#kaz creates

Fandom: Love & Deepspace Zayne x Reader

@tropetember

Gender-Neutral, Disabled Reader. Medical Settings; Strep Throat. Pet-Names Used: my love, darling, sweetheart.

Read/Support It On AO3!

You greet the day with a yawn; the morning greets you with a terribly scratchy throat that leaves a small cough in its wake. Blearily, your eyes flutter open, a low sound of discontent forming as you crane your neck to look towards the nearby alarm clock. This is met with immediate regret, a terrible ache protesting the attempt. A hand flies up to your throat, fingers pressing just under the curve of your jaw in search of tight muscles, only to squeak at the pain that follows. Swollen lymph node, you realize sleepily, and a sore throat – well, call that a date canceled.

Fumbling your cellphone off the nightstand, you quickly swipe your passcode in. The text is still slightly blurry on the screen as you try to blink away the haze of sleep and the disappointed tears that are already stinging your eyes. Finding your boyfriend's contact is of no issue, at least; your messages are pinned to the top of any chat service you use.

[Text To: Dr. Zayne] – Hey, I've gotta raincheck on lunch. Woke up feeling sick today. I'm really sorry.

The apologies are unnecessary, and you know that — know damn well that the doctor, of all people, is just going to be worried about the fact that you've fallen ill. Knowing that doesn't stop the dampness in your eyes or the tight ball of anxiety that's already trying to coil in your chest. You'd been looking forward to spending the afternoon with him, damn it! And with how busy your schedules could get between the hospital and the Hunters Association, who knew when you'd have time for a date again? It wasn't fair. It already felt like you were always canceling plans, and now your body had decided to —

The buzz of your text notifications briefly disrupts those spiraling thoughts.

[Text From: Dr. Zayne] – There's absolutely no need to apologize for feeling unwell, my love. What are your symptoms?

A small sigh of relief, a breath of tense air that you hadn't realized you were holding. Calm down, you try to remind yourself, Zayne knows that your immune system isn't the best; you getting sick often isn't news to him. The internal chiding doesn't fully sooth your nerves, or the needless guilt that tries to settle like poison beneath your slightly-flushed skin, but it's the best you can do for now. Slowly, around the anxieties and hazy fog in your thoughts, you start to tap out a reply. As asked, you explain your notable symptoms, alongside the slight headache that's already started in the few minutes you've been awake, the dull ache in your muscles that you've now started to notice, how fatigued you felt the night prior…

It doesn't take much beyond that for Zayne to decide that you need a check-up, even though you insist that it's 'not that serious'. It's a promptly losing battle, and not forty minutes later, you're stumbling to get ready to make the short trip over to Akso Hospital. How he'd rearranged his busy schedule so quickly, or why the cardiologist is insisting on seeing you for something that's definitely just a simple infection… Well, you weren't going to argue; sudden medical visits were always way better when they were with your doctor.

—————

"You should have told me yesterday that you'd felt that under the weather." Zayne's voice is colored gently with concern, but it's steady as ever. He's just gotten into the room, and already he's fussing over you. As much as you don't want to be doing this, as tired of appointments as you are, his familiarity is still a welcome comfort.

"I didn't know that I needed to, Dr. Zayne." You insist softly, clearing your throat around the worsening soreness. "I'm fatigued all the time. How am I supposed to know when it's out of the ordinary?" Add that to the list of 'things that healthy people don't have to consider', huh?

"I don't expect you to." The sigh is barely audible, gloved fingers moving to carefully press at either side of your throat for the exam. He's a lot gentler than your accidental inspection of it, but you still wince, a tiny whimper of pain escaping you. More worry bleeds into his tender gaze, the sympathetic apology immediate. "I'm sorry; I know that's unpleasant… I don't expect you to know exactly when something is medically abnormal. My point, my darling, is that I want to know when you're feeling unwell regardless."

"I'm always 'unwell', Zayne, I don't want to bother ‐" Frustration seeps into your voice, but before you can get too far into that spiral, you're being cut off by a gentle grasp on your jaw.

"Sweetheart." His voice is firm, familiar and grounding, a much-needed comfort in the middle of a bad morning. "Allow me to repeat myself: I always want to know when you're feeling unwell. I do not care how often that is. You are not 'bothering me' by being ill." His grip loosens to let cautious fingertips brush across your cheek, frosty touch contrasting the warmth in his gaze. "Your disabilities are a part of you. I love you, wholeheartedly, not despite your struggles."

It takes a moment for you to compose yourself after that one. You're still not used to somebody (outside of Gram and Caleb) loving you so completely. Finally, through the happy-tears that have welled up in the corners of your vision, you nod. "Thank you, Zayne… I love you too."

Another gentle smile, as he presses a kiss to your forehead; whatever illness you've caught be damned. "Of course, my love. Now, open wide - I need to examine your throat."

From there, it's a series of examinations and tests. Zayne quickly agrees with your suspicions that it's one of the handful of bugs going around this time of year, and suggests the standard series of rapid tests to rule things out. Your nostrils are swabbed, leaving you scrunching your nose up and trying not to sneeze on your boyfriend. Then the back of your throat is given a similiar treatment. Testing for COVID-19, influenza, and strep throat, he explains between the swabs. After that, it's a simple prick to your index finger to draw a tiny blood sample. Testing for mono, just to be safe.

Once that's done, Zayne whisks off to get the tests run, promising that he'll be back shortly. The next fifteen minutes drag, and the bright fluorescent lights are quick to worsen your headache.

Finally, the door swings back open. He flashes a reassuring smile at you, lifting the papers in his hand. "As I suspected after looking at your throat, it's streptococcal pharyngitis. You should take at least the next 48 hours off work, until you're certain to not be contagious. I've already written a formal note for the Association." Strep throat, great.

Frowning, you nod, pulling your knees up to your chest where you've curled up on the exam table. "Damn, where'd I even… Oh well, nothing to be done about it now. Thanks, Dr. Zayne."

"It's hard to say. I've written you a prescription for amoxicillin - twice a day for 10 days. That usually clears it up." It's sweet, listening to him explain the treatment for strep throat like you've never had it before. You used to get it all the time as a kid, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to either of you. "You can take ibuprofen or acetaminophen to alleviate the pain, in the meantime. I also recommend warm tea, and getting plenty of rest while your body is fighting the infection."

"Yeah, some things never change." You try for a smile, nodding at his advice. "Thanks, really."

The frost melts, a kind hand tucking stray hairs behind your ear. "Anything you need, my love. Now, you should get that script, and go home to sleep. I'll check on you during my break, alright?"

"Okay, doctor." You smile lightly around the discomfort, untucking your legs and swinging them down to get up. "I love you."

Finally sharing my Mutant and Proud zine I made for a local zinefest a few months ago! Please reblog and let me know what you think <3

Summary:

How much of yourself would you be willing to destroy to save the ones you love? This is a question Tim Stoker must ask himself time and time again, when the sheer destruction of his intended final act catches the attention of an unexpected Power, granting him a second chance at life. Or something like it. After being reborn in the aftermath of his own catastrophe, with at least most of himself intact, he finds that things aren't quite how he'd thought he'd left them.

Prelude:

More often than not, people will eventually die.

Some die quietly; peacefully, and some tend to go out with a bang… quite literally.

What's significantly less common, is when they come back for round two...

Fandom: My Hero Academia Ship: EndHawks (Endeavor x Hawks) CWs: slightly nsfw??, impulsive sleep deprived kissing, first kiss while drinking alcohol, slight burn play (non-negotiated), mixed feelings. Read / Support It On My AO3!

@tropetember

The first time they kissed, it felt like an accident. Not the sort where you laugh it off, say "shit, my bad" and move on without lasting consequences. No, the type of accident that happens like a car crash. A split-second impulse, not even a fully formed decision, that they could never take back. It wasn't romantic, or kind, or even coordinated; it simply was. Insistent, sudden, the kind of kiss that could leave a scar on your heart for the rest of forever.

One moment, he'd been perched on the arm of a chair, chattering about their latest missions and how ready for a vacation he was. Not that the golden star of the HPSC got many of those, but hey, a guy could dream — or complain, depending on your perspective there. He was absolutely exhausted, every muscle tense with overexertion, wings sore and running a bit low on expendable feathers. It was late at night, immediately after yet another 12+ hour work day, and while Hawks should have went straight home to collapse into his nest and sleep, he'd been far too Hellbent on spending time with his hero colleague first. Maybe that had been the first mistake; maybe it had been their agreement to share 'one drink' before making him leave — that had turned into two, but who was counting?

The next, he was just-barely on his feet, having flitted forward to… What was his original goal, before he'd found himself impulsively kissing the elder? Whatever it may have been, it was already forgotten, replaced by the shock of being kissed back and warmth all around him. Strong arms encirled his waist, crowding him toward the nearest solid surface, before firm hands found their way to his hips. Keigo gasped, like he had any right to be surprised when he was the one who'd started this, and then the kiss was deepening, his thoughts reeling.

Maybe he'd been a little delirious in the first place. He definitely was now.

The toes of his boots lost their place on the ground, wings fluttering slightly before they steadied, weight supported by the way Endeavor had him caged up against the desk. Gloved hands grasped at the front of the other hero's costume, one leg hooking up to twist around him; the response could have very well been described as 'clinging', albeit dressed up flirtatiously, but they didn't need to dwell on that. Hawks could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Months of flirting, years of pining… This couldn't actually be happening, could it? Had he dozed off at some point, started dreaming?

One of Endeavor's hands slipped away from his waist, around to his back, fingers combing through Keigo's feathers. They were slightly too sensitive from Quirk-use for it to be the brain-melting sensation that it could've been on a better day, every touch stinging slightly alongside the usual thrums of pleasure. Still, the warmth of it brought a welcome relief to the soreness beneath them, left him melting further into his embrace even as an overwhelmed whimper slipped out. Too much, too fast, after too long of a day, but he'd be damned if he turned down this chance.

The opposite hand tightened on his hip in a way that left him moaning low in his throat, likely to bruise faintly later. Lighter touches drifted, parting through scarlet feathers, curving along the base of his wings and making him shutter, just-barely biting back a mewl that he never would've lived down. The whole ordeal was intoxicating, genuinely dizzying, but…

Through the haze, the taste of liquor re-registered, as did the heaviness in his body and the sleep-deprivation headache that had been pressing at his temples for the past hour or so. He wanted this so badly, would've given anything to have been in a better state for it… Roaming fingers traced back up into the bulk of his wings, brought with them a soft coo of approval at first, but after another moment, they accidentally nudged things just wrong, granting a sharp wince, feathers ruffling with overstimulation. But not tonight. Damn it all.

Hawks finally broke away from the kiss, lungs burning their protest as he gasped for air. For an instant, the touch was too hot; not enough to do significant damage, and not against the fragile tissue of his wings, but enough on his waist that he swore there'd be singe-marks later. Distantly, he'd meant to comment on it — but the breathless, pained moan that rasped out instead, sort of dissolved that. "Ha– finally got that kiss after all."

Just as quickly, it faded. Enji's lips brushed along the curve of his jaw, making golden eyes flutter half-closed. "Don't push your luck." His voice was irritable as ever, but laced with heat – and something fond that Keigo chose to call affection. The series of open-mouthed kisses pressed into his neck were the only confirmation he needed, shortsighted as that may have been.

But too soon, spell already broken, Endeavor was stepping away and setting him back on his own two feet. Keigo immediately swayed, lightheaded with it all, steadying one hand on the desk behind himself as the other softly clutched at the elder's arm. Exhausted, overjoyed, nerves alit like tealight candles, he laughed slightly. "Sorry, wow –"

"— Go home, Hawks. You're bordering on delirious." The gruff instruction was ironic, in that he was certain he was past that point, but whatever. There was no point in arguing the semantics when Enji was right; like it or not, he needed to leave before he somehow dug this hole any further. Anything that needed to be said about it was not going to come out correctly when he could barely think. If he was going to put his foot in his mouth, he wanted that to be an honest mistake, not a result of adrenaline drops and sleep deprivation.

Gods, his nest was going to feel cold tonight, though.

Fandom: House M.D. Relationships: Gregory House & Remy "Thirteen" Hadley (can be read as platonic or romantic) // Background/Referenced Hilson. CWs: Canon LGBTQ+ Character Uses A Slur Once; it's in a comedic/lighthearted way. Brief mention of painkillers. Read/Support It On AO3!

@tropetember

Of course one of the handful of times that she'd agreed to go somewhere with House, the car had ended up breaking down. In the middle of January. Several miles away from anything civilized. This had to be some sort of sick joke from the universe, right?

It wasn't even that Greg was the worst person to be caught stranded with. Genuinely, she could immediately think of people — Hell, even coworkers — that would be a lot more irritating in this situation. It was just painfully ironic that, while they were trying to enjoy a brief get-away from their mutually miserable lives, something would go so horribly wrong.

"I still can't get a signal." She announced after a moment, cellphone lifted, pacing back towards the car from where she'd been trying to get service. Sure, there was always the emergency lines, but this didn't really feel that extreme — and that wasn't guaranteed to work anyway.

Greg was at the front of the car, having already popped the hood, seeing if he could sort out what the problem was. While it was doubtful that they'd have the correct tools to fix it on their own either way, she wasn't surprised in the least that he was still habitually trying. Anything for a puzzle. Looking up, he frowned, leaning more of his weight against the vehicle as he paused to think. It was that look he rarely got back at work, the one that said he didn't have a clue but wasn't willing to admit it yet. Given that, the lazy deflection was expected, "So much for getting to the clubs early, huh?"

In spite of it all, Remy chuckled. They'd been planning to check out this series of clubs that she'd heard about, most in a sleazy city strip too-many-hours outside of Princeton. It wouldn't have been the first trip where she'd brought him along to some gay bar or another, and honestly, jokes aside, they usually had a blast. She had a sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, that was because he 'fit in' at queer spaces more than he'd ever let on. His totally platonic friendship with Wilson sure could have convinced her of it, at least. Either way, that wasn't her business, and right now…

"Guess not. Hope you were prepared for a late night, old man." She offered a wry smile, grabbing his cane from where he'd left it leaned, and nudging him softly with it. "Sit, House. Even if you're secretly some sort of expert mechanic, I don't think we've got the tools."

The attempts at a lighter mood were met with a good-natured laugh and, "I'm more worried about you keeping up with me." Those bright blue eyes were alit with challenge, rolling in annoyance (likely more at his own leg than his subordinate) as he took the cane from her. With some effort, he pushed off from his place at the car's front, moving to sit inside. "You know, I should've known better. Unlucky number Thirteen; of course you got me into this mess."

"Like bad luck doesn't follow you like an angry ex-girlfriend." Thirteen immediately shot back. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna see if I can get a text off if I walk further down the road."

It took a longer walk than she would have preferred, far enough that she lost sight of the car and the muscles in her calves were achy, wind-chill nipping at her skin even through the exertion. Finally though, she managed to send a series of messages to their colleagues back at the hospital. She explained the situation, that she wouldn't be able to text back because she needed to get back to the relative-safety of their vehicle, and asked them to either assist, or call elsewhere for help. From there, she would just have to trust them — and she did, mostly.

By the time Remy had gotten back, her fingertips were numb from the cold. Shaky hands yanked open the opposite door, before she unceremoniously collapsed into the seats. If that resulted in her face in House's shoulder, then who cared. This was bullshit. "Finally found enough service to text. It's in their hands now."

"Is this the part where we start taking bets on who's coming to save us?" Greg reached around her, pulling the car's door back shut. She half-expected him to shove her off; instead, a steady arm settled around her, two fingers pressing to check a pulse and then lightly catching her hands to squeeze them between larger ones. "You're frigid."

"Probably Wilson, knowing you. Aren't you two always bailing eachother out of something? I'm surprised you haven't put a ring on it already." How her thoughts had come full-circle there, she wasn't sure, but she sure did laugh at her own joke. "Hm, the wind-chill is awful. Makes it even worse than in here."

For a beat, House didn't say anything, hands slipping back out of hers too-soon for how cold they were. Before she could think to protest, though, he was shrugging out of his coat and shifting to pull it onto her instead. "Here, then. Unless you're interested in the testing the whole 'naked body heat' theory—"

"—Shut up; you can be nice without ruining it." The words tumbled out with a genuine laugh. She tucked her legs up to her chest, relaxing into his side as the secure weight of his leather settled around her. She was surprised, incredibly so, but she also definitely wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Gregory House had decided that 'broken down on the side of the road in the middle of winter' was finally the time to almost act like a gentleman, then she wasn't going to question that.

Instead of responding to that at all, Greg just shrugged, hands folding back over hers. "Nah, Wilson cheats too much. Why do you think his marriages keep failing?" The joke (though it was too accurate to really be called such), while mean, was said so casually, like fondly fake-bullying your siblings, that she almost missed the other implications. Almost.

Absently, she laced her fingers with his, neck craning to peer up at him from where she'd practically huddled against his chest. The question came out through small laughs, "Oh, so the problem's the serial-cheating? That's all?"

"Come on, Thirteen." House's voice dropped into that dramatization he occasionally did, all sarcasm and faux-offense. "What do you take me for? I have standards, you know–"

With that, she was damn-near giggling, a bright grin cracking across her face despite how badly she was still shivering. "No, I take you for a faggot. Welcome to the party."

And now Greg was laughing too, this carefree smile that she'd rarely seen half-sober him ever manage. His arm tightened around her slightly, hands squeezing hers, and if she didn't know better, she could've swore that she felt him leave a kiss in her hair. "I never said I wasn't."

"Wait, so —"

The rest of that conversation tumbled into a series of questions; some genuinely answered, most just made a mockery of for the sake of making the other laugh. She doubted that she was actually learning much, what with how sarcastic the entire thing was and how adamant House was that 'everyone lies' anyway, but it didn't matter. It was fun, and she could almost forget the near-painful chill that had settled in so long as they kept busy talking like this. So honestly, she didn't try to decide what was honest and what was a well-executed joke; that would be something to consider later, somewhere warmer, where her brain could actually work at full capacity.

Slowly, the conversion started to inevitably lull. No doubt the cold was making his bad leg feel awful, so it was probably getting difficult to come up with clever comments to entertain them. Instead, they fell into mostly-silence, as he threw back a couple extra painkillers and she nestled further into his chest, eyes closing to rest.

What felt like an eternity later, they were finally greeted by headlights that actually slowed to a stop. Remy breathed a sigh of relief and moved to get out of the car. Gaze blurring with sleep, she barely managed to catch Greg's arm as he followed suit, re-steadying him when he inevitably stumbled, leg locked up from being cramped in the car too long. "Careful, House–"

"–Damnit… It's fine." The return of dismissal was prompt, but that didn't come as a surprise.

Before long, they were settled into the back of Wilson's car, the other with plans for a tow-truck to come by soon. As always, they're immediately met with sympathy and a gentle voice. "It's freezing out there. Are you two okay?"

Maybe it was the grogginess, maybe it was the return of warmth, or maybe she was just slightly delirious from the whole ordeal, but instead of an answer, "Are you gay?" were the first words to come out of her mouth. If she could've bottled the look of Wilson's face, and saved it to see every time she had a bad day or needed to laugh, she would have. She also never would've expected that to be how James Wilson finally fumbled through the awkward motions of coming out to her as 'definitely not straight but-'…

In the end, it honestly left her equally unclear on if those two were an item, best friends, or just idiots in queerplatonic love. Maybe it was some secret fourth thing that she hadn't considered yet. Or maybe they just didn't know, either.

Interaction On AO3 Appreciated!

Pet (Literal)

Fleetingly, Donald had to wonder why they let this particular cell be so dim these days. A series of lucky breaks on his part didn’t mean that any real stability had been found in their experiment, and it hadn’t even been that long — a few months, at best? — since the last incident. Sure, his reports on that night had been skewed for his own selfish, stupid reasons, but that wasn’t the point! It was the damned principle of the thing, and well… There wasn’t exactly a non-zero chance of something in here going to merry Hell, that’s all.

In an ironic twist of fate, the rest of him — and the part that was quickly winning out — was more focused on how attractive his beast looked under the low-lights of his glorified cage. X-24 was sprawled out across the excuse-for-a-bed, muscles pulled taught beneath the fraying fabric of a black shirt, lips curled into the faintest smirk.He seemed as unbothered by the discomfort as he was by Pierce’s presence in the room, but that was nothing new. He considered, distantly, if that was a common trend in that family tree, or if it was the result of their all-too-successful conditioning… and quickly decided that he didn’t want to dwell on that. Best to focus on the task at hand — which was not getting eviscerated for misreading a signal.

Stepping over the rest of the way, he couldn’t help but notice how damned loud the sound of his own combat boots sounded against the concrete of an otherwise silent cell. It didn’t matter — should have been expected when alone with a creature that barely spoke. He threw himself unceremoniously onto the cot at 24’s side, draping across the scratchy fabric of the sheet – letting his lips curl up into a wolfish smile, as though his heart didn’t start pounding every time he did something this fucking stupid.

— As though his favorite animal couldn’t hear that.

Those frequently-absent eyes had darkened, and it almost looked like he wanted something. The thought made Pierce’s stomach twist, though it was less with nerves than one would expect. A quiet exhale, cybernetic fingers reaching out to lightly trail over those perfectly toned muscles; his own voice was all breath, no bite, encouraging a moment of simplicity wherever they could find it.  “Good boy…”

It felt like the next several minutes were suspended in time as he waited — watching for telltale signs of agitation, half-expecting to be across the room with broken bones at a moment’s notice. When none of that came, the air between them warm and calm, silent in a more comfortable way than it had been before, he found his smile softening despite himself. Mechanical fingers shifted, moving to scritch lightly through the beast’s hair, the action as affectionate as it was demeaning.

Here's the EVER-GROWING playlist for the AU I'm working on via The Magnus Archives, Desolation Row. I'm always looking for feedback and would love to hear anyone's thoughts on the playlist or the writing, so don't be afraid to leave a comment or shoot me a message!

Fandom: My Hero Academia (L.O.V. Focused) CWs: Light Angst ; illusions to Dabi's awful mental health. Support/Read It On My AO3!

@tropetember

Animated gunfire and magical effects exploded across the television screen, the oversaturated colors a blur of chaos around their characters. His controller buzzed harshly, health bar shaking as it dropped another heart. Cracked lips curled into a snarl, sparing a hand briefly to knock his mic back down and, "Spinner! Your other left, you idiot!"

"Sorry, boss!" The stupid lizard's voice half-shouted back, followed by a series of grumbles as he tried not to prematurely die for the ninth time that night. He'd give it maybe five minutes before the moron was stuck waiting on a respawn again. If there was anything Tomura had learned since he'd started letting the League play games with him on their off-days, it was that Spinner was god-awful at them.

They would pretend, for the sake of it, that it was still 'letting them play', that he was just humoring the idea of everyone getting along. That he didn't find enjoyment or comfort in the fact that his newfound family — friends — coworkers actually wanted to be a part of his hobbies these days. Most of them, at least, and those who didn't were still involved in these little bonding moments. In the connecting room, he could hear the idle chatter between Kurogiri and Compress; the familiar shuffling of poker cards, and the occasional good-natured laugh. Listening closer, he could occasionally catch Dabi chiming in, maybe mumbling something to Twice, seeming to prefer those conversations to actually turning his own microphone on. Still, his character never strayed too far on-screen, serving as a constant reminder that he was, in fact, engaged in the game itself. It certainly helped that he was less incompetent than —

"— I'm not convinced Spinner knows his left and right." Himiko's bright voice interrupted wandering thoughts over the voice-call (though she was really just in another room of the hideout), casual insult punctuated by one of her affectionate giggles. It was greeted by a series of laughter in return – Jin the loudest, but if anyone paid enough attention, they could catch Dabi's snicker beneath that.

Spinner's character floundered on the television, "First of all, rude —" As if on cue, another explosion of colors from the NPC enemies, and then his player was blinking out of its blood-splattered existence to return to the map's spawn point.

"Shot and a miss, dumbass." Dabi's voice crackled to life over the headset, a rarity that nobody would dare comment on, lest he stop again all-together. Hopefully, someday in that brighter future he was always talking about, he wouldn't feel like even the slightest bit of familiarity was dangerous. (Though if they were being squarely honest, Tomura had his speculations, possibly even concerns, that the other villain didn't actually intend to be there for those better days at all. He would puzzle out how to fix that later, if only he could figure out what was going on with the bastard and all his brittle secrets.)

For now, as cracking fingers mashed across the buttons, he decided to focus on what he could change. Like their team's ranking in this video game, even if that wasn't the fucking point of anything. "— Need a healer over here, damnit."

"Oh–! On my way!" And how happy the kid in the building sounded to be involved in something bigger than herself. Whether that was the League's activities and goals, or just helping her new friends (and he didn't have it in him to correct it from that perspective) with their games.