into you yet and you were about to come, mostly clothed, against the wall.

Pushing the hand on your abdomen up over your breast, he squeezed, then moved all the way up to your throat. He didn't apply pressure, but just the thought of it made you moan again.

"Love the sounds you make, hermosa. I'll make it good for you," he darkly whispered, giving your throat the faintest squeeze. "But I'm so bad for you."

Letting out an embarrassing whine, your head thumped back against the wall. He was driving you insane.

"What do you want?" you pleaded, digging your heels into his ass impatiently. "You want me to beg?"

"I just want you to understand," he purred against your cheek, his hot breath making you shiver with want. "I want you to be sure."

No. You weren't going to beg. Not today.

"Then let me down off this wall and I'll show you I understand." You stared right into his glowing eyes, locking your arms behind his neck. If you had to push him down and ride him hard, you would. But you had to have him now.

Apparently, he agreed.

Easing both hands back down to your thighs, he began to fuck you...slowly. You found his sudden switch so tender that you were sure he would kiss you...but he didn't. Instead, he breathed hotly on your ear.

"Wanted this...you...from the first second you walked in that door."

The rate of his deep thrusts quickened slightly - the power of his solid body and thick cock easily bucking you like a doll.

"Gonna try not to hurt you. Want to fuck you so hard," he panted, every jolt of his hips, juust a little deeper, faster.

"Please." Now you were begging. You didn't care. "I want you to. I need you to."

You thought, then, that he would start mercilessly pounding into you, but he didn't. Pulling away from your ear, he gazed down into your eyes, loving the way your lips fell apart as you gasped for air. If only he could kiss you. But his fangs were not retractable and he could really hurt you. No, kissing was something he never, ever did.

Kissing was for lovers and no one could love him. Not the real him - the spider. The monster.

So he buried his face in your neck, pumping just a little faster.

Mistake. Fuck, your blood smelled good. He jerked away quickly, deciding it was better to stare down at you and watch you fall apart, rather than tempt himself with his mouth on your throat.

He was right about working you up slowly, going a little faster and harder with each thrust. He was pretty sure you would be expecting him to hammer you into the wall, but he wasn't a college freshman. He knew how to make your beautiful body fall apart.

The two of you had worked up a delicious pace, bouncing together against the wall, the sound of slapping skin and harsh pants music to his ears.

Just a little more speed, and a slight tweak of his hips to see if he could just find the perfect spot...

"Yes, yes, Miguel, right there. Right there," you gasped, gripping his solid biceps once more as you started to bounce wildly.

"Knew you would look so pretty like this," he growled, pushing the palm of his hand down over your mound. The force of his length inside you combined with the heel of his hand roughly rubbing just where you wanted pressure made you shriek in pleasure.

"Don't stop," you begged, heat flaring up your torso and over your neck, punching gasps and whines from your throat. Buzzing, searing, thrilling pleasure twisted through your body, until a wave of rapture pulled you under like a rip current. Pleasure surged through every part of you, from your fingertips down to your curling toes.

Miguel had expected to work you up and watch you come before he finished, but he wildly underestimated how your tight cunt would feel gripping him as you came. He gushed inside you before he could even think to pull out, groaning at the wet mess the two of you made together.

Pulling out of you suddenly, he turned away and stuffed himself back into his pants, leaving you there - skirt bunched around your hips and the heat of him slipping down your inner thighs.

"Shouldn't have done that," he voiced aloud, reaching down to grab your panties as some sort of weak offering. "We have to be more careful."

You thought he meant the sex. Or perhaps the noise you both made.

But he knew he shouldn't have done that. Not without you knowing the risks of who - what - he really was. His...genetic material was not something to mess around with.

Grabbing your panties out of his hand, you shoved your skirt down, feeling a little foolish. You knew this would just be a bit of fun for him - a quick fuck with new assistant - but you didn't expect to be scolded the moment he finished inside you.

Whatever. At least if felt good.

Seeing he had made you uncomfortable, Miguel reached for your arm. "You can clean up in my private bathroom," he said softly, nodding toward a small door you'd yet to go inside.

Rolling your eyes, you did just that, feeling humiliated. Oh well. You had really put yourself in this position.

As soon as you shut the bathroom door, Miguel sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He had hoped that giving in to the sexual tension between you would make things easier. It was inevitably going to happen at one point or another anyway. He thought maybe he could just douse the spark you two shared.

Being inside you was gasoline on a flame.

You exited the bathroom a few minutes later, your irritation thinly cloaked under the sheen of professionalism. Without even looking at him, you rattled off a few questions about a hypothesis you'd been thinking through.

If Miguel wanted to be all business, then you would oblige.

You amazed him - how easily you could switch modes from vigorous sex to brilliant hypothesizing. It was just as enticing as your gorgeous legs or beautiful mouth.

He couldn't concentrate - it was the first time you had been all business and he had been distracted. Well, did he want to work or did he want to play? Maybe the two of you should head to the lab to get some real work done.

"What are you staring at, Miguel?" you impatiently huffed.

"You," he quickly and openly answered.

"Why? I thought we 'shouldn't have done this'," you quoted him.

Then he understood.

"Wait, no. Come here," he beckoned you over to his desk, where he was seated.

You hesitantly complied. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, peering up at you. Reaching for your hand, he pulled you to stand between his legs. "I wanted to do...what we did. I never want to stop doing it," he confessed. "I just...I should have talked to you before I...finished like that."

Ohhh. That's what he meant. Well, fair point.

"You're right," you agreed, raking your fingers through his dark hair. "I guess we got a little carried away."

He rested his forehead on your stomach, pulling you close. "I didn't mean to, I...you felt so good. So fucking good." Pulling back, he gazed up at you hungrily. "You have no idea the things I want to do to you. The things I could do." His strong hands had wandered from your hips around to trace the curve of your ass.

"Even now, I want to...already...again."

Without asking, he roughly turned you around, using his hands to push your skirt up your thighs - again - while pulling you down on his lap. With your back to his chest, he spread your thighs wide, slowly starting to thrust his hardening length against your ass.

"Miguel," you whispered, completely ready to be putty in his hands. So much for getting work done.

He growled in frustration, but you took it as desire. The two things he wanted to do right now were difficult for him - he wanted to kiss your neck and finger you until you came. He needed to show you how good he could make you feel, but he couldn't. Not like that.

If his mouth went anywhere near your neck, especially while he was hard, he wasn't sure he could continue keeping his fangs from piercing your soft skin. Or his talons safely retracted. He was used to the things he couldn't, or shouldn't do to a woman, but you made him want to do exactly those things. Even the thought of laying you across his desk and eating you out was too dangerous - not until you knew more about the creature he was.

Obviously, he found ways around these things from time to time, but there was no way he was going to risk hurting you. If he somehow scared you away...well that was just not an acceptable option. Not professionally, and now he was starting to think he didn't want to lose you on a personal level either.

"I want you to touch yourself," he finally whispered on your ear, "while you bounce on my cock."

All you wanted to do was turn around and kiss him hard and then give him what he demanded. You wanted to ride him until he came inside you again.

But he held you in place.

"Show me," he purred, pulling your panties aside, deviously using one talon to slice them free of your body.

You moaned, thinking he had ripped them.

Rubbing your ass against his erection, you slid two fingers between your folds, making a show of masturbating for him. "I'll show you, Miguel. I'll show you what I do in bed at night when I think of you fucking me."

"Oh fuck," he growled, pushing you over on the desk long enough to shove his pants back down. Reaching for your hips, he gripped you firmly, pushing you down on his cock.

Letting out one of the little whines he already loved to hear so much, you did not do the slow and steady game he had played with you up against the wall.

Obediently, you rubbed firm circles over your clit and started to bounce.

Gasping, Miguel had to restrain himself from shredding the rest of your clothes with his talons. Instead, he worked open the buttons of your blouse and pulled it off your arms before unclasping your bra. Your breasts sprang free, bouncing freely as you worked yourself over his cock, there in his lap. Your fingers returned to your clit, pleasuring yourself.

"Look at you, using me like this," he panted. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he watched your little show. Sliding his hands up your soft stomach, he fondled your tits, rolling your nipples carefully between his fingers. "Take what you want, baby."

Putting on a show for him made you fucking feral. Gripping the edge of his desk with one hand, you leaned slightly forward, vigorously riding him, and furiously rubbing yourself. It only took you a few more seconds to come on his cock, panting and moaning his name.

Miguel dug his talons into his thigh to keep from joining you - determined to feel you tight and wet around him. He let you finish and felt you go limp in his arms - biting his lip as he stilled his hard length inside you.

Remembering what he had just explained to you, you eased off his cock, shifting over to his bare thigh. He groaned as your wet pussy and slick thighs soaked his leg.

"Let me take care of you," you panted, sliding one arm behind you, up into his dark curls, while the other hand eased over to his hardened shaft. Teasing the tip with your thumb, you felt his breath on your cheek. He hissed when you moved your hand down to his balls, toying with them with your fingertips.

A string of Spanish curses fell on your ear as you dragged your hand up and down, twisting your wrist and rolling your thumb over his tip deliciously.

"Talk to me, Miguel," you softly ordered, halting your motions. You needed some feedback.

"Fuck, don't - don't stop," he husked, his hand joining yours to jerk him off. It took him a little bit longer than the first time, but as his warmth coated your hand, running down your wrist, you realized that working with Miguel could end up being a lot of fun.

@deputy-videogamer

next->