#disposable lab coats

[medilivescaremanufacturing]

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[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

[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.

[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.

[keferon]

You all flatter me! Now I am all pumped up to continue on the TF mecha au train. Ratchlock has me in a chokehold. You can't compliment me like that, It goes to my head! I haven't writen anything in like 12 years 😭. Also Yes yes to all the angst. I thrive on it more then the fluffy moments. Jazz and Deadlock/Drift are lining up nicely for a possible meeting. But first Deadlock WILL bath in blood! Wanna see?

****

Ratchet will not let Deadlock follow him around. Nope. Instead he keeps Deadlock on strict bed rest /he's learning human terms in his free time/ with the oh so sweet promise to weld him to the wall if he doesn't listen. He knows better to not test Ratchet, he'd do it no hesitation. Deadlocks fangs and claws only cause a raised eyebrow and wave of a slipper near well... anywhere in Ratchet's swating or throwing range. Since both of them honor their word/glyphic, they made a deal that if Ratchet comes home on time then in return Deadlock will be on his best behavior.

They use every extra moment together to learn, heal, and plot together. Deadlock's wounds are fully healed by now. He is ready to be the guardian knight he vowed to be for Ratchet. Ratchet's knuckles still ache which makes his hands shaky at times, especially when cold, but his squishy perseveres like a true warrior. Deadlock has learned that revving his engine to build up heat and letting Ratchet rest against his chassis helps with those trimmering aches the bioengineer tries to rub out.

He wants to give any comfort he can to Ratchet while he's working in that cursed lab with those ungreatful sacks of slags. He has photos of each one of those fraggers saved in his proccesor. The list only grows the longer they wait to leave. If he can work around Ratchet somehow, he'll cross them off at some point with a deep satisfaction while doing it. Ratchet has been as sly as a turbofox. He's been sidestepping, talking around, and out ranting the higher ups for a while. Deadlock is so proud of him for not backing down or falling silent. Right now Deadlock has the tv playing a sitcom while tinkering with his long range blaster. His audial fins flick as the door opens and closes. Ratchet looks at the show while shrugs his winter coat off, "So has Sam confessed his undying love to the ice cream vender Carly yet?" Ratchet asks walking over to the lazy-e-boy chair.

Deadlock reaches out and taps his back before he can sit down. "Refuel first." He reminds him before going back to tightening some wires. He smiles at the grumble and is pleased when Ratchet listens to him for once and heads to the kitchen, "and no the episode ended with him getting hit by a waste disposal truck. Now it's a filler episode. Jack is trying to get out of going to an Amica Endura's beach party. He is playing up a illness called the pox."

Ratchet comes back with a warm plate of food. Deadlock nods pleased with the portion. Ratchet rolls his eyes and sits down, "They did that same plot with Raphael four seasons ago." He grumbles and bats at Deadlocks claw when he tries to ruffle his hair, "If they drag this out for three episodes like last time I am popping in a different show." Both are content, they banter and complain about the show while Ratchet eats. When Ratchet reclines his lazy-e-boy chair Deadlock puts his weapon away, "They are transferring some of us to a different base in the morning. You know First Aid. They are putting him on a transport to the sister base north east of here. Called the Alpha Blade Strikers."

Deadlock tilts his helm, "That's the one that was visiting here? The commander of that base is the one you knocked out for slagging you off right? You mentioned the base being cursed." He asks leaning forward a bit, his servos tingling for revenge.

"Yes, same place and person. Don't believe in any of that cursed stuff but a lot of talk does go around about it. Mostly one pacific mecha being the main cursed object. First Aid was stressed to tears about being transferred. He had just gotten comfortable here with his friends. I feel a bit bad for the kid." Ratchet mumbles rubbing his face with his unbandged hand.

Deadlock gives a soft smile, "From what you've told me, he keeps his helm down. I am sure he will find friends or leave when he can. But if you are worried I am not opposed to taking him with us."

"We do not kidnap people, Drift. He wouldn't want to come along anyways. He wants to 'do his part for human kind'. Besides it takes him a while to get use to change and the possibility that we may be hunted down once we leave would most likely send him into cardiac arrest." Ratchet tilts his head back gives Deadlock a stern look, "On the topic of leaving we'll need to do that sooner then planned. Something isn't right, I don't like how hyper focused Pharma has gotten with quintessons corpses. Now he is showing intrest in you. He wants to know how I programmed a mecha to be powered by an AI system so flawlessly. It's driving him up a wall to not know. You know, since a mecha has never moved around without a pilot and can not talk. He keeps begging the higher ups to let him 'partner up with me' or let him take over the 'project' since I am just 'playing around with you'."

"Right fine. No kidnapping the youngling. But do not assume we will be the ones being hunted." Deadlock hums amused but turns serious when Pharma is brought up. That name is at the top of his 'don't let Ratchet catch on' splat list, "But me being 'imprinted' on you is keeping them from letting him get his quintessons gut covered servos... Err hands sorry, on me."

Ratchet nods rubbing his face again with a tired sigh, "I made certain they know you'll attack anything that isn't me." Deadlock can tell Ratchet is fighting a yawn. He lays down behind the chair and rumbles his engine. Ratchet's lips twitch with a smile hearing how smooth it's running now, "Pharma has never been a good listener though. Just be on guard okay kid... he's ploting something." Ratchet mumbles soaking up the heat coming from behind him. He tilts his head back against the head rest looking up at Deadlocks handsome, smug, sharp fanged grin, "He tries touching you, you can kill him. Don't let him into your system. I fear what he'd do. Probably make you even more loony and unbearable." The bioengineer yawns his voice full of fondness that makes Deadlock's spark sing.

Deadlock purrs as he gently pets Ratchet's head with a, claw retracted, digit. Ratchet's eyes grow heavy missing the most feral, down right demonic, energon hungry look Deadlock has at the permission to off Pharma, "He will not harm me. But I can tell he has worn on you today. You are more drained then grumpy, your insults are lacking any heat. Recharge Ratchet. I will reconfigure our supplies and time line while you regain your strenght. Then I'll show you in the morning. You can edit it while you fuel." He chuckles as Ratchet grumbles and mumbles at him. His squishy can't fight the cozy warmth and soothing pets. Deadlock's humming engine makes a familiar white noise that has grown to mean safe to Ratchet. In no time Ratchet is out cold. Picking up a blanket with a careful pinch he lays it on top of Ratchet and follows him into recharge.

-- --

They are so close to leaving. They have a place picked out and a time. Their supplies are packed and hidden away with a close friend of Ratchet's. The thing still keeping them on base is Ratchet's need to clear out all of his research. He doesn't want anyone to have anything of his, to have a chance to twist it into something that would cause more harm and death. It's been a tedious process but Ratchet has been deleting his work bit by bit so no one catches on.

Four days before their chosen leave date Ratchet walks into his lab only to be escorted to a debriefing room. One he has have never been to. Deep under the base. He had tried getting anyone to speak up about what's happening but the escorts, six of them for fuck sakes, don't even look at him. His gut instinct is screaming DANGER the deeper they go. His skin is crawling with uneasiness and he is fighting his fight then flight instincts. He taps at the small circler tracker he has in his winter coats collar as subtly as possible. Hoping it looks more like a nervious tick then a trigger to call for help. Hopfully they aren't to far down for it to work. The group stops at a vault door and Ratchet cuts off a growl growing in his throat when one of the 'escorts' pulls out some heavy duty cuffs. "Tell me what reason you have for those or their not going on Spike." He warns fists clenching at his side. He huffs at the click of a gun and someone has the balls to press it into his back.

The young soldier, Spike, frowns and waves his hand at the others behind Ratchet, "Ratchet please it's just procedure. You have saved a lot of our lives don't make us be rough. We don't want to be. Just put them on so I don't get yelled at later." Ratchet narrows his eyes, frown tightening. Spike groans, "I don't know what they want. No one told us anything. Please I am just doing what I was told."

Ratchet can tell Spike is holding his breath, pleading silently for Ratchet to listen. Ratchet does let a growl slip when the guns barrel grinds into his spine. His head snaps around and he glares hard enough to cause pause, "Cut that out, I know exactly how far to shove that to not kill you but make damn sure you wish I did." He snarls as he holds his wrists up to Spike. The comment earns him muffled chuckles and a few glares. Cuffs on Ratchet walks into the room. Spike shoots him an apologetic look as the door closes behind him. With a heavy exhale Ratchet takes in the room. A concrete floor, circular shaped room with thick metal walls. Cameras line the ceiling edges. His exhale catches in his throat as the metal walls start rolling up to reveal bullet proof glass filled with quintessons in various stages of dissection and tests. "We have another sublevel secret lab bellow our sublevel secret lab. Of course we do." Ratchet mumbles flatly to pissed off he didn't know this base was more fucked up then he thought then to be scared.

Speakers crackle on and an annoying whine comes through, "Not the reaction I was hoping for. Come on Ratch buddy show a bit more emotion then that. Less grump more begging maybe? At least shock." Pharma's voice chimes around him in an irritating way.

"Looks like all of this has been going on for a while. Why bring me into this now Pharma?" Ratchet says calmly since that seems to piss Pharma off more. He looks at his cuffed wrists and his blood runs cold as the hair on his neck stands on end. Goosebumps cover his arms making him shudder under the heavy coat, "I am not here for shop talk."

"Mmhmm, I am going to miss that snarky brain of yours Ratchy. But you did do a lot of things that put the base in danger. Security has taken notice of a lot of data, intel, cameras and video footage being tampered with." Pharma almost has a mocking sing songy tone to him. Strange, Ratchet knows he didn't tamper with anything that would jeopardized the security of the base. Definitely not the cameras or video footage, "You know what you've done and what we do to traitors. I already have received the ok to take over your work. The good commander is allowing me to say goodbye to you since we were such good old friends. Don't worry. I'll take good care of your Mecha." Yeah, Pharma sounds real choked up about all this, Ratchet rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, he'll take care of you Pharma." Ratchet keeps his tone and body language nonchalant as he studies the cuffs. He takes note of the little bit of gap, if he dislocates his thumbs.. "Only thing that's annoying about all of this is I'll be late getting home."

"I swear you are boring me to death on purpose Ratchet!!" Pharma snarls as a thud noise rings through the speakers

"Oh could I be so lucky?" Ratchet sighs sounding hopeful. He stiffens as the room lights turn red and multiple hisses of compressed air being released surrounds him. A robotic voice rings out a warning that the test subjects are being released. Ratchet whips his head around stepping in a circle as snarles and screeches drowned out the warnings. Ratchet steadies his breathing as best he can as his hands trimble and heart beats wildly. Deadlock would be livid if he doesn't go down giving it his all to get back to him. Ratchet would be just as pissed to, "I'll do what I can but you better hurry kid..."

-- --

"You weren't suppose to do that Pharma." A flat voice speaks up from behind Pharma after picking up the chair he had kicked away. Pharma scoffs and grumbles, "You are not even going to ask him what he ment by being late to his quarters?" The chief of security drones on.

"Be sure to capture all angles. I want detailed shots of it all." Pharma growls removings his hand from the release butten he hit hard enough to crack. "You are being paranoid per usual. Don't tell me you never heard the rammblings of a dying man?" Pharma sighs, with a dramatic flick of his wrist he walks out of the room.

"No, but I imagine I will soon enough." The security director mumbles under his breath. Reaching over the chair he resets the cameras.

OH. OH THEY ARE FUUUUUUCKED

OH THEY ARE SO SO INCREDIBLY FUCKED THEY ARE GONNA GET SPREAD EVENLY ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I WANNA SEE IT SO B A D

Next

[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!

[thisisjustfanfic]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{My contribution to the fandom. The obligatory "everyone lives together in one big house and they kiss kiss kiss, and they love love love each other.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 3: Negotiating

You find a supply closet on the main floor near the stairwell and are relieved to see a good stock of cleaning supplies and tools. Retrieving a broom, you decide to make yourself useful until Zayne gets back. 

With one earbud in, you listen to some music while you sweep the living area, reaching into the deep corners and underneath the furniture. It’s peaceful, and the nagging fatigue that kept trying to lure into napping was momentarily forgotten. 

The sun was beginning to set when the elevator dinged, just loud enough to draw your attention from where you were reaching as far as you can underneath the huge coffee table. The soft rug presses into the side of your face as you reach for what looks like a crumpled can. 

“Y/N?” Your name makes you pause in your pursuit of that can and sit up onto your knees. 

Zayne is wearing his beige coat and you can see the edge of his lab coat and his medical badge peeking out from underneath it. 

He has white bags in one hand and the scent of savory takeout quickly fills the room.

“Hey!” You greet cheerily, relieved to see a familiar face, “I was just tidying up. There’s a can stuck underneath that I can’t reach.”

You return to your quest and hear Zayne’s heavy sigh.

“You said you would take a day.” He mumbles as he walks over to the kitchen and places the food onto the counter. 

“And I got bored,” You reply, speaking louder so that he can hear with your voice muffled. 

“Come on,” You hear him call, his smooth voice cool but not demanding. 

Your fingertips graze the can once, but only manages to push it further away. Zayne says something else, but you don’t hear him. 

A touch at your lower back makes you shiver. Cold fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. Innocently trying to draw your attention but unknowingly edging into the slightly exposed skin of your lower back. 

You inhale sharply and sit up, finding Zayne standing over you with a stern look in his eyes.

“I brought food.” He tells you like he didn’t just strum a chord in your spine. “Have you eaten since lunch?”

You recall the sorry state of his fridge and shake your head. Standing, you fix your shirt and place your hands on your hips, “You’re not exactly stocked up. Did the other housekeepers do the shopping?”

Zayne’s jaw ticks and he nods, “Yes. I was thinking about the arrangement while I was working and I think we should set some rules.”

You laugh as you take a seat at one of the barstools, “Oh trust me, I got the rundown from one of your roommates on some of the rules.” 

Zayne blinks in surprise, “Who?”

“Rafayel.” You reply, “I have to be honest Zayne, I have no idea how he expects me to clean the studio if I can’t touch anything.”

“He’s…particular about his work.” Zayne says as he begins to unpack the takeup. More than a dozen little boxes laid out and fives sets of disposable silverware set next to it.  “I’ll talk to him.”

Zayne examines each box and then finds one he seems to be looking for, sitting it front of you and offering a set of utensils. You take the white box and open it, surprised to see one of your favorite takeout dishes. Steaming hot and delicious. 

“Thank you.” You say with a bright smile, “Should we wait for the others or do you eat alone?”

“Today we’ll eat alone.” Zayne says as he finds his own box. “You’ll see them more often in the evening. Dinner is sometimes a communal affair.”

You can’t help but feel affectionate at the idea, but then bitter resentment tries to swallow you whole. You miss family dinners. Sitting together over something homemade and chatting until the food gets cold. 

Why did Zayne get that? Why did everyone else get that except for you?

You squash that nasty train of thought, and force a smile, “That sounds nice.”

Zayne sheds his coat and scarf and sits down next to you. From within he coat he retrieved a few papers and sets them on the counter before tossing the coat onto the chair next to him. 

“This is the contract we signed with the last housekeeper,” He explained, sliding one of the papers to you. “It lays out working days, which rooms to clean. Grocery budget and other things. But–” He pauses and slides the other paper to you, “Since you’re not represented by an agency, I wanted to make sure you were given proper compensation.”

You don’t answer with a mouth full of food and instead examine the difference between the contracts. The old one seems pretty standard. Three days a week and what’s to be cleaned each day. Which day to order groceries and the budget allotted for it. It listed who and when inspection of work would be done, and how much would be paid a week for the work. 

The new one was longer. It stated the same expectations but listed only two days working. The areas to be cleaned was shorter and the grocery budget higher. The inspections would be done only once a month and the weekly pay twice as much as the last.

“Zayne,” You tone is chastising, “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it not enough?” He says quickly, pulling the revised contract from your hands and examining it for typos. “We can negotiate, of course.”

“You barely have me doing anything with that contract. And where’s the part where I pay you back?” You argue, stabbing your fork into your partially eaten takeout, “And the pay should be cut because you’re also housing me. That’s more on your utility bill, my pay should be cut to cover it.”

Zayne’s brow crease and his lips purse– eyes glaring at the contract.

“Plus I’ll never be able to keep this place clean if I only work two days a week.” You sit up, taking on as authoritative a tone as you can, “I should be working six days if I’m living here. Sundays off. I can keep all the common spaces clean and do the shopping on Saturdays. You should inspect everything at least twice a week to make sure I’m keeping standards, and the pay should reflect the median wage for this position minus lodgings.”

Zayne’s shoulders deflate, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not.” You argue petulantly, “I’m being practical. Don’t go easy on me, Zayne. I did this to myself.”

HE closes his eyes, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fine. Alright.” From his shirt pocket he pulls out a pen and hands it to you. “Write down what you think is reasonable, and we’ll go from there.”

You smile and take the pen, “Thank you Zayne.”

“You punishing yourself unnecessarily, but if you insist on it…” Zayne turned back to his food and began to pick at it. Suddenly remembering something he turns back to you, “There should be stipulations for if you wish to cease the contract or if circumstances change.”

You nod in agreement, “Sure. We can put like.” Your voice drifts off as you turn the page over and find the open space at the bottom, “If I end the contract, I will owe…”

“No, not that.” Zayne sighs, “Put that you are allowed to terminate the contract for any reason, be it professional or personal with no repercussions– financial or otherwise.”

“That lenient.” You mumble as you quickly pen it in. “Would you put that in for some other housekeeper?”

“You aren’t some other housekeeper.” 

The warmth in his voice rivals the richness of the hot chocolate you’d drank yesterday. Thick and decadent, but quiet like he was reluctant to reveal such a precious secret. 

You glance at him and continue to alter the contract until you're satisfied. Zayne argues with the number you write down for your wage, and eventually you find something neither of you are happy with but can live with. A tenuous compromise. 

You sign the bottom and Zayne does the same. 

The food tastes a little bit better now that that’s settled. 

The elevator dings and footsteps tap in approach. You and Zayne turn and you blink in surprise. You recognize his face, and you nearly squeak as he freezes– halfway between the foyer and the kitchen.

“Xavier,” Zayne greets the soft blond man with a gentle nod, “This is Y/N, she’s going to be staying here for the foreseeable future.”

Xavier clears his throat and approaches. His white hunter’s uniform dirt along the edges and some soot covers his right shoulder. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” You greet with a smile, jumping down from the barstool and offering your hand, “Though, have we met before? Your face is familiar.”

You see the muscles in Xavier’s neck work as he swallows and his gloved hand takes yours in a chaste hold, squeezing once without shaking before letting you go. His sapphire eyes don’t linger on your face, and you feel suddenly self-conscious.

“Ah, perhaps we’ve crossed paths at the Hunter’s association.” Xavier’s voice is like soft goosefeather down. The most plush and cushioned tone that settles like a luxurious fur coat on your shoulders. You fight the shiver that rises up your spine at the sound of it, and your mind supplies for sensations of deja vu. 

“Right. Probably.” You reply, returning to your barstool and your food. 

Xavier rounds the side of the counter and goes to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice and pouring himself a glass.

Zayne leans over the counter to find three different boxes and sets them aside, “I got your usual order.”

Xavier nods and a small smile appears on his face, “Thanks. I’m going to shower before eating.”

Zayne just nods, but as Xavier passes by there this look. A sort of exchange of information in a language you don’t understand. Some subliminal nod between gentlemen or perhaps some new greeting? 

You finish your meal and continue chatting amicably with Zayne until Xavier returns. He looks like he was carved from powdered sugar and marble, the softness of his light colored all the more striking without soot to darken them. 

“Y/N is going to be the housekeeper.” Zayne informs the blond as he sits on the other side of you. 

Xavier looks at Zayne like he’s insane, brow furrowed and upper lift slightly lifted. “Seriously?”

Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. 

“Rafayel has already met her, and made his…rules clear.” Zayne says, “Did you have anything to add?”

The bitterness in Xavier’s expression faded after a moment and he turned his attention to his food, “Not really.”

You lick your lips and try to find something amicable to say, “I’ll try my best to stay out of your way. Rafayel let me know to be careful with his studio, did you have anything I should be careful with?”

Xavier slurped at some noodles and kept his eyes down, “I have books in my room. Don’t move them.”

You nod a few times, appeased that he, at the very least is speaking to you, “Alright. I can do that.”

Zayne hummed from your left and nudged you softly with his knee.

“Oh,” You remark as your brain returns to you, “I was going to ask if you wanted me to cook too?”

“You want to cook?” Xavier’s voice drawls from your right.

“If you’d like me to,” You reply, “I’m no five-star chef but I enjoy cooking. And I have a sneaky suspicion you guys eat too much takeout.”

“That’s not ne-” Zayne’s sentence stops at the look you shoot at him. A stern glare that dares him to try and coddle you again. He exhales in defeat, “A few times a week couldn’t hurt.”

You finish your meal and go to clean up your food while the other two continue to eat. Deciding to tackle the dishes while they chat, you go to the sink and search for a sponge. You find a dish brush and soap underneath the sink and get to work. It’s not hard with the dishwasher unused and empty to your right so you fill it. 

Zayne finishes his food and sets it aside and returns to the contract, reading it over when the elevator dings again. You hardly hear it with the sound of the running water in front of you, but you do notice the change in the room.

You look up in time to see a statue of a man enter the room– his white silver hair fluffy but sharp. Dark black and burgundy makes up the entirety of his look, with a well cut suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. 

“You’re back early.” Xavier notes with a harsh bite to his tone. 

Rafayel was intimidating like a shark in the water. Something that can swim faster and stronger than you can. Xavier was intimidating like space. Void of air and warmth. 

This man was intimidating like a beast of lore was. Something beyond the comprehension of man, and only formed from imaginations and nightmares. 

“Disappointed?” The man mused, thick like fine wine and tinged with the rumbling of a growl. His expensive leather oxfords tapped against the wood floor as he strutted over to the kitchen counter, perusing the takeout for his. As he passes by Zayne, he reaches out, placing his wide hand at the back of Zayne’s neck and squeezing in greeting. 

Stunned by that, you turned off the water and began to dry your hands, unknowingly drawing his attention. Like a predator hearing a twig snap in the forest, his eyes snap to you and a small smirk quirks his lips.

“What’s this?” He asks, clearly not speaking to you. 

“This is Y/N.” Zayne explains once again, “She’s going to be the new housekeeper.”

“ Oh,” The man croons, walking over around the island with the sink to tower over you, “A pleasure to meet you. The name’s Sylus.”

“N-nice to meet you,” You silently curse your stuttering voice, “Sylus.”

He hums when you say his name, backing off out of your space and grabbing his takeout. As quickly as he’d come, he’s walking away, “I’ll be downstairs.”

As his presence grows further away, you feel the ability to breathe return to you. Your face is red and your heart is racing, and what for? Why did he, of all of them, make you feel like you were suddenly game for a hunt?

“That’s the last of them, yeah?” You ask Zayne after a moment.

Zayne chuckles and nods, “Yeah, that’s it.”

Later, Zayne explains that Rafayel often gets caught up in a creative zone and doesn’t come down to eat until much later. Xavier gives Zayne a quiet thanks for the food before leaving, and Zayne makes sure you’re settled before he excuses himself for bed. 

You linger in the kitchen for a moment, cleaning up the remnants of the take out. Zayne’s portion is already gone, the meticulous doctor already cleaning up after himself. Xavier only left behind a few napkins in his wake, which was better than the full mess you expected him to leave you with. 

First impression? Rafayel would likely prod you and push you until you broke. Xavier likely didn’t like you and would avoid you as much as he could. Zayne was…Zayne. He’d be busy at the hospital most of the time, but would likely still find time for you. Sylus was scary and lived on the bottom floor like a goblin, which seemed fitting. Hopefully your run ins with him were minimal. 

The boxes of Rafayel’s order remained on the counter and before you scaled the stairs to head to bed you picked them up. Maybe a peace offering?

You head back to his studio and knock before entering. A muffled response calls back and you enter, finding him laying on the long couch with a sketchbook over his face. 

Lingering by the door, you hold the two boxes of food close to you, hoping to retain their heat. “I brought your food up. I thought you might like to eat here?”

Rafayel lifts the sketchbook and peeks at you, seeming to forget you existed. He sighs and waves his hand for you to approach. You cross the room and find a small portion of the side table to place the food on.

“It’s late and I’m heading to bed.” You tell him, “It was nice to meet you.”

You turn and he doesn’t stop you, letting you leave the room as quickly as you’d come.  You were eager to get started, though this certainly wasn’t the job you’d pick for yourself, you weren’t about to slack off. 

You’d been in such a daze since– For a while. Nothing really felt real anymore. Nothing felt important. Maybe this peculiar circumstance was just bizarre enough to knock some sense back into you. As you readied for bed, setting up the few photo frames on the bedside tables, you hoped so. 

After you left, Rafayel sighed. Eyes stuck on the little takeout boxes you’d brought him. Glaring at them like they were messenger birds bringing news of his incoming doom. 

It couldn’t be. Could it? No. No that was…. Rafayel huffed and tossed his sketchbook aside. His stomach was turning in knots and his skin felt hot. 

A part of him wanted to go to the others, confirming the suspicions curling around his spine like a choking boa. If he noticed it, then the others did too. Maybe not Zayne…poor guy, but certainly Sylus. And most definitely Xavier. 

But it felt too good to be true, and so Rafayel didn’t trust it. A sweet treat hanging from a thread, bait at the end of a silver hook meant to trick him and lay him out for slaughter. 

It didn’t matter who you looked like. What you felt like. What you smelled like… He’d deny the messages his senses were telling him to preserve his sanity. To preserve the tenuous peace and happiness he’d found here. He wouldn’t voice aloud his suspicions in case he was wrong and get everyone’s hopes up for nothing.

[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!

[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.

[lilredbird101]

I Would – Sevika x OC (Delilah)

OKAY~! So this is my first actual story that I'm posting on here. I've written a lot for myself but they've all sat on my laptop. *Hides hands shaking with nerves*

This piece was inspired by the cute AF art done by @sumilane.

It involves my OC, an environmental scientist and engineer called Delilah. She's a Piltover whistleblower who ratted on the company she was working for. They'd been finding work arounds with waste disposal regulations to cut costs and now she's down in the lanes. I'm not much of a digital artist, so this is my Picrew rendition of her. Unfortunately they don't do accents of greens and blues in the hair colours, so please imagine.

Now, I know that sumilane's art has S2 Sevika hair, but let's just play around with time lines here.

Also, Delilah calls Sevika "Osavika". It's a play on the Spanish word for "bear" - "osa". No, she's not Spanish, and YES, I know Spain doesn't exist in Arcane's universe. Let me be cute XD

Anyway, here is my sappy af fanfiction!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Genuinely, fuck my life.”

Sevika knew who it was before they’d even spoken. Delilah rarely went for any other shoes than her blunnies, and the weight and pace of her gait in them was distinct. Slightly heavy with purpose but twisting and skipping around obstacles lithely. However, Sevika was usually the first seated at the Last Drop for their meetups and by now could tell Delilah’s mood from her step. Today, they trudged.

Sevika glanced her way as she shed her lab coat with stiff shoulders, sighed and slumped onto the stool next to her at the empty bar, flopping her head onto the sticky tabletop. Only Silco’s top employees could be there before evening hours, and there wasn’t anyone else around to witness the lax in professional poise. “Rough day for you too, huh?”

Delilah peered up, old bar nut crumbs sticking to her forehead, noticing a few new bruises and cuts along Sevika’s body. Her eyebrows bounced up, but not in worry – she knew Osavika could take a beating, “Oh shit. How’s the other guy?”

Sevika’s mouth twitched upwards as she reached for her bottle and another glass to pour, “Lying in an alley with many regrets and broken ribs.” She slipped the glass into Delilah’s hand, gently brushing the food from her brow. Delilah scrunched her eyes shut as they tickled her nose. “What about you? You look like shit.”

Delilah scoffed and raised the glass to her lips, knowing full well how her crumpled and stained lab coat, red eyes with dark circles, pale and sunken cheeks, cracked lips and greasy, frizz-ball hair looked. “Silco’s got me working double time until the new compound is finished. Urgh!” She grimaced at the taste of the amber liquid, “This tastes like acetone.”

Sevika reached out, “Well in that case, I’ll take it back.” Delilah snatched her hand back, smacking the hand and gave a playfully indignant look. Sevika’s shoulders bounced, chuckling, “Then don’t complain about free drinks.” Delilah smiled and nodded in thanks and a long silence hung in the air. Sevika rolled her eyes, “You can still complain about everything else if you want.” Having known each other so long by this point, their time together was always the highlight of both women’s days, and a safe venting point. Anyone who’d seen their first interactions would not believe that these where the two same people they’d seen several years ago.

Their “bond” had formed early into Delilah’s contract with Silco.

He was conducting an inspection of the labs to make sure everything was running smoothly under new management. Sevika looked her up and down. The slight little thing had the body more of a dancer than one in their dangerous business, and she moved like it to, gliding with a bounce in her step from bench to bench.

Delilah noticed her wandering eyes, “Anything wrong, Sevika?” She spoke as if each consonant and vowel deserved recognition. Delilah’s voice had lilted out from her mouth like fluttering velvet during the explanation of possible carcinogenic side effects of long-term use, and Sevika found the contrast of presence to present such a juxtaposition. Messing with this little bird will be so much fun.

Sevika leaned against a table and noticed how Delilah tensed up, glancing at the set-up behind her, “Oh nothing, twinkle-toes. Just watching your moves. With pegs like that, what were you? Some kind of ballerina in your infinite spare-time?” She jabbed.

Delilah’s face remained neutral as she collected papers to let Silco check, “Lessons from five to seventeen years. Mum insisted. Principle ballerina in my cohort for six. Why? Are you wanting lessons?”

Sevika laughed, “Certainly not.”

Delilah turned back to her; now it was her turned to look Sevika over, “Shame. I’d pay to see you in a leotard.” And just like that, she was back to her tour with Silco.

Sevika blinked, What in the…? If this little fairy wanted to try and show her up or rattle her, she had another thing coming.

For the next long while, Sevika was strutting around and poking her nose into work benches. She’d seen the woman react when she got too close to them. Delilah liked things just-so and was hyperaware of every millimetre a Bunsen or beaker budged under Sevika’s prodding. She was trying hard to concentrate on Silco’s questioning, but this woman’s damn roaming and smirking was distracting for so many reasons. The feeling built up like beetles scuttering up her back and into her brain.

While Silco was grilling Delilah on specifics, she noticed Sevika messing around with the glassware currently distilling a new shimmer formula she was testing, making a full flask under the rotary evaporator tip dangerously. She immediately turned from Silco mid-sentence, “I’m sorry, sir-,” and— SNAP! Delilah’s voice dropped like a stone, booming out in gravelly baritone built to project, “Get your paws off my equipment you bloody great bear of a bothersome bitch!” It was like a different person burst forward. Her whole posture and accent had changed to something more guttural, more feral.

Delilah stormed over and shoved between her workspace and the woman who was at least a head taller, “If you want to blow yourself up then go ahead and piss that blue-hair brat off, maybe she’ll do you a favour, but don’t go fucking around with this shit. It is volatile IN the body alone, even after testing, and I haven’t run any on this unfiltered stuff yet. I appreciate this is not your field but take some professional advice and BACK OFF.”

Sevika paused, registering that this noodle-armed twig had just insulted her AND ordered her about. Her condescending smirk returned, “Professional advice? I thought you were stripped of all those shiny credentials after the racket you made whistleblowing Up Top.”

“It’s called sacrifice. But then again, I hear you know a lot about that.” Delilah wasn’t shielded from water-cooler talk. She knew all about Vander and the kids, despite being from Piltover.

The corners of Sevika’s eyes tensed, making her mouth appear all the more sharp, “Careful, Sunshine. Bears can get awfully heavy-handed when upset.” Delilah didn’t ease up, she actually raised herself on her tippy toes to get closer to Sevika’s face. Adorable.

“Aww, did I upset you? Go on then, Osavika, take a swipe. Just remember that I’m now the only person on your team that actually knows how to make your fluro coke syrup from scratch.”

Sevika couldn’t believe she was actually having fun underneath her scathed pride, “There are plenty of ways to hurt someone without taking them out of commission.” She gave the balanced Delilah a small shove to the chest, sending her tippy-toes down and scuttling to right themselves.

“Ha! Try it! I’m running off a three-day shift, four hours sleep, a caffeine overdose, ire and manic fucking energy. I guarantee I’ll at least get a few bites in.”

That sent a completely new feeling to Sevika’s gut.

“Ladies!” Silco was momentarily amused, but now just perturbed by the disruption.

The two women eased back, but Delilah wouldn’t return to Silco and the conversation until Sevika moved away from the bench space. She stared her down/up until the woman stepped back. Like a cloud soothing itself after a storm, Delilah posture and voice floated back to it’s original poise and tone, “Apologies, sir. Now, you specified that you wanted a longer run of the effects per dose. Understandable, but I wanted to discuss the side-effects and “hangover” of such a dosage with you. Are you wanting your users to actually LIVE through the experience or is “single use” what you’re going for here? Because I’m going to need more time and resources if it’s the former…”

Delilah kept glancing back towards Sevika occasionally to make sure she was keeping her hands at bay… And to… No, keep your head focused… Unpack that mess of thoughts later.

It had been nearly three years since then, and each gruelling week had brought more stock to their sparring relationship. Then through the tough times it simmered down to mutual respect and appreciation, eventually into what could be called a burgeoning friendship. When Sevika had invited Delilah out for a drink after work, that friendship quickly solidified. They’d had more in common than they originally thought, and being in the same space felt natural after the first hour.

Their company became routine. After-work drinks and matches at the pool table were where it started. Delilah had a terrible poker-face compared to seasoned pros, so cards weren’t an option with more serious players as Sevika quickly found out when she made a terrible decision to fund Delilah’s first games. Teaching her how to line up the cue, take long shots and snooker fools was much easier since she was a visual learner and knew how to work angles. Getting up close and personal to show her the holds was also a bonus for Sevika, though she wouldn’t admit it.

They started not-so-discretely scheduling their rounds and duties to coincide despite their different fields, Sevika volunteering to do follow-ups in the labs just to talk, and Delilah often personally delivering updates in Silco’s office instead of using lackies. Delilah enjoyed bringing the meagre crop of veg from her balcony garden to gift Sevika and invited her over many times to excitedly show her the new sprouts of greens when they finally emerged. They even went going out to get dinner on late nights at work, ending with Sevika dropping Delilah off at home personally… For safety reasons of course.

When Delilah invited Sevika in for late night drinks her mind was flooded with how she might usually play this with other women, but as they sat on the balcony and watched the skyline, it felt too sacred a moment for that. It felt like she’d been given a rest stop or sanctuary. At some point Delilah was mentioning how much she missed her father. She wished desperately that she could return to Piltover and mess around in his workshop with him again, have a joint in the gardens or just fucking talk to him. It was her one regret of her actions.

Sevika surprised herself.

“He sounds nice. Better than mine, anyway.” Delilah cocked her head to the side, not pushing for details or denying with an, Oh he can’t be that bad. Just listening. “Strong family units are hard to find in Zaun, as I’m sure you can imagine. Even more-so when your mum has had enough of the booze and debt and walks out. He didn’t take it easy on me before and sure as Hell didn’t after… Maybe I looked a little too much like her…” She took a sip of her whiskey, but barely moved otherwise, “Got his fucking eyes though…” Her bitterness at that last fact seeped through in her tone, just a little. A cluster of decorative amber lights in the distance brought back a kind pair of irises from Sevika’s memory, and she wished with everything that she’d been given those instead. That she could still look at her before she slept… Just one last time.

Delilah let the moment sit before reaching towards her friend, brushing her cheek. Sevika was startled to feel a tear smudging against Delilah’s soft thumb. “She must have been very beautiful.”

Sevika’s eyes widened slightly in shock at the tenderness of it all, and she tried not to let her lips wobble, “… She was.”

A feeling, so strong and burning like coals rose from her gut as she looked back at Delilah and absorbed the warmth radiating off her… Then she realised…

Damn it.

Inside jokes abound by then and the two felt comfortable enough to get into each other’s space. Not because their shackled feelings were secretly eating them up on the inside. No, of course not. Certainly not because every little touch or lingering morsel of eye-contact had their nerves zinging like electricity through copper wiring.

One time, Sevika was leaning over Delilah’s shoulder to observe the notes she was showing Silco, and her exhale skimmed Delilah’s neck, wafting into her own airways. She felt a fool, but Delilah could have sworn the warmth of it had snaked into her gut and impregnated her, even though she knew the reproductive and respiratory systems weren’t linked that way. She made a mental note to set up her showcase on cramped desk corners more often.

Another time, Sevika was escorting Delilah to a nearby shimmer outlet. It was a particularly hot day and Delilah asked ever so sweetly for a sip from Sevika’s canteen. Her dry windpipe made her voice sound hypnotically smoky, and how could Sevika say no? How could she look away from the droplet that hung at the corner of her mouth, or the pink tip of her tongue that darted out to catch it? How could she not let her tastebuds linger on the remnants of coconut lip balm around the rim of her bottle later?

And don’t get any ideas. Sevika only called Delilah “Sunshine” to make fun of her untameable sun-bleached curls, not because she felt warmer and lighter when Delilah was nearby. And Delilah only added Osa to the start of Sevika’s name so frequently because of the bear joke, not because she felt safe, protected and calm whenever Sevika was around. She didn’t even know the word’s original language fully; she just thought it was an apt pun.

Their infatuation – nay – deep affections were visible to anyone who cared to look or had the time, but somehow these two women, both brilliant in their own fields, had absolutely no damn clue. Or maybe they just couldn’t risk realising. Sometimes the now is too precious to risk the what if.

Delilah let her breath out in a slow, robust, steady blow – a regular stim Sevika had noticed at work -, pulling the pencil from her hair that was holding the lengths of curls up and dropping it to the bar-top with a clatter. The release of pressure had her sighing as she ran her hands through the unwashed mess, and Sevika tried not to file the view away for later. “What am I doing here, Sevika?” The despondent tone got her attention, and she turned to face her coworker more directly. “Like, is it really all worth it? I know it is, but… Is it?”

Delilah turned to her, with such a sad, confused void of a look that Sevika didn’t know what to do with. “… You know I’m not a mind reader, right? You’ll have to give me more detail than that if you want an opinion.”

Delilah breathed again, “When you’re a kid you get told the basic outline of life people follow, and most of us just aim to be happy. Well, here I am, and I feel like I’m in limbo or hell or… Something! My plan was always to get my higher education (check), become an environmental scientist or engineer (check), and find some way to reverse the caustic pollutants that filter down into Zaun,” Delilah made a comically negative buzzer sound and took another sip. “No one gave a fuck up top, and I burnt all my bridges by pushing too hard. Now I’m working for effectively a drug lord in exchange for funding which by the time I take out my living expenses is pittance. The work conditions are shit too, I’m in constant burnout, and as a Topsider no one wants anything to do with me down here! I have no one…”

Sevika looked down at her drink, trying not to let that last remark sting.

Delilah winced, realising how that must have sounded, “Except for you.” She reached her hand out to rest ever so naturally on Sevika’s metal wrist. She didn’t know what Sevika would call their connection to anyone else or if they would ever have anything more, but she knew what it was to herself and that it was at least a deep friendship between them… And that meant the world to Delilah. Sevika was technically her superior, sure, but it hadn’t felt like that for years. To Delilah it was so much more, even if it was just wishful thinking that was becoming harder and harder to silence.

There was something niggling in how Sevika made regular check-ins at the labs, why she felt that Sevika always listened with gruff but genuine care, why Sevika had made sure no one at work or the Last Drop gave her a hard time, why Sevika’s mere presence made her feel like she was in her own secure little bubble. And that barely scratched the surface. Sevika was the best part of any days Delilah spent down in Zaun. Even if what some said was true and it was just to protect an asset of Silco’s, Delilah still felt that… “You are my rough-as-guts saving grace here, Osavika.” The nickname played on her lips deliciously.

God, that smile. Sevika did a great job of hiding it, but she couldn’t ignore the volts that trilled up her arm at Delilah’s touch. It was just phantom pains, but God! Her body gave her no choice but to return the smile in her slight way. “Good save, there Lila.”

“I mean it.” Delilah squeezed the metal before letting go, as if it would have the give or sensation of flesh. “You’re my solace.” She looked forward and took another sip.

Sevika’s tone changed, “What would you do?”

“Huh?”

“If you could choose another life?” Sevika seemed hesitant, playing with the rim of her glass. She hadn’t had many conversations like this before Delilah came along. No one really seemed to think they had other options down here, but she was curious.

Delilah shook her head, “I’ve seen too many damaged by the waste pouring from Piltover. I have a moral obligation to fix this, or at least try. I couldn’t walk away from my work now--”

Sevika cut her off, “But if you could. No moral responsibility. No rules or restrictions. No one else to answer to… What would you do?”

Delilah was taken aback. She hadn’t thought about it in so long, but an image she had as a child came back into her mind. Suddenly her eyes didn’t seem so weary.

“A little house out in nature somewhere. Lots of windows for natural light, clear skies, a little garden with a bird bath, and a water source nearby. Maybe the beach or a river. I don’t know what I’d do to support myself, but maybe I could just get by. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I could have someone to share it with.”

The figure she envisioned with her was so clear in Delilah’s mind. They seemed lighter in the open space away from carnage, smile lines growing around their mouth instead of constant frown lines on their forehead. The sun, good food and rest had softened their dark circles, and their metal claws were replaced with appendages better suited for cuddling by firelight under stars. She wished she could take them away and show them something better. Delilah tried not to blush or look towards the woman by her side.

Sevika watched her mind wandering. It seemed like such a nice vision that she was envious of whomever Delilah would share it with. “It sounds nice,” she said softly, softer than she’d meant it to come out. The vision seemed to have Sevika in a daze as she imagined Little Lila pulling up crop from the dirt, painting the delicate flowers she’d doodle in her lab notes onto the door frame, or washing clothes by the river. Whenever she walked past her at the shimmer labs, Sevika could smell the orange blossom and jasmine oil Delilah dropped into her laundry, and she imagined what it would be like to carry the same smell. Sevika tried not to be so indulgent as to insert herself there in Delilah’s fantasy, but the idea of sharing all that with her felt so easy that she almost forgot who she was in service to.

Delilah shook herself, “Yeah, well, I know I would most definitely need another person to get that idea going. Money is scarce for everyone and a freedom like that is pricy. No one in Zaun would trust each other enough outside of marriage to share funds like that. No one above or below trusts me enough to get to know me in the first place, I barely have enough free time to brush my teeth under Silco let alone go on a date, and who in their right mind would want any part of Silco’s network, anyway? There’s no way I’d be able to get close to anyone to where they’d want to spend a life with me, never mind marriage.”

It slipped out of Sevika’s mouth as naturally as breathing, “I’d marry you.”

…

The air froze.

Delilah slowly turned to look in Sevika’s grey eyes. They’d always reminded her of heavy clouds ready to cool the earth. A brewing storm ready to unleash invigorating, glorious potential energy into the air and light up the sky. She shook her head, trying to get a grip of herself. She must have heard wrong!

“I’m sorry, say that again?”

For once in her life, Sevika felt cold with fear and hot with embarrassment all at once. She scolded herself as her eyes darted down. What had she done? Why would Lovely Lila want someone like her? How could she have jeopardised this one good thing in her life. God, she was a fool!

…

But she wasn’t a coward. She’d already said it. No turning back now. Sevika brought her eyes back to Delilah’s and in a moment her turmoil was swept away in fields of pale green on an overcast day; a natural soft-fall, a masterpiece hiding intricate life beneath it made from infinite small strokes, capable of growing nearly anywhere. She could almost feel the breeze on her face as she stepped out of THEIR front door. The one with the little flowers painted on it.

“I… I’d marry you.” And then it all felt so easy, “In a heartbeat.”

Delilah’s breath caught in her chest, “You… You would…? Really?” Sevika slowly nodded. “But… WHY?” Delilah sounded utterly bewildered. Hearing this seemed so surreal to her she’d dare not trust her own senses.

Sevika reached out tentatively, giving Delilah plenty of time to pull away before her flesh hand reached hers, “Because when I’m around you I forget who I’m meant to be. I feel like the world isn’t as big, ruthless or cruel. Your laugh plays in my head as I go to sleep, and when I wake up – most often from dreams of you - I feel like I’m holding my breath until I see you again. You’re one of the first people in so long who values me as a whole, someone I can completely trust to share myself with, and I love that you trust me enough to do the same.”

Delilah couldn’t believe that such a proclamation that she’d only ever imagined in her daydreams was happening. She knew what it would be taking for Sevika to be so vulnerable, and it filled her chest with a golden joy like sunshine throwing rainbows onto a wall through hanging crystals in a window. She was only kicking herself that she hadn’t done the same sooner.

Sevika continued, “I know our situation is difficult, and I know your work is important and comes first, but… When you’re ready… When you’re ready to live for you… I will spend my days making sure that you’re happy. Until then… I’ll take any part of you that you can give, and I’ll give you anything you want of me.”

Tears that she hadn’t realised were forming finally rolled down Delilah’s cheeks. Sevika reached up to cup her face ever so gently - a tenderness that she would hesitate to show in front of others – and Delilah leaned into it like a little kitten in relief, her own palm raising to press it further. The metal of her hand cooled Delilah’s flushed flesh as she wiped away the offending droplets, and though she knew Sevika couldn’t truly feel it, Delilah pressed a kiss into it anyway. Sevika’s voice came out in a whisper, “I love you, Delilah.”

Delilah’s breath escaped in shudders as the years of yearning finally flew out of her in an explosion of butterflies. More tears flowed and she giggled at the silly worry of bringing rust to Sevika’s hand. Delilah threaded her hands into Sevika’s short locks and brought her forehead to rest on hers, tasting each other’s breath in the small space.

“Oh, good grief, Sevika… I love you too.” And in that moment their lips and hearts finally met.

[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

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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->

[lavendermunson]

ribbon - steve harrington

day 4 of leia's christmas tree farm

cw max has a tiny accident. er/hospital setting. one use of y/n. grey!reader (she is mer’s sister, it can be half sister too). steve calls max his sister. they all moved to seattle for some reason

a/n i had a very different idea for this but it didn’t work out, i hope you like this i came up with at the very last minute

“What do we have here?” Doctor Torres approaches Max, she whines as the pain in her arm only gets worse. “A broken wrist, how did this happen?”

“An accident on the sleigh ride,” Steve says, “Although I’m sure she was just being rebellious”

“I told you I had to beat Mike” Max groans, feeling the doctor’s hands on her as a resident comes back with an X-ray sheet. 

The resident is all glammed up. Red lips, red shoes. The lab coat covered her black dress and most of her figure. She looks absolutely beautiful and Steve can feel himself drooling over her. 

The thing that makes his knees buckle, is the big red ribbon on her head.

“Looks half fine, just broken. I’ll get someone to put a cast on you and you are free to go” She smiles at Max, who is only focused on her pain going away soon or she’ll start complaining again.

“I can do it!” you say, your sweet voice piercing Steve’s ears. 

“But we have to go to our party!” 

“I’ll tell Mer to take me, she’s still in surgery,” you say, approaching the patient’s chart to check some things before calling an intern to help. “I will do this quickly, Max. Don’t worry”

As you leave to get all prepared, one of your interns comes to Max’s room. Waiting for you to help the little girl as soon as possible. 

“Hey,” Steve calls the intern. “What’s the pretty doctor’s name? The one with the red ribbon?” 

“Can you not? I'm working!” he says, slightly annoyed.

"Yeah, Steve. Keep it in your pants" Max says, making fun of Steve's flushed face.

You come back to the room, while a nurse helps you with everything you need to get Max a cast. 

“Are you close relatives with the patient?” you ask Steve, looking at him. His eyes get lost in yours, on how they shine under these big and creepy hospital lights. 

“Yeah, I’m her brother” 

“Alright, then you can stay and fill this form for me please” Steve takes the chart out of your hands and you help Max to sit down. You start teaching your intern and guiding him through the process. 

Steve can only get lost on you. The way every one of your words comes out so soft as your cherry-colored lips move. He glanced at your chest, his cheeks go red when his eyes make contact with your cleavage. He looks away, this is not the place for that, he says to himself. 

The blue disposable gloves cover your manicured hands but he sees your gold, delicate bracelet fall from your wrist. He makes a mental note not to mention it until you’re done, Max comes first rather than some casual flirt. 

“We are done! How are you feeling?”

“I feel better, thank you,” Max says, a smile finally showing on her face. You mirror her excitement and relief, with a big smile on your face too. 

And Steve, he wants to fall on his knees and ask you to marry him right now. He notices how you talk to your intern, to the nurses, and to other people walking by. Your bubbly personality has him captive, he just stares and stares until you are gone.

As the intern takes the chart from Steve's hands and disappears he gets lost in his thoughts.

“Steve! Look, her bracelet” Max screams, calling for the older boy as she gets up. And finds your gold bracelet on the floor “Go get her, something good has to come out of this” she encourages him. Steve runs away from the ER as fast as he can. Looking for the big red ribbon on your head.

“Hey, you okay? Do you need something?” A doctor, much taller and older than him stops him on his way. 

“I’m okay i just-“ he tries to ease his breath “Do you know the doctor with the red ribbon? I think she is a resident here”

“Oh, little Grey?” The man makes fun of him, looking how desperate he looks. Steve only wants to know your name, maybe get introduced to you, damn. Why is this so difficult? 

“Grey! Yeah, I think” he murmurs, looking around for you. “So you know her”

“I do, I'm pretty close with her sister. Do you need anything from her?“ He looks at Steve and laughs again. He doesn’t look worried or sick, he looks like he just got up on a cloud.

“I just want to get her this” he holds the piece of gold in his hand “It fell when she was taking care of my sister”

“Oh! The ladies are in a rush today, they have Christmas ladies’ night” Steve’s face is pale, from being in love to running for the pretty girl in a space of minutes. He was having a normal day and then all turned upside down “But I'm sure you can catch them in the parking lot, I don't know. I hope you do”

He nods, getting ready to run again. “Thank you…”

“Derek, Derek Shepherd”

“I’m Steve Harrington. I owe you one!” his voice echoes in the empty hallway, He runs towards the stairs because the elevator would take so much time.

You got this, all those years of basketball should work now. But they don’t, Steve is slightly older and slower. As much as he hates to admit. But he makes his way to the parking lot, searching for your ribbon again, and when he finds it, he finds you. His heart skips a beat. 

“Hey! You were with my sister earlier I just wanted to give you this” Steve says as you turn to face him, blushing as your eyes meet his.

“Oh! you are so kind, thank you so much” You smile. “My sister gave it to me, if I were to lose it I swear she’d kill me!”

“Looks like I saved your life today, you were so kind to Max- my sister. I’m the one who should thank you” he glances at your hand while carefully holding your bracelet between his fingers, a dash of anticipation in his eyes. 

“Don’t thank me. It’s part of my job and I love to help” 

"Can I?"

"Please"

You get closer to him, and he can feel his hands shake. Your scent invades his nose, soft remnants of your vanilla perfume and a dash of your lavender body wash. He clasps the bracelet around your wrist, the touch of his fingers against your skin is velvety. He pauses for a moment, savoring the quick seconds close to you.

“And what you just did was so kind, i hope this pays up” You leave a peck on his cheek, it’s soft just like he imagined. But it only makes him yearn for more.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” he says, offering you a hand for you to shake it. 

“I’m y/n, nice to meet you”

“Can I, uhm. Can I see you again? Some time?” he looks at the way your cheeks are also flushed, just like his. “If you want, of course” 

“Yes. Yes, I would like that” 

“Tomorrow around eight sounds good?” he asks, smiling proudly as his charm seems to work.

“I actually can’t, I have surgery at six and I'm not sure if I’ll make it”

“I can just come by at eight and wait for you, I can get you every oversized candy bar you want from the vending machine” 

You giggle, covering your face with your hand and trying to hide your rosy cheek. Everything you do is so adorable. 

“Sure, only if you let me get you a coffee after” 

He nods, looking at you. He can’t keep his eyes away from you. “I’m new in the city so I’ll accept the coffee and maybe a tour?”

“A night tour, of course!” 

Lucky, lucky Steve. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, and you look pretty by the way”

“Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow Steve”

You leave another peck on his cheek, this time the opposite one. He waves his hand as you meet your friends to leave for dinner.

When Steve gets to his apartment with Max by his side, he forgets everyone was waiting for him. But he returns home proud, looking like a winner while everyone asks and comments about the lipstick stains on his cheeks.  He looks at himself in the mirror, the way the tint of your red lipstick left a mark on either side of his face. He smiles, knowing that he can get them off and tomorrow he will get home with new ones. He is sure of it.

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