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assignmentimprobable · 1 month

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Per my last gobbledygook infused post about the excessive use of Stryker’s influence in the X-Men movies, I’ve come with my promised rant. This time taking a deep-dive into some of the more consequential changes to Fox X-Men’s storytelling choices when making movies based on different comics, specifically how they chose to adapt Weapon X in Origins, and all my gripes.

Disclaimer: (1) I know that the Origins movie takes much of its creative liberties based on Wolverine Origins; (2) I know that killing your darlings is necessary when adapting books to the big screen, but there’s the difference between a few darlings and cutting the entire thrust of the story. These are two completely different stories with different audiences, and I’m pontificating informally about a bunch of nothing at the end of the day for my own fun.

That said! Join me for the biggest bitch session about how the movies took on the ‘ohh how did Logan become The Wolverine” angle. This has been an essay for 4 years in the making so. Prepare yourselves accordingly.

Trigger warnings for: Graphic body horror with images, non-consensual nudity, torture, experimentation, sexual assault discussion (not discussed in depth, but touched on in a quote) and blood.

More under the cut

To preface… I don’t consider myself even a passable comic fan. I floated by on X-Men Evolution and the Fox films for my X-Men knowledge until I was an adult. I’ve got some measure of Lore knowledge, but at the end of the day I’m a filthy casual, so jot THAT down. Don’t expect me to know shit about Romulus’s involvement. So I, a fool, went into Weapon X (1991) expecting what I saw in X-Men Origins back in (checks calendar) 2009.

What I find most interesting is that movie adaptations of Weapon X tend to give a badass tilt to what happened, when what actually happened was far from it.

Starting with the first gripe: In X-Men Origins, we see that Logan volunteered for the Weapon X program as a means to get strong enough to beat Sabertooth for killing Silver Fox (Here, Kayla SilverFox. Which. :U ), his girlfriend. It was about single-minded vengeance. In the comic, Logan didn’t have a choice. They caught him while he was drunk, walking out of a bar and presumably on his way back to wherever he was staying.

What happens next is a series of episodes and observations about the state of his body, his nature, and his use as a weapon. Furthermore, it’s not an action comic.

It’s a horror story.

The core changes for the big screen can be boiled down into one paradigm shift: Logan is an active character moving the story along instead of a passive one in Origins. And really, that’s the problem, because a key element to the whole premise has to do with his role in the events that made him who he is. Weapon X is not a story about Wolverine, the characters never actually refer to him by his title, only by first name and project designation “Experiment X”. It’d be more accurate to say that Weapon X is a story that revolves around things that happen to Logan. More precisely: The things that people do TO him. At its core, the story is about the dehumanization that accompanies having your bodily autonomy meddled with.

Origins plays with this a little bit, having Stryker make the call for Logan’s memories to be wiped so that he can be used as a weapon. Which brings us back to the main problem: Not only does it undermine the themes of the story for Logan to be recontextualized as a completely willing participant- but introducing that angle entirely just feels totally flavorless, as opposed to the government having pulled his personnel file and tagged him as precisely the kind of volatile presence that no one would miss. Systems do that all the time, marking people as ‘other’ and making a judgment call on their worth.

I think it would’ve been so much more interesting if the movies played with the ambiguity of Wolverine’s participation in the experiment. Because in an X2 scene, when Logan says “you cut me open, you took my life.”, Stryker responds “you make it sound as if I stole something from you. as I recall it was you who volunteered for the procedure.” and everything comes into question. On one hand, it begs the question: Who WAS Logan before he lost his memory? Was he the sort of person to grasp destructive power for power’s sake? On the other, It’s a classic abuser tactic on Stryker’s part, shifting the blame onto the victim and putting forth the idea that they wanted it, and so that what took place was completely fine. It’s a sickening, spineless rationalization. Logan can easily be seen as an abuse victim being manipulated by the abuser.

Which is actually a good segue to my next point— the abuse in the comic. It’s graphic and uncomfortable. There is a crazy amount of nudity in this story (warning: pictured below). Not the fun kind either, there’s enough of it to make you feel kinda icky about what’s going on.

Logan spends virtually all of the story naked and a good amount of it bound in dehumanizing ways. The method feels weirdly evocative of bondage, muscles flexing and body bare, the form twisted into forced submission. It isn't his choice to be unclothed, and so it feels like you’re not to see him like this. There’s a layer of wrongness to it that you can’t quite shake as a reader.

According to the center for victims of torture: “Forced nakedness creates a power differential, stripping the victims of their identity, inducing immediate shame and creating an environment where the threat of sexual and physical assault is always present.” Nearly all of the elements are met in the story. Logan is drugged, stripped, bound, and subjected to multiple forms of violence. He has hot coffee poured onto his unconscious naked body for no other reason than a doctor’s bad mood. His abuse is justified by his status as a mutant, being told “This infernal thing is what [he] has always been” while left naked and unconscious in a pile of glass shards. The Doctors and staff have all the power, and he himself has none.

At every corner of doubt expressed by Carol Hines the lab tech or Dr. Cornelius the co-project lead, there’s someone ready to express that his identity is inconsequential. That person is typically the lead scientist, Dr. Thornton- or “The Professor”. He’s the menacing bald guy you see in a bunch of different cartoon adaptations of the Weapon X story.

(^ This guy. Like to slap his bald head. Reblog to stab it.)

Autonomy is defined by the Merriam Webster dictionary as “ self-directing freedom and especially moral independence.” It is the capacity to make an informed, uncoerced decision. Here, where Logan is constantly in and out of reality due to the drugs and conditioning equipment, there is no autonomy. Logan is incapacitated, has no information on what is happening to him, and is being fed scenarios that he did not give his permission to be in.The nakedness is part and parcel of what the Weapon X project is trying to do: They are trying to tear Logan away from his identity and personhood. Whether Logan breaks from the programming or not, he is treated as a tertiary consideration in all aspects. Humiliation is necessary to the conditioning. And I feel the need to clarify that it IS humiliation, defined as “to reduc[ing] (someone) to a lower position in one's own eyes or others' eyes.” The doctors must bring Logan down under their heel as a monster to tame, their agenda can’t survive without the subjugation element. The program wants to assume dominion over his body, mind, and by extension his abilities.

Addressing the vaguely sexual tilt to the nudity: I’d wager that the objectification stands to poise him in the eyes of the scientists and lab staff. Something to observe, a passive subject to be engaged with at their leisure. It’s a framing device. Logan is effectively robbed of his voice for much of the story, speaking in broken fragments and more often than not expressing how much pain he’s in. The underpinnings of the nudity are grounded in asserting control over Logan’s form, the Professor at multiple points talks about how this experiment and awakening the animal inside Logan is the latter’s destiny. He has decided that it’s this man’s highest calling because of who he is, a mutant and one of the troubled undesirables of society. Mentally ill, violent, drunk. The purpose of Experiment X is to mold Logan into a mindless beast, because that’s what they think he is, the rest is to strip him of any pretense or illusions about what he thinks he is. It’s an oppressive environment that reinforces its power dynamics through violence on the body and mind.

Next gripe: That really satisfying scene in Origins where Logan breaks free from the adamantium tank and shrugs off the bullet Agent Zero put in his head. It has all the trademarks of cool. The shredded figure of a big dick legend, the angry snarling, the bodies flying and claws slashing. It’s about intention! We are meant to see this man as effectively invincible and totally badass. It’s a short stint of medical malpractice that ultimately brings us the character we look up to and admire. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a lovely figure and a handsome face either. It’s all pure, bloodless action. The scene on a tonal level doesn’t scratch the surface of how invasive or horrible the experiment was, nor do any of movies seem to capture how fucking GROSS! The closest we get is the sequence in X2 where Logan runs down the hallway naked, hurting, and horrified at what’s been done to him. And to Hugh Jackman’s credit, this brief and bloody snatch of memory leaves people unsettled, asking “What happened here?” This is the first time Logan’s seeing the claws, he doesn’t know what we know about their use now, only that it HURTS and he has to get AWAY. That’s creative storytelling within the limitations of a PG-13 rating.

Meanwhile, with Barry Windsor-Smith…

Having re-read the story a few times for the sake of this essay: I can see on some level why a major studio wouldn’t tackle this in full-fidelity. It’s not marketable in a “Middle of the road, grandparents and little kids can see this movie” way. It’s also fair to say that it’s hard to pivot from, because his involvement doesn’t end with the adamantium bonding. We still have several years of false memory implants, missions with Team X after the successful conditioning, and then getting to a solid stopping point before the X-Men recruits Wolverine. Marketing heads and studio executives don’t want to grapple with a complex trauma narrative and Wolverine being brutalized in deeply un-fun ways nonstop, no matter how compelling it would be to bring to life.

However, it’s a total missed opportunity that in shifting the perspective of the story to Logan as its driving force that the movie didn’t try to get at the juicier quirks of his mental state under the strain. Since you know, it’s the subject of at least 3 PTSD nightmare sequences in the X-Men films where Logan is at the forefront. Experiencing such immense psychological trauma impairs the ability of a victim to cope because of the deficiencies in endorphin activity following a traumatic experience. Volpicelli J, Balaraman G, Hahn J, Wallace H, Bux D. The role of uncontrollable trauma in the development of PTSD and alcohol addiction. Alcohol Res Health. 1999;23(4):256-62. Alcohol is a common method of compensating for the endorphin withdrawal by increasing endorphin activity, avoiding both the withdrawal, and also impairing the parts of the brain that recall memory. Ibid. Considering the detailed abuse in previous paragraphs, it’s no shit that Logan is an alcoholic. The trauma conga line of Wolverine’s history aside, an extended trauma event such as the one in Weapon X alone warrants the kind of hyper-awareness, aggressive outbursts, and self-destructive behaviors that the character is known for. The scene in X-Men 2000 where Logan attacks Jean while she’s putting the IV in his arm makes complete sense, having the context of panels like these behind it.

Is there something to be said here about depictions of masculinity that go out of their way to avoid showing vulnerability? I’d be willing to say so, especially based on the commentary around what the filmmakers wanted for the Origins movie. They wanted to prioritize the action and invoke Robert De Niro’s “oh fuck this guy is scary” factor in Cape Fear, highlighting the sheer badassness and animal edge of the character. He’s sexy, he’s a wounded soul, he’s a killer, and most of all: a Fighter. He gets back at Zero for killing the Hudsons, tracks down Victor and annihilates him with his newfound strength, and kills anybody who gets in his way.

To contrast: There are plenty of points in the Weapon X story where Logan fights and kills. He kills every animal they sicc on him. Slaughters a lab tech who goes into his cell while he’s screaming bloody murder. There’s no victory in it though, because he is doing precisely what the Professor has set out to condition him for. In text, it affirms the view of his abusers that he’s a “Mindless murdering animal.” He slaughters the security team sent to him and most important: He kills the architect of his immediate misery, he kills the Professor, the most satisfying slaughter of the story. But that very same satisfaction is hollow, it’s the product of unreality, false memories being planted into his mind as another part of the experiment. They’re empty for Logan, the subject. He doesn’t get to triumph.

This is the story of an abused man in the thick of that environment, not so much a story about how he beat the odds. It’s hinted at toward the end, but likely not shown because this is a prequel story, and Wolverine’s integration into the X-Men in the modern day IS the triumph. This is a contextual tale. This story can’t be all that there is and it isn’t, because Logan is destined to make it out. The Logan we know is at the end of this, but the Logan in this story is only just beginning down a path of trauma that will rip away his sense of self. The distinction lies in what kind of story both mediums are trying to tell. The tale of victimization, abuse, and dehumanization that is told in “Weapon X” undermines the kind of story that Origins wants to tell, one of a man’s journey down the long road and the choices and intentions that set him on the path to being Wolverine.

With the amount of blood, gore, and misery at work here, some might be compelled to characterize what happens in Weapon X as torture porn. However, Torture porn implies a level of gratuitousness that I just don’t think is present in the story proper. There’s a perfectly good reason for the raw, visceral discomfort and atmosphere: It speaks to the total lack of compassion and empathy in these people. Those who aren’t actively mocking this man are complicit at best, lending their help in a project that they know the subject isn’t a voluntary participant in.

Everyone seems to be in on a joke that Logan is the punchline for. Even if not everyone laughs, the point stands that Logan is stumbling blindly into spectacle for the entertainment and voyeuristic study of the project workers. It all feels like one big horror side-show. Windsor-Smith was doing a thematic breakdown on human apathy and sadism through characters like the Professor, Dr. Cornelius, and Carol Hines. The Professor is sadistic and clinical, he feeds little fish to the big fish and taps the glass for his amusement. Cornelius and Hines are apathetic, they will occasionally express remorse (with Hines crying multiple times), but both of them continue to be active participants in an unwitting man’s abuse and torture. Cornelius because he feels that he doesn’t have any other choice but to be here, and Hines because of her sense of loyalty to the project and general obligations as a staff member. The graphic imagery and out-of-touch quality of Logan’s mental state are meant to evoke compassion, sympathy, and anger in the readers. This is the Wolverine we’re talking about. If it’s one thing he does, it’s fight back. He kills, he gets even, but here? He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s helpless.

It’s an interesting exploration, seeing a major icon for masculine ideals being subject to the sort of objectification that we only tend to see rendered in such explicit ways with female characters. Nobody expects someone associated with such strength to be brought this low. The story doesn’t diminish the value of his suffering or imply that the abuse diminishes him in any way, I never quite got the implication that Logan was less of a man for any of the things that the experiment put him through. It’s absolutely insane for a story written during the Bush Sr. era to be able to tackle the kind of nuance on abuse creating victims across genders that people still struggle with today. Hines, Cornelius, and the Professor are the central drivers of a dialogue on what it means to be human, and through their contributions to Logan’s suffering, they prove that for being the supposed “human” opposites to his mutant monstrous self, only acknowledged as human as lip service, there is an endless capacity for cruelty. It brings us back around to Logan, who in being subjugated has shown the audience that The Wolverine is human too.

TLDR: X-Men Origins fumbled the ball adapting the story in an interesting way and I blame executive meddling. I think it would’ve been a really cool exploration of the character to showcase the horrific parts of the origin story, and if not that, then to explore the various themes highlighted by the original story but that probably would’ve required an R rating, and you know how studios take to those for their big IPs. That said, I cannot recommend reading the source enough. Barry Windsor-Smith tells a damn good story, even if it doesn’t feel characterized by the same quirks of an X-Men tale. Quite honestly? I think that’s the appeal. It’s as much a character study as it is a horror show of all the ways one person can be unmade.

#logan howlett #XMen #Wolverine #weapon x #deadpool and wolverine #Tagging as DPAW specifically for you fic writers who want some character content to study #Stevie Speaks

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kukuandkookie · 11 months

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wip titles meme

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @crimsonrainseekingflower! 💕💕💕

Thank you for the welcome surprise—another one I finally discovered once I looked at my notifications and stuff! Fortunately this time I’m remembering to make my own post haha. 😆

I hope you don’t mind if I also divide by fandom, and these only vaguely include a couple art wips!:

SVSSS:

Grave Matters

Cinderella III: A Twist in Time AU!?

Just a Dream (is this unfortunately a lame-ass title 😔)

Haunting You

Singles’ Day

TLJ/ZZL/LBH/SXY ADDAMS FAMILY AU??????????

Bingqiu White Snake (animated movie) AU

Waiting for the Tree Branches to Bloom Again

Safe from the Storm

I See in Both Your Eyes (Something Indigo)

AU: The Lion King II??

Family Meal Goes “Wrong”

TLJ’s Lament

LBH²

狗哥狗哥，你真了不得 (Gou-ge, Gou-ge…)

Slavic Vampires…

CNY Dumplings Competition

Enchanted (because we’re doing this now, I guess)

Limb Regeneration What If?? 🤔

Of Costumes and Candies (Something Orange)

Something Old, Something New, and… (Something Blue)

SV OTGW AU

I Ship My Rival x Me AU

I Have to be a Great Villain AU

Happiness Just Out of Reach

Lost and Found

Words to Heart

Breathing Smoke Into the Lungs

HORRIBLE NEW IDEA: Maybe title: Just Enough. Just Enough for Me

Love Letters (that’s all I got so far *insert deepfried emote here*)

Daycare AU???

Hmmm. Prince x Princess AU?

Xi Yang Yang AU

Gongzhu

Followers Milestone Celebration

Teacup scene

I Think My Uncle Ships Us Help

Unattainable

I’d Like to Try Staying Awake (for You)

Breaking the System (aka Fuck the System? Literally or—jk jk lmfao)

Bonuses include the latest chapters for I’d Rather Spend My Whole Life Asleep (With You) and To Tame a Beast, except the former doesn’t have a wip title. The latter does in the sense that the chapter title is Pixiu!

Erha:

Putting the Musing in Amusement Park

This Venerable One Will Not Be Outdone

What You Left Behind/Do You Also Miss Me?

[The] Romance of Wolf/Husky and Haitang

Ghost Bride (Corpse Bride but Chinese?? And Reincarnation)

Reconciliation

Fifteen Growing Up Flirty

Out of the Closet (and Into Your Arms)?

The Prince and the Pauper (but based on The Princess and the Pauper because I’m a criminal who hasn’t read the original 😂)

Wo Jia Dashixiong Naozi You Keng but with an Erha Twist

TW WARNING FOR THIS ONE but Passive suicide ideation fic

IDK WHAT TO WRITE FOR CWN’S BDAY… GOD SOMEONE SEND HELP GFGKDFHGKSDFHG (this one has a more polished but still wip version titled CWN Birthday Fic: Past, Present, or Future, I Want to Celebrate With You 😆)

Jiaoren CWN

Priest CWN & demon MR…hehehe (now a Dianran AU?)

More Than Just Puppy Love

Flower Shop…Redemption…Thingy?

From Wanton Wants to Wonton Wonders

A Taste of What Could Have Been

Screwdriver

First Bow to Heaven and Earth

Hidden Love AU

Mo Ran pulls a Bing-ge

Mind(-Reading) Games

Stone Lion

Swallowed Flowers

Confessions (Role-Swap AU)

TXJ Week (help we’re way past that now 😔): De-Aged Fic

A Tear in My Heart aka Read You Like an Open Book aka To Leave a Piece/Page of Me in the Nooks and Crannies of You?

Shi Mei Jiaoren Fic: [I’m] Afraid to Live Without Breathing

I also have a lot of Erha and SVSSS fic ideas that are unfortunately just blurbs in my ideas document right now and not full-on wips so they don’t have any titles I can share. 😔

Misc:

First Times, Second Chances, and Third Time’s the Charm…s (?) (Link Click)

Missing a You of Another Time (Link Click)

Danmei, xianxia-esque story (Link Click)

Suriel/Sariel

Call of the Wolves (specifically chapter 78)

Chuju the Chou

Papillon and Akuma’s Story

Papillon and Akuma Role Reversal AU Story

Circinus and Pyxis

Smoke & Mirrors

Dimension Hoppers

Take Me Back to Hell (All Saints Street)

I’ll Love You Until All the Stars Fall from the Sky (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei?)

Fengxi like Shade in Firewing (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei)

Mafia AU Xuanli x Laojun (The Legend of Luo Xiaohei)

Continuation of Falling for You (White Cat Legend)

How Could I Ever Ask You to Love Me? (White Cat Legend)

My Shadow It Follows Me

The Us of the Present Could Perhaps Be Just as Tender as the Us of the Past (Scissor Seven)

A Conversation With a Dead Man (MDZS)

Magical Girl AU (MDZS)

Xue Yang’s Regrets (MDZS)

Ao Bing and Nezha in a shoujo high school AU… That’s it. That’s the whole idea (Nezha 2019)

Surprising the Un-Surprise-Able (I Have to be a Great Villain)

Xianxia AU (Kiss the Abyss)

Breathing New Life (Kiss the Abyss)

I Will Chase You to the Ends of Time and Space (Kiss the Abyss)

A Family Outing (Beryl and Sapphire)

Just Some Gay Little Dudes (Beryl and Sapphire)

Steven Universe AU (Beryl and Sapphire)

Something as Sweet as You (I Ship My Adversary x Me)

A Present to be Cherished (I Ship My Adversary x Me)

I Ship My Adversary x Me and 严禁造谣 Crossover? AU Swap?

Additional misc wips I haven’t touched in forever are the latest chapters for The World Doesn’t Deserve You (MDZS) and Frostbite (All Saints Street). 😅

And as a bonus, these aren’t at all “official” yet but the more I read for some manhua the more I’m tempted to write fics for them… For example, a fic for Blemishing the Contaminated or My Lovely Troublemaker season 2 would be so cute, even if I don’t exactly have any clear or obvious ideas for them. 🥺

Phew, wow. I had way more wips than I expected AKFJSKFHSJS. Some are honestly just super half-baked documents tucked away in a folder with only a title and outline, but I hope something here was of interest to you guys. 😆💖

As for tagging…

I also don’t think I’m capable of tagging as many people as I have wips otl. So I hope you guys don’t mind if I tag just a few of you!

@ezrathesplit @levia-kun @yumichanhamano @softdekus @rongzhi @azunshi

(Of course, if you would rather not, feel free not to do this!)

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gendervapor14 · 1 year

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~ temptation, torment, and tangerines ~

♥ story sample and details below the cut ♥

Sora kept her jaw shut because she was positive no matter what she said, Bell-mère would find a way to use it against her. Instead, she reached into her pockets for her keys. Groped at a half-empty box of cigarettes and a lighter in the right pocket. A folded-up page of one of Rosinante’s stupid boardroom doodles in the other.

But no keys. Because she wasn’t expecting to go to her office at midnight, and she probably left them on the fucking dresser.

“Don’t tell me.”

Sora lowered her head. Pinched her cigarette between her thumb and index finger. Ran her tongue over her molars. There were boardroom halls around, but she was positive they were all locked by now. Custodians had already swept by and cleaned them for the morning meetings. Tsuru’s office was up another floor, probably open. But that meant having this conversation in front of Tsuru. It’d be a power move if Bell-mère wouldn’t prattle off a list of Sora’s less-than-typical authority measures, and sink her career for good.

“We have two options.” She decided, straightening her shoulders and meeting Bell-mère’s dubious eye. “We could call this off until tomorrow morning.”

“Or…?”

The cigarette rested between her teeth again. She needed a support system. A feeble attempt. “I think we should call it off until tomorrow morning.”

Bell-mère leaned in. “I’ve got drills tomorrow morning. Unless you’re telling me it’s okay to skip them…?”

Sora didn’t have the mental fortitude to recall Bell-mère’s schedule. Chances were, she was bluffing. She wanted that other option. Just talk. Just talk. Just talk. “Well, then my only other suggestion is taking this to my room, because this isn’t an appropriate conversation to hold in a hallway.”

Bell-mère lit up like a goddamn bonfire. “That so, Commodore? Gonna teach me another lesson…?” She cut the distance between them, tracing a finger under Sora’s jaw. Sora did her best to remain stone-cold and professional. “Filed my nails for ya.”

“You are, unbelievable.”

“Yeah, funny enough, you’re not the only one who’s said that.”

it's everyone's favorite former marine! uh. yeah, rosinante's in this story too, yes, fine. but bell-mere doesn't get nearly enough love!!

in my journey to bring her justice, i've started writing a myriad of stories about her. so first, i bring you this E-rated, bell-mere x fem OC, 4 chaptered little thing. focuses on bell-mere and her time in the navy, and takes place in the 01746 universe, but i think it can be read and enjoyed standalone! i've got some corabelle in the works as well, so keep your eyes peeled!

before i continue, i will reiterate: this piece is rated E, so minors, please do not interact.

title: temptation, torment, and tangerines rating: E category: F/F, F/M content warnings: none! status: complete!, 4 chapters, 23,522 words relationships: bell-mere/original character, rosinante/original character (only at the very tail end of chapter 4) rosinante & oc, bell-mere & rosinante characters: original character (sora), bell-mere, donquixote rosinante, tsuru additional tags: canon plausible, enemies to lovers, but uh it's more enemies to lovers to friends, sexual tension, angst and hurt/comfort, feminist themes, misandry, sora needs therapy, bell-mere does her best, okay here come the porn tags lmao, smut, shower sex, masturbation in shower, wow there's a tag for that, vaginal fingering, inappropriate use of devil fruit powers, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fisting, gags, wow these two have fun huh, undertones of sorazon throughout the fic, but main pairing is bell-mere and sora, no infidelity this is pre-sorazon, exhibitionism, light masochism, some humor, conflict of interests, moral dilemmas, hate sex, arguing, size difference, referenced domestic abuse, referenced human trafficking summary: “I’m not, we’re not doing anything. I’ll let you go, for now, but you need to get serious. If I hear of any other misdemeanors after this conversation, I will report you.” Bell-mère sauntered towards the door with her hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “You owe me a tangerine, by the way.” Sora scoffed and folded her arms. “You’re supposed to salute your superiors upon entry and exiting.” “I’ll salute ya as soon as I respect ya, toots.”

~ takes place in the 01746 universe, but can be read standalone ~

special thanks to @gali-la for beta reading this demon!! <3

until next time o7

#it's here!!!#so excited (and nervous) to share this one!!#it's. different #i say that about every story tho don't i #that's the GOAL alright #well anyway #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #genwrites #gensart #one piece original character #one piece oc #bell mère #bellemere #donquixote rosinante #corazon one piece

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chasing-obsession · 2 years

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Arknights Lore Shit - Amiya Module Part 1

Amiya’s module dropped on CN and holy shit is it a big one with SO MANY FUCKING IMPLICATIONS. Beware for absolutely MASSIVE spoilers.

As always, everything I say is just my own personal interpretation of the text. Original source of the module can be found here: https://aceship.github.io/AN-EN-Tags/akhrchars.html?opname=Amiya

EDIT: Corrected a thing because I forgot that Terra had 2 moons.

The basic summary of the module is that a certain individual is reviewing memories. Probably watching space ships launch up into space. Then the memories come into focus, a giant metal sphere floating in space, waiting for it’s father. The viewer feels tears forming and the memories change to the birth of a child, the viewer’s child and all the feelings and emotions that come with witnesses said birth. Then the memories end and there’s a bunch of people yelling, asking the viewer what they saw. Did it work?

"Check his brain, I told you we shouldn't be in such a hurry, we've only just established a protocol channel for communication with the database! This has only just completed the first successful delivery!"

It turns out the viewer was actually witnessing someone ELSE’S memory. The memory of a planetary engineer.

"I said ...... I never actually used to like you planetary engineers very much, I thought you were doing flashy things ...... But I saw it. I saw your past, I shared your past, I felt your emotions, and it was ...... unparalleled."

The project, code named DWDB-221E, appears to be a repository of human history up to a certain point but relying on memory instead of texts and videos. I’m not sure why memory except somehow...

"We've learned enough, except that in the future, they'll never find an excuse to tinker with history."

The same group of scientists then debate on what to name it. They don’t want to keep calling it DWDB-221E, it sounds too cold. The scientist arguing for the name refers to the AMa project. There’s an argument over what to name it and one of the proposed names is “Black Crown” but ultimately, the lead suggests calling it “The Survival of Civilization."

That’s the summary.

Here’s the my theorizing:

First, we now know that whomever created Kal’tsit is also the same group of scientists who created the Black Crown. We know this because Alty calls Kal’tsit AMa-10 in HoSF OF-EX6:

Alty: AMa-10 Dr. Kal'tsit, please tell me... How were those special Ægirians born?

We also know this because of this line from Amiya’s module:

“I know there's a prescribed format for project numbers, just like AMa“

Second: So we have confirmation that one of the two moons hanging over Terra is fake. The question is why. What is it for? Is THAT what’s storing all the data and where Originium comes from? What’s with the fake sky then? Was Terra a terraformed system adapted to be more hospitable to human life and both the fake sky and the second moon were created to maintain the balance? Or something else? To hide it from whatever unknown entity lies Beyond? Are the humans fleeing from something or did they just really fuck up Earth? Is Enfield actually a prequel?

Third. I’m going to put money down that the Doctor and Priestess are both part of the original ‘humans’ that created the Black Crown and Kal’tsit. Most likely they are their descendants and the Doctor is the last survivor, having been kept in a pod and left buried after disaster struck, probably with or near the Rhodes Island Landship and then excavated at some point, where they basically they lived their life as a professor and researcher of Originium before Theresa dragged them into her war.

Fourth. This is the big one. The Black Crown and how it relates to the Sarkaz. When discussing what the Confessarii’s arts were all about, I had once theorized that the Sarkaz Collective Memory was less some nebulous collective unconscious and more like a singular mass cloud storage where all the memories were just uploaded with maybe a random file name and no organization.

The fact that my analogy is... most likely not an analogy and ACTUALLY WHAT IS GOING ON amuses the fuck out of me. Anyway. If all this memory is uploaded, it needs to be stored and that’s a MASSIVE amount of data that needs to be stored and there’s no way Terrans wouldn’t have found artifacts unless... said data is actually stored in Originium. It’s a semi-organic material that’s capable of self-replicating and we know from Ptilopsis’s module and her first Op Rec, that it’s actually capable of storing massive amounts of data. But not only that, but the Originium as a memory storage device is linked to ancient Sarkaz legend.

From the Module:

If Originium really has the ability to store information, and we are able to decode and translate it, then Columbia's science and technology will surge forward by leaps and bounds!

I've encountered a bottleneck. Current electronic computational devices are not able to handle the enormous amount of information contained within Originium. I need a more suitable computational carrier...

From the Op Rec:

???: All of this information is consistent with our hypothesis.

???: With these data on hand, Rhine Lab's newest results now directly correlate with the ancient Sarkaz legend. I don't think this is an accident.

???: And if our hypothesis is verified, it will revolutionize everything we know about Originium.

???: People think that Originium is a source of energy, a calamity; They think it can be used as a weapon, with only narrow applications outside of that. But the truth may be something far greater.

???: If Originium really 'stores information,' just think about what that implies. From Originium, we will be able to read the story of this world, spanning hundreds or thousands of years, maybe even more...

This brings us back to the Sarkaz and the Black Crown. The Black Crown is clearly device created to interface with all this data and the Sarkaz are clearly somehow genetically “in tune” with interfacing with the Black Crown and these stored memories on a level that other races in Terra can’t. I suspect this is also what makes them more susceptible to oripathy than other races. So if the Sarkaz basically connected 24/7 to the data bank and have one-way write access and the Black Crown is the only way to easily interface with the data bank, then it’s understandable why the Lord of Fiends aka King of the Sarkaz is a title that can be passed on to pretty much anyone, because it goes with the Black Crown.

Amiya is the current wearer of the Black Crown, having inherited it from Theresa but with a caveat. Because Amiya is not Sarkaz, she appears to issues interfacing with the crown properly, thus the suppression rings created by Theresa and Kal’tsit. (You could also argue that the Crown is also Amiya’s arts unit and because of it’s unique properties to not just read but also ‘access’ memories, she’s able to use it to do things like copy Ch’en’s swordsmanship.)

Which brings us to the Confessarii and what all of this means for THEM. I once theorized that the Confessarii’s arts work by being able to access the Sarkaz Collective Memories and based on what Salus said in Chapter 11, it sounds like the Confessarii arts can bypass the Black Crown entirely and tap directly into the data bank. The issue is that it’s basically like a script kiddie who hacked into a heavily encrypted database and thus can only read fragments of the data stored. Shining and her brother’s arts are a little more advanced. From my readings, it sounds like they have more than just read access. They can download a whole snapshot. But just a snapshot, a moment in time, not the whole memory.

Only the King of Sarkaz can do that via the Black Crown. Even more interesting is that the King of Sarkaz can basically utilize their connection to the database to manipulate the memories and feelings of all the other Sarkaz. Basically it sounds they have root access and can either edit or upload specific memories to illicit specific emotional responses.

There’s a TON of implications for this. Shit like ‘what’s Nightingale’s whole deal then’? And ‘what does this mean for Kirsten’s dreams of breaking out into space?’ But also ‘WHY THE FUCK DO THE SEABORNE REMEMBER THE NIGHT SKY?!’

I’ll continue my musings in part 2.

#arknights #arknights lore #arknights spoilers #i cite my sources #but holy shit y'all #this is like the motherlode of lore dumps #i can't wait for what this means in chapter 12

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autumnalwalker · 1 year

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Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sam-glade.

My words to find were walk, run, fly, & swim.

Passing the (pressure free) tag to @silvertalonwritblr, @holdmyteaplease, @floweryprosegarden, @stesierra, @writeblr-of-my-own, @wrenofthewords, @albatris, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants it.

Your words to find shall be venture, focus, whimsy, & vision.

Walk: The Archivist's Journal, Day 13

Twice a month - usually around the full and new moons but it can vary several days in either direction - the mists appear during the day. And then as night falls the nighttime shades rise. They won’t enter into homes or anywhere else free of mist, but if they find a human, living or dead, they’ll claim them and take them back to the Catacomb Depths where the dead dwell. It’s been decades since the last time someone living was claimed. Everyone’s taught from the time they’re old enough to walk not to venture out on a mist day. The only times anyone ever stays out past morning on one of those days are funerals for the recently deceased, leaving the body for the shades to lay to rest at the end of the ceremony.

Run: Empty Names - 7 - Compilation

Lacuna looks from the USB stick in her hand to the laptop and back to the general direction of Bridgewood’s face. “Thanks,” she stammers, trying not to let her relief show too obviously.

“Free advice: Just leave the heroics to those three,” he says and points a thumb over his shoulder. “Focus on what you’re good at instead of trying to chase some fantasy that’s just going to make you into a liability for the rest of us to clean up after. After all, someone needs to run the website and file the paperwork.”

“Website?”

“Oh, and while you’re here alone, don’t go wandering off or touching anything. Especially not the statues. This place is bigger on the inside and some of the security systems are a bit finicky about distinguishing between intruders and guests. If you need the bathroom or something, just ask one of the cleaning golems and they’ll show you the way. Follow them exactly and don’t stray. I don’t want to have to explain whatever state we find your body in later.” With that last bit of advice he turns around on one heel and jauntily walks toward the door, waving goodbye without looking back and passing Eris on the way. “Have fun not drowning.”

Fly: The Archivist's Journal, Day 301

Whomever you are, I’m sure that by now you’ve noticed that I have a tendency to go on at length about any number of topics, large and small. Whether waxing poetic on the beauty of mundane things or soliloquizing about anxiety and loneliness. I’m not trying to be deep or profound when I do this. I am neither poet nor philosopher, nor do I aspire to be. I hold no great truths of the world in my mind that I’m trying to spread. I have no one that I seek to impress.

So, when I go on like that, it comes down to two things, really. The first is that, from the beginning, this journal has been a tool for helping me understand both this world and myself. As such, much of this is me working through things as I write; a sort of stream of consciousness as I examine things and work through them, stumbles, tangents and all.

The second thing is that I quite simply enjoy it. I’ve said before that the way I speak is not the way I write. Tellings notwithstanding (and those are half recitation and in many ways more like playing a game and being someone else for a time than holding a conversation), when it comes to the spoken word I am prone to laconicism. Short phrases and long pauses. Stutters, stops, and repetitions. The words I find never quite the ones I’m searching for. Peace made with fading into the background because I’ve learned it’s easier than forcing myself to speak up. But the words come easier with the writing. It’s a freedom from the normal frustrations of communication and with that freedom it is hard not to indulge in the whimsy of letting pent up words fly free.

I’m getting better, with the speaking I mean. Slowly, but I am. Having a job that requires me to interact with others helps. The telling helps. The teaching helps. Having friends helps.

Knowing myself helps.

Maybe that helps everyone.

Swim: Empty Names - 15 - Matters of Technique

The first thing Ashan hears upon regaining a comfortable, if drowsy, consciousness is birdsong and the wall-muffled ticking of grandfather clock.

It occurs to him that he is alive, awake, and in a different place. This revelation causes him to sit bolt upright and begin conjuring a shield. The former makes his vision swim and the latter elicits a sharp pain in the back of his neck. He gasps and falls back into the pillow of the bed of one of the guest bedrooms of the bed and breakfast above the office. He tries again, more slowly this time and without doing anything to aggravate the burnout. Scanning the room, he locates his wand on the bedside table next to an untouched water glass and his robes hanging in an open wardrobe. The sight of them both intact and accounted for calms him.

More belatedly, he realizes that his arms are free of any sign of the myriad cuts inflicted by the tripped ward. Lifting the bedsheets finds his legs similarly unblemished. At the lack of scar or even bandages, he begins to wonder if he only dreamt the spear and everything else that happened after tripping the ward.

#tag game #find the word tag #manuscript search tag #writeblr #my writing #writers on tumblr #writing tag games #empty names #the archivist's journal

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 2 years

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Y’all ready to meet the backup twins and their big backup bro (and a couple others)? I sure hope so because I’m doing it anyway.

Remnant (my little bastard child): Remnant activated in an abandoned daycare in a Mega PizzaPlex in Canada. How Eclipse found this PizzaPlex. Nobody knows. They’ve all even asked Eclipse, he didn’t even know that PizzaPlex existed. Remnant woke up inside the daycare with very little memory besides the rest of the celestial family, though his personality is much like Blood Moon’s minus the bloodlust. He loves pranks and causing chaos. He showed this off for the first time by popping into Sun & Moon’s daycare with his twin, Plerion and scaring the life out of Sun and Moon, who both screamed at the twins jumping out and scaring them. He gets along quite well with Lunar, who regularly gets pulled into Remnant and Plerion’s pranks on their friends and older brother, Emission.

Plerion (my other little bastard child): Plerion activated in the same Canadian PizzaPlex as Remnant and Emission. He’s technically the youngest of the three siblings, though he acts a teeny bit more mature than Remnant. Much like Remnant, Plerion’s personality base was Blood Moon, though his memory files were corrupted and needed to be reset due to them making him glitch out. Plerion still has glitches from time to time due to this, though not nearly as bad as they were when he had Eclipse’s memory files. Plerion loves causing chaos, like Remnant, though he only does small pranks and doesn’t much like people getting hurt or too scared from said pranks. Plerion loves playing hide and seek and tag, something Emission used to play with the twins constantly.

Emission: A very glitchy backup that activated a few months before Remnant and Plerion in the Canadian PizzaPlex. Emission’s glitches appear to others as ‘seizures’ though these glitches take a lot from Emission. His battery suffers mainly from these glitches but also his safety protocols and he has temporary blackouts during these glitches. These glitches unfortunately stem from his core being unfinished, which can’t quite be fixed in a way that wouldn’t wipe him completely or cause him to be non-sentient. Emission eventually gets bad enough with the glitches that the twins must take him to Sun and Moon to be fixed in their PizzaPlex. Moon is able to mostly fix him, though his glitches have made his battery very weak to charge and he is mostly bedbound for a while. Moon eventually manages to create both a battery that can withstand the glitches and a mobile charging system.

Subsatellite: A backup in Moon, Litey activates when the kill code reactivates, due to the jostling KC becoming his own AI does to the mindscape. Litey and Lunar don’t quite realize who each other are, mostly due to Subsatellite not having any of Eclipse’s memories other than a few of those that are positive memories of Lunar. They simply run together and hide from KC once KC has taken over. By the time Monty comes in to save Lunar, Lite and Lunar have talked very quietly about who each other are and have adopted each other as brothers and Lunar has given Lite his name. Monty has to take Subsatellite out as well as Lunar, though he has to stay longer since they weren’t in the same place when he found Lunar and he can’t leave the other comfort tiny in Moon’s head. Lunar and Subsatellite are trauma-bonded, it takes a bit for either of them to leave each other’s sides and Sun, Moon, and Monty are understanding of this and allow them their time to gather themselves before trying to get them over that separation anxiety. Once they’re able to leave each other for short periods of time, Subsatellite absolutely adores Moon. He’s scared of KC but Moon is much nicer to him. Due to his name and his slight attachment to Moon, Sun and Lunar sometimes lightly tease them telling Moon that Lite is his son.

Cepheid (my poor boy): Cephy activates in Sun during the fight with Blood Moon. Sun is preoccupied with the spell, Eclipse is preoccupied with getting the boot, and Blood Moon is working on destroying the body, all of this cumulates to Cepheid activating and clawing his way away from Blood Moon, crying and trying to get away. Blood Moon takes great joy with their prey fighting away (they think he’s Eclipse) and proceeds to play with their prey. They trick Cepheid into thinking they were done hurting him only to shock him multiple times repeatedly. Cepheid screaming is what draws Moon’s attention to the fight, because Cepheid’s voice is high pitched than Sun’s and definitely not Eclipse’s (think like Lunar’s pitch but Sunny’s voice). Moon has Monty call off the twins, as Sun has already done the expelling of Eclipse. Moon takes poor Cepheid out of Sun’s body and into a body of his own. Cephy is extremely terrified of being hurt again, he’s very shaky and weak as well, he’s very skittish and barely gets emotionally attached to Sun, Moon, and Lunar. Though, once he’s emotionally attached to them, Cephy loves them with all his poor traumatized heart.

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years

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Retirement.

Summary: Blood is something Bucky has grown used to but when he's covered in yours, he's sick. Don't worry, happy ending!!

Warning/Content: almost death, getting shot in the head, Bucky cries but finally gets everything he deserves 😅

Paring: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Bucky Barnes tag list and master list

"Buck -" The rasp comes from the piece in his ear, he barely hears it as bullets that wiz past the surface of his head and bounce off the ground. He's out of breath, gasping as he find shelter behind an abandoned car, pressing the piece closer.

"What is it? Did you get in?" He pauses, "We need those files."

"Buck, he has a gun, he has me. Compromised." His heart is already unsteady and those words only make it beat faster. A pit forming in his stomach instead, he hears a male voice in the background.

"Who has a gun?" The silence makes his brows crease, heart drop as his voice cracks. "Answer me!"

"He wants to know where you are and what files you want." Bucky let's out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding at the sound of your voice.

"Tell him, give him the drive." There's no hesitation in his voice. There nothing in this world he wouldn't do to save you, nothing else mattered. Not the mission and definitely not the data.

But you know this, he's hard headed but instead of listening to Bucky you decide to test the waters. Looking up at the man which isn't hard, he has you on your knees, hands out in front of you but a gun inches from your head. "He said fuck off, if you shoot me you'll never know."

"What are you doing? Give him the drive, now." The growl that emphasizes the last word would usually be enough to have you shaking, but you don't give. Despite how rough he sounds, he tries to soften it "That's an order, give it to him sweetheart."

"Oh, he said fuck off again."

Bucky body runs hot, adrenaline pumping through his veins, warming his entire body as makes a b-line for the building you disappeared into a short while ago. "Give him the fucking drive."

It's useless, he hears rustling and talking but nothing he can understand but that's until he hears you talk to fast he can barely understand. "Office, we are in the first office second floor."

It's music to his ears, a second of relief but he feels dizzy as the found of a gun going off through the comlink almost paralyzes him.

"Fuck!" He yells, as he calls your name repetitively but there is no answer.

Nothing can stop him, he's running so fast he can barely register. It's all a blur, up the stairs through the main office until the stench of blood greets him.

There you are, lifeless and surrounded by your own blood.

His hands grasp gently grasping your head, blood seeping through his gapped fingers as good heart drops. "No..no." he mumbles to himself, managing to turn you over. It's hard to breath, he can't even think, see over the tears that blue his vision. A large lump forming in his mouth, it seals his throat.

There's too much blood to see anything, it soaks your scalp and mats into the hair around it. His fingers blindly look around for an exit wound but nothing is there, instead his focus falls to the rise and fall of your chest, still breathing.

Eyelashes flicker again cheekbones, disoriented and confused as Bucky let's out a sign of relief while you crunch your nose together in pain. He takes a second, just one to lay his head on top of yours and thank anything - anyone.

"Where does it hurt? I can't see, your bleeding too much baby.." Bucky watches as your eyes flicker from his steel blues and your hand reaches up to run a knuckle again his jaw, feeling the course fine hairs there. "Hey, listen to me, where does it hurt?"

Following the path of your shaky fingers he lets out a sigh of relief, the bullet managed to just graze the side of your head. The spot is hot under his trembling plam, beginning to scab and the hair is ripped away but he feels so thankful in that moment.

"He missed." It's not funny but both of you can't help but laugh as your sense of mind is returning. Hues of yellow and blue already forming under both of your eyes, no doubt from the head trauma.Bucky feels one of your hands push against his chest which he responds by tightening his core.

"Get off, I'm fine."

The look he gives you is filled with annoyance, eyes widening as if he can't believe the words that came out of your mouth, especially since his pants are wet and sticky seeing he is actually kneeling in a pool of blood.

"Are you crazy? You will bleed out." Bucky is quick to rip a piece of material from a nearby blanket, wrapping it tightly around your head but keeps pressure with his palm. "You need to get stitched up before you bleed out."

"I'm fine." Trying to push him away again but the look he gives is warning enough so you don't fight him as one arm slip underneath your knees, and then other supports your head against his chest.

"Scared me." Is all he manages to mumble as he starts his ascend towards stairs, a small kiss pressed against the uninjured part of your head. It's gentle, filled with so many words as his lips linger there, more so to reinsure that the skin is warm, full of color and lively. "Don't ever do that again, please."

"Bucky I couldn't just give it to them." Something is placed into his coat pocket while you tap it with a small smile. Hooded eyes weak, threatening to close with every passing second. "So I didn't, it's safe, the morons didn't even bother to search me."

Great, the mission is still ago but he's frowning. "I don't care about the mission. I care about you risking your life for some file, you disobeyed my orders I told you to give it to them and to tell them. If that bullet was an inch closer you would have died."

Silence feel over the pair, nothing else to be said because Bucky was right. The agreement was Bucky was in charge, in order for you to come everything would be up to him, especially because you weren't supposed to be there in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Guilt creeping over, pressing a small kiss to the underside of his jaw. Small tears beginning to blur vision but you're not sure if it's from the look of disappointed and fear that line his handsome features or that fact that you were that close to death and blood is soaking threw the make shift bandage and trailing down the side of your head. "I should have listened."

"I need a medic." Bucky brings his wrist to his lips before laying his cheek against the top of your own. The heavy, swish of air from the helicopter does little to him, he still stands confident and strong as he speaks.

"Don't cry, doll. I'm not mad, I promise." He pauses but you can feel his hands trembling, heart pounding inside of his chest. "Just scared, I'm covered in your blood and i hate it."

***

He was right, from head to toe, smeared across his face and dying his hands pink even after scrubbing them effortlessly in the shower does little to get it off. The smell of your blood is still fresh, enough to crinkle his nose with distaste. Every time he looks down it's a reminder that he almost lost you.

When he enters the bedroom with a towel around his waist you look up, head still spinning but now the wound is stitched up, white bandages knotted behind your head. After the initial shock left your system you notice the side affects, right below where the bullet grazed, your right ear is ringing. You can hear anything and honestly, the doctors couldn't give a definite answer if it will ever come back.

"How your head, did the medicine start working yet?" Bucky asks, throwing on a pair on underwear and doesn't bother with anything else.

With a defeat huff you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as the bright light of the bathroom hurts. Bucky notices and shuts it off before curling up into the bed, legs entangling with your own as he presses a soft kiss against your neck.

A few more soft ones pressed against your cheeks, the warmth gathering the few tears that slip from your eyes. A hand runs through the soft strands of the involved side of your head, a soft hum of comfort vibrates against it. "Shhhh, it's going to be okay sweetheart."

As the underside of his hand comes back up to comfort you the pink hue catches his attention once again and a frown fills his features.

"I don't want to say this..." his words are rushed and desperate but he can't keep it in any longer. "Every time I close my eyes I see you there, in your own blood. I can't shake the feeling of your blood oozing through my fingers."

Bucky is never one to hold his partner back and to be honest he thinks you're one of the best agents he's ever met, skilled and smart but none of that will matter if you are dead. "I don't want you going on active missions anymore."

"You don't get to decide that." You argue, he fears the worse as your head moves from his hand, no longer seeking the comfort. "You can't do that."

"I need piece of mind, you're the only person I have left." He argues. The bright moon creates just enough light to illuminate one side of your face through the window. Eyes are black and blue and red shot, a popped vessel on the corner of your right eyes almost swells it shit. They're also puffy, no doubt from the wound and all the crying. In pain, agonizing pain, who knew getting shot in the head would give you such a bad headache? His soft hands find you again, pulling you close and gently for you face him.

One hand slides over the skin of the back of your arm, squeezing the muscle there as he presses an experimental kiss against your lips in fear you'll pull away. You couldn't if you tried, pull away that is. The smell of his soap overrides any other sense, his skin is soft and warm, his lips gentle as he strokes your hairline, pushing the hair away from your forehead. "I didn't say you have to stop, just be more careful about it, no more active missions but you can go after, make the arrests, still get in on the action."

"So let everyone else do the hard work while I sit on the sidelines? That not who I am."

"Please." He sounds desperate, blue eyes roaming over the soft features of your face, the wrinkle of irritation pinching lines between your forehead, the curve of your nose to the fullness of your lips. Beautiful, breathtaking, he's never loved something so much before. The fact that you're still laying next to him, breathing makes him want to cry.

So he does, unwanted tears fall in a messy, zig-zagged pattern as he hiccups. A soft, small hand finds his head, the buzz cut smooth under finger-tips.

"Bucky, baby.."

"I have lost everyone. My parents, my friends... Steve. I don't want to loose you either." A sound so sad, choked up and stuttering jumps his chest as he cries into your neck.

It's long over due, he refuses to speak about it. The last year of his life as been challenging to say the least, he's trying to adapt but struggling. Coming to terms of what he's done over the last 70 years but also learning how to love again, how to become human again.

Steve still haunts his dreams, his best friend, the man who saved him from Hydra, from everything is now gone. The one person who has been constant, his backbone but now he's finding that in you and honestly, his heart cant take much more.

"It's alright Buck, I'm not leaving you. I promise, I'm right here." It doesn't help, his heart his burning, chest crushing under the pressure of tears. The ball of emotion and growing and growing in the back of his throat, making it hard to speak. "You can't leave me.. you can't."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."

"You're not okay, you can barely keep your eyes open. You have a gun shot wound in the side of your head! I felt it, your blood stains my hands. It's all I can smell. I thought you were dead... I can't take it."

What If he didn't miss? If Bucky had found you lifeless and cold?

"It's okay." You rub soothing circles to the middle of back, letting him cry it out. He needs it, he needs to talk about his problems, grow from them.

"What If we both stop?" Bucky's words silence you, "No more missions, we find a home, settle down. Just me and you."

The thought had crossed your mind more than once, a peaceful place to call your own with the man you love. Who knows what would happen? There's no doubt the pair of you would be bored out of your minds but can also gets jobs to fill the void, teach self defense classes.. start a family.

The thought alone makes your heart pound, so filled with love. "I want a normal life.. it's all I ever wanted. I can't imagine it with anyone else but I also need you safe. We can...." He's hesitant, not sure if they're the right words. "We can get married, get a home.. leave all this behind."

It's all so much, his words mix with the ache in the side of your skull but you don't need to think twice. The promise of Bucky forever is impossible to pass up on. "Yes."

"Yes to what?" Bucky's breathing is normal now, a few stray tears soaking your skin but his chest doesn't move. Like he's not breathing because he'll miss the words you say.

"All of it, to being your wife, to starting a normal life with you." After everything Bucky has been through, it's the least he deserves and you're going to give it to him. As his smile grows against your skin, you're breathless. Heart beating rapidly against his own and you swear you fall in love all over again.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #buckysam #sebastian stan #bucky angst #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

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jortsaaaaaaart · 3 years

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To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977 (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief.

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you.

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question.

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff.

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest.

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours.

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away.

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out.

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha.

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.

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subbymothpimp · 2 years

Text

WIP Tag game ✍️

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DnD campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

~~~

Tagged by @insomniac-silco-maniac

Oh you dear, sweet, sweet soul...

I’ll only share the Arcane WIPs I have because if I had to share ALL of my WIPs, we’d be here till the next year. I’m efficiently terrible at finishing things.

FICS Honey Whiskey Spinning Over You Stillwater Dinner and Diatribes Imagining yourself a hero II

ART Silcowip requestsnsfw monsterinsideallofus I know, it doesn’t seem like that many, but lets also consider the 300 WIPs that are in the ‘brainstorm for a couple nights’ stage.

I tag @captaincapslock, @msmagicmane, @zkyfall, @amusingelf, @goathag, aaaaand @smallhorizons And anyone feeling anarchist enough to break the rules and do it despite not being tagged. FIGHT THE SYSTEM, I DARE YOU! :D

#arcane #silco #vander #vander x silco #fanfic #fanart

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don’t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

208 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry. I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against. Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

#uglywombatsexpositionchallenge #mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #mike weiss x you #mike weiss reader insert #reader insert #mike weiss fanfic #mike weiss smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

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bleachhaven · 4 years

Text

Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) — Part 4/6

Author’s Note:

As planned, here is the 4th installment of how the reader romances the Soutaicho...which I have to admit I have so much fun writing and feel so grateful that you guys showed this fic so much love! Thank you!

–

Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 first!

She was quite hungover and tired from Yadomaru Taicho’s Valentine’s Day party. It didn’t seem fair that everyone had to go to work the day after, but it was what it was. She should have known better than to go to a party that was renowned to go on late into the night.

But then again, there was no way she would have let herself miss it for any reason.

Of all the years Yadomaru Taicho has held the infamous Valentine’s Day party at the 8th Division, Shunsui had never failed to show up. Before he became the Soutaicho, every occasion was an occasion to hold some elaborate event despite Ise-san’s adamant objections. It was a chance for every shinigami to mingle regardless of rank or division. Yadomaru Taicho carried on with most of those traditions holding celebrations and what not, but as the Soutaicho, Shunsui didn’t attend them all. She supposed he couldn’t attend them all. Not with all the responsibilities he got going on. Besides he had a reputation to maintain. The Shunsui she used to know -- from afar of course, but observation combined with longing can reveal much -- didn’t care about inconsequential things like reputation but as the Soutaicho, it was all so different.

Still the Valentine’s Day party at the 8th was an exception. Even Ise-san attended without fail.

And it was that one opportunity, she would get to see Shunsui outside of his role in the Gotei 13. All she usually gets would be sneak peeks into his office whenever she went to the 1st to pick up and deliver paperwork, or seeing him in passing in the seireitei. It was a treat to see him lighthearted, smiling easier, and simply just enjoying himself. She never would have missed it. Not for anything in the world

Of course, one cup of sake had turned into two, which turned into much more. The 6th Division’s Kuchki Taicho had provided the sake from his manor and it was simply just too good to resist. She had thought she was watching over Kiyone and Sentaro, making sure they didn’t fight over something creating a drunken mess, but she had ended up getting drunk with them instead. And now she was regretting it. The persistent headache was making an appearance this morning.

Still...she remembered the moment he had walked into the room, looking as handsome as ever in his pink haori. She had sighed involuntarily, making Kiyone giggle.

“You’ve got it bad,” she had teased. Pretending not to know what that meant was the easiest way to deal with Kiyone’s teasing remarks.

Except it was not a secret amongst the higher ranks of the 13th. Apparently everyone knew about her little -- more like massive -- crush on the Soutaicho. She suspected even her Taicho knew, though nothing was explicitly mentioned.

After the customary greetings with the other Taichos present, Shunsui had gone to tease Yadomaru Taicho and Ise fuktaicho who seemed to be in an argument over how the latter was failing to experiment in her dating life.

The way his throat bobbed with every sip of sake had her mouth going a bit dry. The way he bit into the handmade chocolate made by her for the party made her think of those lips on her...and the chocolate she had snuck into his office to leave behind as a special gift. She hoped he liked them. She longed to feel him smile at her the way he smiled at everyone else, but it also terrified her that if he actually did, she might swoon.

Saying she got it bad might actually be an understatement, honestly!

All the pining and sighing had her parched, so she sidled up to the refreshment table for some lemonade which had also been provided by the 13th, made carefully under her own watchful eyes. She was just reaching for a glass when a familiar voice called out her name over the din of the music.

“_____-san.”

It was Shunsui himself, and she was shocked to realize he actually remembered her name! Startled, the glass almost slipped from her hands. He probably thought she was the clumsiest shinigami in existence and she bit back a groan.

“Sh...Soutaicho!”

“I’m always startling you aren’t I?” he said chuckling. “Bad habit of being too quiet. I end up unintentionally sneaking up on people.” Then as if they were friends or something, he reached out to take the glass from her shaking hands. “I was going to ask you to pour me a glass as well, but considering how I have frightened you, maybe I should do the pouring for the both of us.”

He was smiling at her, and pouring lemonade for her. She wasn’t going to read too much into it but her heart was beating so fast, she feared she might faint.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a soft smile when he handed her a glass. She couldn’t drink it without fearing she might choke on it so she watched him sip his own lemonade instead.

“Ah…” he said. “As delicious as I remember it. You all at the 13th sure know how to make lemonade!”

“Thank you,” you repeated. He might think those were the only words she knew at the rate this was going. If she continued to be tongue-tied in his presence, however would anything become of this silly infatuation in her head?!

Fortunately, Ise fuktaicho took pity on her. “Taicho! Are you harassing poor _____-san?” she demanded.

The statement had her sputtering. Shunsui had such a wounded look on his face. She hastened to deny. “No! Absolutely not!” she declared, and he offered her a sweet smile of appreciation. “Soutaicho was just telling me how much he liked the lemonade from the 13th, Ise-san.”

“Ah,” Ise-san said, a bit of a twinkle in her eye. “Did you know, Taicho? _____-san makes the lemonade herself. That’s probably why you smell like lemonade all the time too when you deliver paperwork in the evening,” she teased. “She also made these delicious chocolates!” she continued. “Did you try one, Taicho?”

Before Shunsui could reply to any of it, Yadomaru Taicho came to drag them both for a dance, and Ise-san went protesting the entire way.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or feel sad that their time together was cut short. It was the most time she had gotten to spend with Shunsui like that. And she couldn’t believe he remembered her name!

It just might have been the best night she’s ever had. Even if walking into the office in the 13th Division this morning with a pounding headache was not ideal, she walked with a spring in her step and a smile on her face that she just couldn’t seem to get rid of.

She collected the approved paperwork sent in from the 1st Division that needed to be filed in the appropriate places, as well as the pile that she had to fill out and send out soon. With the mindset she was in today, doing any serious form filling would be ill-advised, so she left it for the end of the day. She imagined she would feel much better after lunch if she continued to hydrate and take it slow.

So she started sorting through the paperwork that needed to be filed. She’d done it so often she could do it effortlessly and mindlessly. Which was why she held the lavender paper in her hands for five full minutes trying to decide where it should go in the filing system before she actually thought to read it.

Dear Secret Admirer,

Had I been anyone but who I was, perhaps you might have flirted with me in person, though I do love your letters showing up at the most random places. With your pretty words and ardent gifts you’ve dared to try and seduce me. If I say that maybe you have indeed succeeded, would you stop hiding from me?

Writing this letter feels futile. Who would I even send it to when I have no idea who you are?

But it feels wrong somehow to be romanced so thoroughly and not be given even the opportunity to return the same.

I wonder, sometimes in my darkest moments, if this is nothing but an elaborate prank but I wish

...and the letter ended there abruptly. It remained unfinished. What did he wish for?

She held the piece of lavender paper to her chest, trying to fathom what had just happened. Unless someone else in seireitei was sending secret love letters to someone in the 1st Division, which seemed highly unlikely, this was clearly written by Shunsui...to her! And somehow it had been “accidentally” left in the pile of paperwork that someone somehow knew would end up in her hands.

Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it might beat right out of her chest.

This could be from Shunsui himself...but the more likely scenario was that someone had found out about what she had done. Someone actually knew she was sending all these salacious and inappropriate love letters to the goddamn Soutaicho of the Gotei 13 himself and...and…

Oh she didn’t know what to do!

She was on the verge of a terrible panic attack, her breathing coming faster and faster. She felt like she couldn’t take enough air in.

But what if it was actually from Shunsui? Could she ignore the words in this scrap of lavender paper?

If I say that maybe you have indeed succeeded, would you stop hiding from me? The words reverberated in her head. What if he actually meant that?

No, no. That couldn’t be true. Shunsui couldn’t know. She had been so freaking careful. And even if he did, he couldn’t know it was her specifically. His letter itself said so. He probably loved the idea of it...the romance of it. It couldn’t be anything more.

All her internalized insecurities raised their ugly heads. If he knew who exactly she was, he wouldn’t spare two glances her way.

So maybe this was just an accident. Or maybe it was a warning.

Whatever it was...all she knew was that she had to stop sending these love letters to him. She had to stop before it all exploded in her face causing trouble for everyone involved.

Read Part 5 next!

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#soutaicho's secret admirer #kyouraku shunsui #shunsui kyouraku #shunsui #kyouraku shunsui x reader #shunsui x reader #shunsui kyouraku x reader #bleach imagines #bleach headcanons #bleach scenarios #bleach fanfiction #bleach anime #bleach #bleach x reader

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agustdakasuga · 4 years

Text

A Place Called Home | Chapter 3

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Poly!AU?, Soulmate AU, romance, fluff, humour

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: vet!reader, Arcticfox!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Goldenretriever!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Calicocat!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Rabbit!Jungkook

Summary: Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

You bring Taehyung to the hospital for a check up and Yoongi insists on tagging along. Finally, you sit him down and find out why he has been acting weird the past few days.

“It’s your house, (y/n).” Yoongi crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“I told you to stop saying that. This is OUR house. You and Jin both have a say in this too. I want to hear your opinions on it.” You leaned back on your hands and stared back at both your hybrids. Jin had remained silent, the arctic fox mainly looking between you and his black panther brother.

“We just got Jin hyung back. It’s a little unfair to suddenly be getting another hybrid here.” Yoongi spoke.

“I know. I’m sorry, Jin.” You squeezed his hand.

“It’s alright, (y/n). I know you just wanna help as many hybrids as possible. Honestly, I’m fine with whatever you choose. As long as you’re happy. But I think we should ask Taehyung what he wants to do.” Jin said.

It’s true. The tiger hybrid didn’t leave the next morning, to your surprise. He continued to stay and it was his 5th day here. He mainly kept to himself, having small conversations with you and Jin but tried to avoid Yoongi as much as possible. Jin told you it could be a feline territory thing. Luckily, you could count on him when you were at work.

“What if... I don’t want him here?” Yoongi asked cautiously.

“Then I would respect that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home, Yoongi. I would try to arrange for him to go to a sanctuary or hybrid shelter.” You nodded your head.

“I don’t know, (y/n).” Yoongi looked away.

“Let’s try fostering him. If he is open to it, that is. At the end of the fostering period, then we’ll make a decision.” Jin suggested. You gave Yoongi a hesitant look but the panther actually nodded his head to the older’s words. He stalked over and pulled you into his arms.

“Alright, let’s talk to Taehyung. If he’s alright with it, I’ll bring him in with me for a check up.” You smiled, stroking the space between Yoongi’s ears. The three of you headed downstairs to see Taehyung sitting on the couch.

“Tae?” You called and his head shot up, ears turning to your direction. The tiger blinked at you.

“The boys and I have been talking. It has been a pleasure to have you here with us. And if you would like to, I would like to foster you.” You smiled.

“R-Really? Foster me?” His eyes showed shock.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to force you into adoption right away. At least with foster, I can give you medical care and house you without any legal issues. This will also give the 3 of you time to see if you’re comfortable with one another. Once the foster period is over, we can decide if you would like to permanently be part of our family.” You explained.

Hearing you say ‘our family’ made Jin and Yoongi’s heart soar. This just constantly reaffirmed that they had the best owner any hybrid could ever ask for. You were a human that lived for the well being of hybrids.

“Is that okay?” Taehyung turned to the two boys. Yoongi shrugged but nodded while Jin gave a thumbs up.

“I would like that. Thank you.” Taehyung threw his arms around you to hug you. That caught you by surprise but you smiled softly and patted his back.

“I’m going to head to the hospital. You’ll have to come with me for a check up and I’ll get your paper work.” You informed.

“I’ll come with!” Jin raised his hand.

“I... don’t have classes today.” Yoongi said and you knew that meant that Yoongi wanted to tag along as well. You nodded your head and all of you went to get ready. Yoongi always did a reminder check with you to make sure that you had all your things. He even (reluctantly) sprays your body with a scent mask, which was necessary since you didn’t want your hybrids’ scents to scare off your patients.

“Let’s go.” Yoongi held your hand and led you to the car.

“Hey Fran! I’m doing good. How are you?... Yeah, I’m going to be fostering, do you think you could help me pull up the file? I’ll be bringing him in for a check up today... Tiger hybrid, Kim Taehyung... Alright, thank you!” You spoke to your friend and hung up.

Taehyung looked at you in amazement as you chatted animatedly with Yoongi, who was driving. He had only seen the cold panther smile around you.

“You three follow Jin and get registered. I’m going to clock in.” You told them. Yoongi and Jin gave you pecks on the cheek. You ruffled Taehyung’s hair and he watched you disappear behind the staff doors.

“(y/n)! I saw your boys in the waiting room.” Your colleague, Dr Yu, popped her head into your office.

“Yeah. I’m gonna foster a tiger hybrid so he needs his check up.” You replied, opening the file that the hospital’s adoption agent had dropped off on your desk.

“No one can beat your heart of gold, (y/n).” Dr Yu sat opposite you as you studied Taehyung’s file. You laughed at her words, not looking up. Taehyung’s file was quite clean. He had all his shots and no serious medical history. It says his old owner passed away. But nothing about how he became homeless.

“Is Yoongi okay with another feline?” Dr Yu asked.

“He’s... getting used to it.” You let out an awkward chuckle. One rule was that a doctor cannot conduct a check up on his/ her own hybrid because of a biased incident years ago.

“Dr Yu, do you think you could...” You started.

“Thought you’d never ask! Don’t worry, you can count on me.” She took Taehyung’s file, winking before leaving. You wore your coat and started your rounds, already running slightly late. As you walked with both your nurses, you ran into Jin and Taehyung.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You asked.

“He said he had to go to the bathroom. We’re heading for Taehyung’s x-ray now.” Jin said and you nodded your head.

“Anything about the wolf hybrid in ICU 2?” You asked and your nurses shook their heads.

“We couldn’t find any family in the system but someone comes to leave flowers every day. No one has seen who the mysterious flower sender is though.” Your nurse informed and you nodded your head. The 3 of you made your way to said hybrid’s ICU room. But you froze when you saw someone through the viewing glass.

“Yoongi?” You whispered.

“Dr (y/l/n), isn’t that your hybrid?” The other nurse asked. You nodded. With his sharp senses, Yoongi heard you and smelt you. His head whipped to you standing at the door with your nurses. You couldn’t even hide the shock on your face as you looked at him.

“Kitt- (y/n).” Yoongi acknowledged but you cleared your throat.

“Check all his vitals and get me an ECG. Take some blood and send it to the lab for the works. We’ll change his dressing as well.” You ignored him and walked to the unconscious wolf.

“(y/n).” Yoongi called softly.

“We’ll talk later. Please step outside.” You said, not turning to face him as you used your flashlight to test his reflexes. Yoongi’s ears dropped, flattening against his head before leaving the room. You cleaned the wolf’s wounds, happy to see no sign of infection and a speedy recovery.

“I’ll send his blood to the lab.” One of the nurses bowed and left. After making sure everything was okay, you took the folder from the end of the bed and opened it.

“Can you help me key these files in first? I’ll just update this and go to the nurses’ station.” You told the other nurse in the room.

“Yes, doctor.” She grabbed the stack of folders of the other patients you saw and left. You were left alone in the room with the wolf hybrid. Sighing, you sat on the chair and took your pen out to begin scribbling today’s report on a fresh page. You heard the door open.

“Kitten.” Yoongi called out to you. You hummed as a signal that you were listening to him.

“Are you mad? I’m sorry.” He spoke.

“I’m not mad. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything.” You replied. You weren’t lying. Yoongi could smell the disappointment and hurt from your being.

“You know I have been wrecking my brain to find out whatever I can about him. Where he comes from, how he ended up on the streets, how he was hurt. I don’t even know his name, Yoongi. You knew and you didn’t even think to mention it. You even come in everyday and leave flowers for him.” You let out a huff of frustration.

“Is this why you have been acting off? You saw him the night we came in to see the lion right? That’s why you were in my office, looking so distraught.”

“Yes. I saw him that night I was heading to your office. His name is Namjoon. We’re... from the same fighting ring. He was probably hurt by our ring master, the same person who hurt me.” Yoongi revealed.

“The cut on his abdomen was meant to kill him. That’s how ring masters kill their fighters.” He continued.

“When you found me 3 years ago, I should have went back to save him but I didn’t. He must have thought I was dead.” Yoongi cursed, guilt filling his system.

“It’s not your fault, Yoongi. I don’t think Namjoon would blame you too.” You got up and wrapped your arms around him. Yoongi’s body slumped against yours as his tail curled around your waist. The beeper in your coat went off and for a moment, you forgot you were still working.

“I need to go. Let Jin and Tae know you’re here, okay? Jin would worry that you are gone for so long.” You patted his head, making him purr.

“(y/n), I know it’s too much to ask but... when Namjoon wakes up...” He stuttered, looking down.

“Of course, Yoongi. He’s always welcomed to stay with us but bear in mind, that’s his decision to make. We can’t make others conform to our wants.” You smiled softly and squeezed his hand before you left.

By the time you returned to your hybrids, it was close to midnight. You yawned and dropped onto the couch tiredly. You heard doors opening and footsteps down the stairs.

“Oh, Taehyung.” You gave a tired smile.

“Jin hyung’s heat came earlier and Yoongi hyung tried to help. They’re sleeping now.” Taehyung explained, a slightly blushed creeping up his cheeks. You nodded your head, not affected by it at all. It was a natural thing for hybrids to have heat and you were thankful your hybrids could cope with it on their own. There wasn’t anything awkward about it.

“I have your file ready.” You said, holding up the folder.

“C-Can I see?” He asked.

“Of course, silly. It’s your file.” You giggled and patted the space next to you. Taehyung immediately gave you a boxy grin and tucked himself under your arm as you opened the file. He didn’t really understand all the medical words but you were quick to verbally explain things to him.

“Although, we did find that one of your ribs was broken in a past injury. The x-ray showed a misalignment, which means it didn’t really heal properly.” You showed him the image in the light.

“Oh...” Taehyung gulped.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You patted his head.

“I was disobedient and they would punish me. They said I deserved it for being bad.” He stuttered nervously, ears drooping down.

“Oh, Tae. No wonder it didn’t heal properly.” You sighed.

“B-But! I promise, I-I’m not disobedient anymore! Really! I’m a good boy.” He was quick to grab your hands.

“Tae, listen to me. Listen to my voice. Calm down, breathe, baby. What those people did to you was horrible and illegal. I know you’re a good boy. No one is going to hurt you anymore, I promise. You’re safe here.” You hugged him and he wrapped his arms around your torso tightly, seeking comfort in your radiating warmth. His cries were reduced to small sniffles.

“I’ll need to wrap your ribs to try and realign them. Is that okay?” You asked and he nodded his head.

“Let me take a shower first. I probably smell like a thousand hybrids.” You chuckled and shuffled upstairs to shower. Before entering your room, you stopped by Jin’s room to check on him and Yoongi. The two were fast asleep under the covers, making you smile.

“Come on, baby.” You called Taehyung to your room.

“Lift your shirt.” You instructed, taking the gauze and sports tape you took from the hospital, specifically for him. Turning around, you saw Taehyung fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“I... I... There are scars...” He kept his gaze down.

“It’s alright, Taehyung. Everyone has their own scars.” You smiled, comforting him. Slowly, he removed his shirt. You tried not to gasp at the whip scars on his back. Taking a deep breath, you began to put the sports tape to hold everything in place as you wrapped him up. When you were done, you handed him his shirt and he quickly put it on.

“I’ll tidy up.” Taehyung watched you put things away. You laid down beside him, yawning.

“Goodnight Taehyung.” You closed your eyes. He held you in his arms, his orange tail curling itself around your ankle. He made a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow.

The next morning, you were on call from home so you didn’t have to go into the hospital unless they were short staffed. The three hybrids sat by the kitchen island, eating their breakfast as you fixed yourself a coffee.

“Iced Americano for Yoongi, hot latte for Jin and tea for Taehyung.” You placed all 3 cups down.

“Do you usually get called in?” Taehyung asked.

“Not really. But I do have some papers to go through and reports to update so I’m not completely free today even if I get to be at home.” You chuckled, drinking your iced black coffee. Yoongi placed his plate in the sink and wrapped his arms around you.

“Unfortunately, I have classes today.” He kissed your cheek. You laughed and stroked his head.

“Have a good day.” You wished and he gave you another kiss on the temple. He let Jin kiss him on the cheek and ruffled Taehyung’s hair before he left. His actions left you with raised eyebrows but nonetheless, your heart swelled.

“Plans for today, Jin?” You asked as you washed up.

“It’s my first day back at the nursery.” Jin reminded. Before Jin went to the institution, he actually worked at a plant nursery, tending to all the plants and learning all about plant care from the old man who owned it. You nodded, remembering he mentioned it to you recently. Jin came and gave you a kiss as well, heading to his room to get ready.

“Looks like it’s just you and me then.” You grinned.

“I don’t mind.” Taehyung flashed a boxy smile. With both older boys at their jobs, you were in your room, sitting at your desk with your laptop and report folders around you.

Taehyung stayed by your side, sitting on the ground, his head in your lap. You would run your fingers through his hair as you were deep in thought.

“Hmm...” You scratched your head, reading through the patient files. Suddenly, your phone rang, making both you and Taehyung jump. You quickly answered the phone. As you heard the person on the opposite line, you looked down at Taehyung uneasily.

“I see... I understand.” You frowned and hung up.

“Tae, I don’t know how to tell you this but... They arrested your owner. He is in police custody and you will need to help with investigations.” You explained. Taehyung’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Please! I don’t want to go back! I can’t! I promise I didn’t do anything, (y/n)! Please believe me!” He got on his knees to beg, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I won’t let them take you back, Tae. They just want to ask you some questions. I don’t want you going either but if I don’t bring you in, they’ll come to take you in by force.” You stroked his head. He hugged your torso, crying into the material of your shirt.

“I’m sorry, Tae.” You didn’t know what to do. Taehyung cried as he changed and got ready. Even in the car, he cried in the passenger seat, his tail curled around your thigh as you drove to the police investigation headquarters.

“Hi, I’m here to see Officer Kim Jooyeon?” You went to the receptionist, holding Taehyung’s hand.

“Dr (y/n) (y/l/n)?” An officer headed to you. You had to force a smile and shake his hand. He cleared his throat, seeing Taehyung so distraught, his arms and tail wrapped around you tightly. You stroked the back of his head to try and comfort him.

“This is his file. We just filed for foster care yesterday.” You handed the officer Taehyung’s paw printed file.

“Right. Don’t worry, we just need to ask Taehyung some questions as a witness to lock up that man. He will return to your foster care the moment investigations are over.” He explained.

“How long? He’s still injured and needs to be tended to.” You asked.

“I can’t give you an exact answer now, I’m afraid. You can come see him as his doctor, I’ll let my boss know. But that’s the best I can do for you now.” Officer Kim said. You sighed and nodded your head. Taehyung had grown so attached to you over the week and he didn’t want to be separated for you so quickly. You cupped his face in your hands, wiping his tears.

“Hey, baby. Breathe. It’s only gonna be a while. You’ll be home before you know it.” You comforted.

“I don’t want to see him.” Taehyung cried.

“You won’t. You will be separated from him.” Officer Kim assured. Kissing Taehyung on the forehead, you left him with Officer Kim and closed your eyes, using all your will power to turn and leave.

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