#(but non fic ones will probably get done quicker)

[agerefandomrambles]

hiii ik I’ve already sent in some requests for hbh agere so I hope you don’t mind me sending another — could you write a fic about little!quinni & little!spider being taken care of by caregiver!cash & caregiver!harper? or any of those characters paired up if four characters is too much <3

ofc no pressure, ik you’ve got a bit to work on already!

Title: Crayon

Word count: 958

Little! Quinni + Spider

Cg! Cash + Harper

Warnings: impure regression, sensory overload

Plot: When Spider regresses during SLT'S, it sets off a domino effect

The SLT's slowly filter in after recess. Ms Obae is standing at the front of the class with a set of pencils, pens and paints in front of her.

The class slowly sits down and she takes the role before starting the class.

"OK everyone. We're going to try some art therapy today. I want you to pick which ever medium speaks to you and tell me a story though your art."

Spider borderline stomps to the front of the class and grabs the first jar he sees.

"Miss! Spiders gone with mental illness gray" Missy teases, grabbing a jar for herself and walking back to her seat.

Spider just sticks his tounge out at her and stomps back to his seat, muttering under his breath. He grumpily sits down next to Harper, still muttering.

Meanwhile, Quinni is sinking further into her seat. She glances around the room, taking note of all her possible escape routes.

"Hey" Cash says, gently nudging her. "You good?"

Quinni just nods and starts to draw on the paper. Cash gives her another concerned glance before giving the class a quick once over.

He does a double take when he sees spider scribbling on his piece of paper and silent tears streaming down his cheek.

Cash elbows Harper rather harshly to get her attention, not wanting to scare Quinni.

"Ow! What?" Harper hisses, rubbing her side where Cash elbowed her. She goes very quiet, with a small, "oh" when she's sees the tears slowly dripping off of spiders face.

"Spider? Hun?" Harper asks softly before placing a hand on his shoulder, trying not to spook him.

As she gets closer, she can hear what he's been muttering under his breath. "This is so cringe. Why are we even doing this?"

"Oi. Cut it out." Harper says sternly. It's mostly to tell him off but it's also to test his mental age and to assess whether or not he's regressed.

"Why are we doing this?" Spider says louder, meeting her eyes in a very clear challenge. His eyes flicker over to quinni and his expression softens for a moment when she covers her ears at his noise. But then he glances over at Darren and it's like a fires been lit in his chest.

"Why is this a more valid way of expressing my emotions then just telling you that this class sucks? How is this crayon going to fix it? How is this crayon going to fix me?" He's standing now, facing the class as he rants.

His voice breaks into a sob on the last word and he raises his hand to his face, alarmed when it comes back wet. When did he start crying?

Harper doesn't even say anything to him, she just stands up and drags him out of the class by his shirt.

It's only once their out of SLT's and she's sat him down in an empty classroom that she turns to look at him. He flinches, expecting yelling and hitting and anger.

She surprises him instead by kneeling down at his level and just holding eye contact. Her face tells him that she's not impressed and he physically feels his heart break in two at the thought of disappointing her.

"What's going on Spec?" Harper asks gently, still holding eye contact.

He goes to talk but all that comes out is a garbled sob. He stammers as he tries to find a way to express the complicated mix of anger, hurt, upset and overwhelm that's swirling around inside him.

Oh. He's regressed. That's why he lashed out and why everything was too much all of a sudden.

"Too loud. Lights too bright. Dusty gone. Ant hurt" he stammers, breaking eye contact to look at the floor, tears still flowing freely down his cheek. "I'm sorry" he says, barely above a whisper.

"Hey. Spider. Can you look at me for a sec?" Harper says, gently lifting his chin to meet his gaze. "You never ever have to apologise for being small. You're allowed to be overwhelmed but you are not allowed to take that out on other people. Especially Ms Obea"

Spider just nods and drops his gaze again. "I don't feel as little as normal. I kinda feel like a pre-teen? If that makes sense? Like I feel all stompy and grumpy" He says after a moment of figuring out how to articulate what he is feeling.

"Oh, that's all good. Tell you what? How about we meet up with Quinni and Cash and we go back to the apartment and we play some video games?" Harper offers, making sure to lower her voice to a more appropriate level.

In the room directly next to them, Quinni was happily telling Cash all about the different types of ducks and what makes them different.

Quinni was on the verge of a meltdown but Cash, knowing Quinni and her regression, pulled her out of the class and into an empty classroom not long after spider and Harper left.

They did some deep breaths, then Cash pulled out a colouring book from his backpack and they decided to colour together until the period was over, then they'd go back to the apartment.

A ping on Cash's phone grabs his attention and he glances down at it. It's a text from Harper reading "Spiders middle regressed. Going to apartment. Wanna grab others and come and turn it into a gathero?"

He quickly texts her back "Quinnis regressed too. I reckon we just bring the two and chill there. Less chance of meltdowns."

Harper texts him a thumbs up and both caregivers quickly gather up the gear spread on the floor before getting in their respective cars and driving to the apartment.

[mytheoristavenue]

GOTG Rocket x Reader 🍋 - Heatwaves

Summary: Long from home, the ship's air conditioner breaks, resulting in hallucination-inducing heat. Your obvious crush on Rocket doesn't make things any better.

Warnings: Inspired by a series of TMNT fics I did a while back, sexual innuendo, dirty talk, degradation, praise, illness from excessive heat, daydreaming/hallucinating, suggestive situations, sexual tension, judgment impaired by arousal, fem!reader, non specified species!reader, humanoid/anthro!reader, takes place between vol. 2 and infinity war

You were so dizzy, melting into the sofa, sprawled out with no regard for anyone else's comfort. Your head rested against Mantis's leg, while your legs invaded Drax's bubble, not that he minded. His people didn't really understand the concepts of personal space anyhow. You were all in this boat though, Gamora splayed out on the floor as it was the coolest surface in the ship. With this heat, all there was to do to bear it was strip down to the littlest clothing possible before becoming indecent and napping to make the time pass quicker.

"C'mon, you guys, cheer up," Peter forced a cheerful tone from the cockpit. "Rocket said he should be finished with the repairs on the AC tomorrow."

"Thank God," you groaned, pinching the fabric of your tanktop to unstick it from your chest. "I can't take this shit anymore."

"Yeah, I'm so sweaty, it feels like I showered in my clothes." Mantis agreed from above you, doing the same and wiggling all over to have her shirt sit right.

"But you didn't," Drax gave her a lead-poisoned stare. "I have been watching you for hours and you haven't moved, let alone gone to shower." The empath's head very slowly turned towards him, her glare and pursed lips screaming that she was done with his nonsense.

"Ya know," the captain called again. "If you're hot, just think how Rocket feels. It's probably way hotter down there in the boiler, plus he's covered in fur."

"I am Groot." The sapling said, raising his head off Gamora's chest as she nodded, agreeing with him.

"I don't care that fur is like insulation, if you're hot, he's hot. And I don't see any of you trying to help him, so stop whining." Peter's light reprimand, admittedly had pulled on your heartstrings a bit. It was awfully nice of Rocket to fix the AC all by himself, even if he was the only one with the know-how to do it.

"He's right," you sighed, begrudgingly tearing yourself off the sofa, your exposed skin having stuck to it. Finally separated from the mound of leather and flesh, you stumbled over to the kitchenette and threw open the fridge before grabbing a few bottles of water. "Rocket might need some help, I'll go check on him."

-----

You had never been in this part of the ship before, slinking through halls and around protruding pipes and fixtures. It was much hotter down here, closer to the water heating systems. You had to halt for a moment, pressing your hand to the wall for stability as you hunched a bit. If you were already feeling faint, you couldn't imagine how Rocket was feeling. For all you knew, he could have passed out and nobody would have known.

Suddenly you began to make out a distant, distorted racket that echoed and reverberated against every surface. It sounded almost...melodic? Following as it became louder, it led you to a warm light that streamed out from beyond a closed door. You halted for a moment, now being able to separate the noise, which you now recognized as a voice, singing lazily. Rocket never sang in front of people and you almost felt perverted as you listened to his rendition of Silver's 'Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang'. "Now that it's said and we both understand," he softly crooned, voice carrying to far reaches. "Let's say our goodbyes before it gets out of hand."

Inhaling sharply, you finally found it in you to grip the door handle and let yourself in. Orange light flooded out of the small room and the music became as clear as it was going to get, loud enough to conceal the sound of the door opening. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Everyone had always been able to tell you were sweet on Rocket, and you'd never done much to hide the fact but seeing him now, bathed in marigold neon, laid flat on his back up underneath a large fixture...shirtless- it was too much for you. His fur was slicked against his chest from sweat and his jumpsuit was tied loosely on his hips, revealing much more of him than you ever could have been prepared to see. Adding to that his admittedly lovely, gruff singing voice, the scene was a recipe for an upset tummy.

Deciding you couldn't handle this, you silently tried to back out of the room, eyes trained on him like a deer in headlights. You may have gotten away with it, had one of the water bottles not fallen from the crook of your elbow, alerting him to your presence. Instantly, he rolled out from under the machine, set down his tools, and sat up, staring at you. "(Y/N), what are you doing down here?"

Now that you could see his face, you were in even worse shape. The white stripes on his cheeks were smeared with grease, whiskers crumpled, and fur unkempt. He looked incredibly rugged- more so than usual. "Hello? Knowwhere to (Y/N)?" he croaked again and waved a hand in front of him, voice hoarse from unrestricted use. "You okay?"

At last, you shook out of your trance, flustered to hell and back, and eagerly swooped down to grab the bottle. "Y-Yeah, I'm great! You're just really hot!" Rocket stared at you for a second, waiting for you to correct yourself before owning the compliment and mocking you for it. Obviously, you didn't take the hint, so that was his cue.

"Well thanks, dollface," he smirked, standing up and sauntering over to the doorway, taking the dropped bottle from you before popping off the cap and chugging it. About halfway through, he stopped with a deep, relieved sigh. "I always thought I was pretty hot but it's still nice to hear it from someone else." That's when your stomach dropped, realizing what you'd said. Time to backtrack.

"Oh my God, no!" you gasped, once again dropping what you were holding to slap your hands to your face. "I don't think you're hot!" Rocket looked at you quizzically, hand on hip. "I-I mean I do think you're attractive, b-but not in a weird way! More like a friend way!"

"Uh-huh," he teased, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. "Friend attraction's the best kind, ya know? And don't sweat it, Quill says I'm hot all the time."

"Rocket, please..." you finally gave in, physically crumbling. "I meant like- you're probably getting hot down here and I wanted to bring you something to drink."

"I know, dollface, I'm just yankin' your chain." he laughed, pushing off the wall and walking back farther into the room to sit on a bucket. "I needed a break anyway, thanks princess."

"Princess...?"

"What?"

"N-Nothing!" You finally let out a sigh of relief, following a bit closer and sitting on the floor. "So how's it coming?" you asked, uncapping your own bottle after passing him the last one.

"Well, I've identified the problem, but I don't got the right parts to fix it. Good news is, I think I was able to work up a temporary replacement that should at least get us back to Knowwhere. I know if we can just get home, I can get a brand new part for cheap-" You weren't sure when, but at some point, you'd stopped listening, mind and eyes wandering.

" Ah, fuck, (Y/N), easy! Yeah, j-just like that, keep movin' just like that for me princess..."

"Are you even listening?" Rocket's annoyed tone brought you out of your daydream. You must have zoned out without realizing it, how embarrassing. "Jeez, you're hopeless, ya know that?" He chided, standing up and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands on.

"Sorry..." you slumped shamefully before trailing him as he got back into position. "H-Hey, is there anything I can do to help you out?"

"Hmm," he paused, laying back down on the creeper, ready to roll back under the unit. "I guess you can keep me company, hand me tools," he proposed, disappearing under the machine. Suddenly his voice dropped an octave, words echoed against metallic surfaces that made you freeze. "I know my girl is very good with my tools."

You squeaked at his sudden turn in demeanor, falling on your behind and scrambling away from him. "W-What?!"

Rocket rolled back out, propping up on an elbow, eyeing you with concern. "What, what'd I say?" he asked frantically. "What's up with you?"

"Y-You said-" you stammered, not even comfortable with repeating what you heard. "Y-You said...I'm g-good with your tools!"

He looked at you like you were the biggest moron he'd ever met. "Well, yeah?" he chastised. "You help me in my shop all the time, so I know you know which ones are which. You're good at knowing which ones to hand me." Your chest heaved as he once again returned to his position, reaching his hand out. His small fingers curled, a sign for you to hand something over. "Gimme that ratchet." Quickly, you placed it in his hand, before clicking open the socket set.

"What size socket?"

"Twelve millimeter." He answered, settling the tool on his stomach to use both hands for whatever he was doing. Scanning the set, you plucked out the shallow twelve millimeter piece and set it on his chest, waiting for him to grab it. He did and growled in dismay, giving it back.

"No, princess," he corrected, gasping through clenched teeth. "Need it deep."

"You...w-what?" you carefully asked, feeling incredibly dizzy and unable to discern truth from hallucination.

"I need the deep twelve millimeter, not the shallow one." Rocket scolded, giving a frustrated sigh as he listened to you scramble for the correct piece, profusely apologizing all the while. Finally, you found the right one, presenting it to him just in time for him to roll out from under the fixture again. "Okay, dollface," he titled his head, worried. "What's your deal?"

"Deal? There's no deal!" you played dumb, laughing nervously, hoping he'd just drop it. "I'm fine, really!"

You went rigid, watching him silently creep closer to you, unsure if this was real or not. Finally, he placed a paw against your cheek and whispered in close: "You're burnin' up, baby."

"Rocket, I don't feel good." you stated abruptly. "I-I think something's wrong with me."

"I'll say," he cooed, dragging his knuckles down the side of your face. "How about you let me change that, hmm?" The world around you began to blur, and all you could make out were his words. You understood that his hands were on you, but you couldn't say where; you couldn't feel it, you couldn't even see clearly. "Yeah, baby just lay down, lemme do all the work." He soothed seductively. "Let daddy take care of you, 'kay, (Y/N)?"

That last word, it was your name, right? He kept repeating it, like a broken record, and suddenly all the gruffness left his voice. You listened as intently as you could, hearing it morph from lustful to monotone, and then increasingly more worried- desperate even. "(Y/N)!" There it was again.

Slowly, as his voice became more clear, the cloudiness in your vision dissipated and your senses began to return. Your cheek burned against hot metal, and you could feel patting on your face. A figure hovered over you, close enough to breathe on you. "Goddamnit, (Y/N), wake up!"

"R-Rocket...?" you stuttered, recognizing the figure. "What's going on...?"

"Nevermind that," he hushed. "Lay back down," Suddenly, he turned away from you, yelling out the door, presumably to the oncoming footsteps stampeding down the hall. "In here!" Your eyelids began to get heavy as the world began to fall away again. The last thing you remember was being lifted into the air by a second, hulking figure, then nothing.

-----

You awoke in your bunk, arctic air breezing by your face. What had happened, how did you get here? Where was Rocket? Your fingers twitched, sore from lack of use and the tips of them caught the sensation of something foreign. Multiple fibers connected to one source, soft in mass but wirey when you singled one out. Letting your hand travel up the organism, you froze, realizing you'd answered one of your questions. Glancing down, you found Rocket, curled in a ball at your side. That was odd, you did share a room, but Rocket never slept in your bunk.

Your movements must have roused him as he stirred under your touch, slowly unfurling himself and stretching out. "You're up," he noted, smiling a bit. "You'll be happy to know the AC is fixed."

Now that you took notice of it, the room was cooler, cold even. "Wow," you yawned, smiling back sleepily. "How long was I out for?"

"About eight hours," he copied, yawning as a reaction to seeing you do the same. You halted a moment, confused.

"Wait, I thought you said it'd take you another day to fix it?" you rubbed sleep from your eye waiting for his explaination.

"Nothin' an all nighter couldn't fix." He laughed exhaustedly, curling back up into your side. You'd usually question his sudden cuddliness, but it made your bed that much cozier. "Honestly, your little heatstroke..." his voice softened a bit. "It scared me a little. I was worried about ya."

"Heatstroke..." you repeated. "That makes so much sense," At least now you had an explanation for all those hallucinations from earlier. Though you were glad to be well again, Rocket's attention was nice, even if it was all in your head. "That explains me hearing and seeing things that weren't there down in the boiler. Sorry for acting so weird.." you confessed sheepishly.

"Don't be sorry," he chuckled cockily, eyes peacefully resting. "We'll definitely be having a lengthy, private conversation about all that after I catch up on some sleep." Your stomach dropped at that, imagining all the terrible outcomes that could result from said conversation. "And for the record, dollface, I do think you're very good at handling my tools, ya know," he smirked, nuzzling your ear. "When you follow directions."

Your stomach did flips as your head began to feel heavy again. "I-I must still be hallucinating...I swear I just heard you say-"

"Did I fuckin' stutter?"

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

another fic of mine woah 😩

fandom; house md

can be interpreted as non slah or slah between house/wilson

summery; wilson is dying, being taken care of a person. but wilson cant remember who they are.

word count; 1.3k

tw; major character death.

a/n: i dont have ao3 so it shall not be put up on there. if it is notify me, ill say if i have given permission as if someone asks i probably will say yes.

this was based on the song "rises the moon - liana flores"

rises the moon.

days seem sometimes as if they'll never end.

its august. the 20th if we're being exact. coming to the close of summer and the opening of autumn, usually being my favourite time of the year. cozy sweaters, warm socks and scarfs, the perfect weather. usually sunny with a nice breeze. well, i wish i could enjoy it. instead, im stuck in bed, my breathing laboured and my body shaking. though, this year, summer was my favourite.. june. i really enjoyed that, when i could walk without aid and just, enjoy life. ever since mid july, ive been deteriorating quicker than an abandoned building, which has been agonising. i want the pain to go away, please. it hurts..

but i dont want to die.

from the bedroom, i hear the singing voice again, a soothing melody. their voice smooth and deep. i sigh softly, it being a sort of comfort for me, knowing at least someone was there and i wasn't alone. their humming and muffled singing drowns out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor besides me. they had stolen the machine after faking being ill in a walk-in clinic, once the doctor had done to complain to the dean about them being an ass, they smuggled the monitor and brought it back. the good ol' days hm? that day was probably the most ive complained and laughed for a long, long time.

a mass than sat on the bed, the weight shifting slightly on the mattress. i ket out an involuntary groan, my back being slightly unsupported.

"hey, i made some broth for you.. its 1, and i think you should at least try and drink it for me," they murmured.

the bowl, of what i assume was broth, was set down on the small table besides me. soon enough, long, lanky arms were wrapped around my middle, gently pulling me up to sit up. wait.. what time did they say again.. 1 was it? only.. 1?

the sun digs its heels to taunt you.

the rim of the bowl was scarcely pressed to my lips, the bowl being slightly hot. i signal them to tip it a little so i can take a sip. and so i do. and holy shit..

thats fucking amazing.

the warm, soupy liquid runs down my throat, a sort of feeling i dont get that often, especially being warm. the way he flavours mix together is phenomenal, the spices and the subtle beef. its flavourful, but not enough to freak my taste buds out, which happens all too often now.

"is it okay?" they ask, their voice soft and gentle.

i hum with a slight nod.

but after sunlit days, one thing stays the same:

rises the moon.

days fade into a watercolour blur.

its been.. maybe a week? my sense of time is so off, it could be a week for a few days.. lets say its been a few days - to make me feel better. im now slipping in and out of consciousness, which is concerning in itself. i dont know how long im out for at a time. theyve been becoming more and more worried about me. i mean, there was always an elephant in the room, hell even when i was first diagnosed. but, the elephant has been growing larger and larger than before, making it hard to ignore. we have to adress it sometime.

but its hard to breathe.

then im awoken by a coughing fit.

it shakes my whole body, racking everything as i shut my eyes tight, desperately trying not to wake them up behind me. but, of course they woke up, they always do. i tried to savour the two, lanky but muscular arms around my abdomen, as they were warm and comforting, but soon, all i could feel was pain.

"are you okay?" they ask, their voice still a bit groggy from sleep.

i hum, my voice still hoarse even though i barely made a sound.

this just reminds me of them, i swear something to do with an infarction to the leg. but i cant quite remember.. or remember them.. their face is slightly recognisable, but not by a lot at all. my memorys been wracked up.. pisses me off, i wanna know whos caring for me. i wanna thank them, using their name, recogising their face.

memories swim up and haunt me.

"hmm.. mm!" i hum, trying to catch their attention.

they run over, quickly turning me on my side and holding the bucket to my mouth. i start to cry as i retch, vomiting harshly into the bucket, they rub my back gently, mumbling words of encouragement and reassurance softly to me. finally, i stop. glancing down at the small puddle of bile and saliva, i frown slightly.

look into the lake, shimmering like smoke.

i look into their eyes. my, coffee like brown into their, ocean like blue. scared and helpless meet concerned and determined. they run their skinny, pianist fingers through my frail hair. they always wanted to care for me, secretly.

rises the moon.

"close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken faded summer skys." they pause for a moment. "breathe, breathe, breathe."

almost immediately after hearing that, i start to cry, just a full on breakdown. they quickly embrace me, wrapping their arms around my middle. i dig my face into theit shoulder, tears still rolling down my pastey cheeks. its nice.

oh to be hugged like this again.

days pull you down just like a sinking ship.

its been a day? maybe.. i dunno anymore. it might've been 2, 3, 4 a week, who knows - not me thats fot sure. it might be september now, i last remember it was august, that seems like yesterday. them, my carer, whatever, i dont know their name anymore. i dont know who they are, i cant see.. its all blurry and fuzzy, so is my memory. i cant remember the last time i ate..

floating is getting harder.

"im sorry.." they mumble, their voice snapping me out of my thoughts - though it was barely above a whisper.

their thin fingers run through my hair again, gently letting it fall between the gaps and repeating.

oh, i forgot to mention, i also cant speak.. or breathe for that matter. i think the tumor - or tumors more like - have begun to press against my trachea and esophagus, making his hard to both eat and breathe. wheezing has become a normal, daily routine.

considering my condition,

i have tonight,

and thats it.

because of my fate, i keep repeating a phrase i once said to a child as they went through chemo. they had no parents, i was the best thing they had..

but thread the water, child, and know that meanwhile: rises the moon.

days pull you up just like a daffodil.

its the next day, i think. its really hard to just think. the weezings gotten worse, i feel awful, like horrendous. its awful... maybe i am ready to die. i can just subtly feek them holding my fraile hand, stroking their thumb over my knuckles. only barely. im scared, terrified more like. i dont even know who they are, but im scared for them.. they'll miss me definitely. what will they do when im gone? i dont know..

uprooted from its garden.

once again, i feel consciousness slip from underneath me. which is normal, very. but this wasn't normal.. i could still hear.

"they'll tell you what you owe," they mumble. "but know even so, rises the moon."

i try to smile, a small twinge of my lips. but nothing happens. i try to tell them i love them, but again, nothing happens.

"you'll be visited by sleep. i promise that the autumn comes to steal away each dream you keep." they choke back a sob.

"breathe, breathe, breathe." houses voice sobs.

they're house.

but its too late to tell him i love him.

[andromeda4004]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @carry-the-sky, thank you!

How many works do you have on ao3?

7 (8 by the weekend!)

What's your total ao3 word count?

276,499

What fandoms do you write for?

Exclusively Good Omens at this point, not that I don't enjoy others. But the more I give myself permission to write for fandoms, the less likely I am to ever get around to finishing off my own OCs' story.

Top five fics by kudos:

Morningstar Abbey (Regency AU, T rated, 116K)

Mission: Ineffable (spy action AU, M rated, 25K)

Vaster than Empires (non-angsty S3, E rated, 5K)

The Serpent of the Loch (historical crack, T rated, 8K)

Antoinette (1920s wives AU, T rated, 118K)

Do you respond to comments?

As much as possible, although it does sometimes take me a while. I prefer to do them at my laptop than on my phone (typing is quicker) so sometimes I catch them up in a batch.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would be The Truth I cannot Speak, a post-1827 Edinburgh diary entry from Aziraphale where he reflects on all the things he cannot tell Crowley, and might not ever get the chance to now. That one has poetry!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I do tend towards the happy ending for preference, but I guess Morningstar Abbey would be happiest, since it ends drinking wine in the garden the day after the wedding 💕

Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet, I haven't.

Do you write smut?

I do now! Vaster than Empires was the first E rated fic I've shared, and I have a new one coming out this weekend for the High Pollen Count sex pollen event.

Craziest crossover:

Mission: Impossible, probably! Although that's not a crossover, it's a human AU. I haven't written a classic crossover yet, and I don't know that I will, it's not quite my style.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, and I've only been doing this just over a year, so seems unlikely.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet, but one lives in hope!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I would love to! I do like beta reading and providing some collaborative suggestions when people are looking for them, so I suspect I'd enjoy formally co-writing something with an author I clicked with.

All time favorite ship?

It's got to be the Ineffable Husbands/Wives/Partners. The ship that keeps on giving!

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I try to focus as much as possible when writing, to avoid having too many half-done works at once, so I don't have any WIPs which are languishing at the moment. Except for my original work, but that will get finished, just quite slowly!

What are your writing strengths?

Plots and dialogue. I like to tell a story, a whole thing, with lots of developed characters and psychology and subplots, which leads me to the weakness...

What are your writing weaknesses?

Stopping! All my fics end up longer than I was hoping because I can't stop writing them! And on the smaller scale, simple things like working out where to stop a scene, I just can't do it! Rather, I can because I've worked at it, but it has been effort to get better at this.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. I'm fluently bilingual, and have basic functional language skills in two or three more (or I do with a bit of warm-up!), but verbal is not the same as written, so I do try to get a native speaker to beta anything more than a word or two.

First fandom you wrote in?

In the beginning... the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.

Yep, first fandom I remember writing things for was H2G2, back in the 90s when everything was on paper. Although I have been in fanclubs since Discworld as a teenager and further back I think Redwall as a kid?

Favorite fic you've written?

No, don't make me pick! They're all lovely! Although probably Mission: Ineffable, because I'm currently enjoying revisiting that AU to work on a sequel.

tagging! (no pressure!): @afrenchwriter @sabotage-on-mercury @suavissimapenna @hotcrosspigeon @homemadeapplecider @voluptatiscausa and anyone else who sees this and wants to play :)

[enqmind]

There's something I keep seeing in TF141 CoD fic that I find somewhat perplexing.

'He'll take you down to the courthouse in the morning ❤️'

>.>

<.<

No he won't.

Maybe the fic or thot is set in America, or some other such nation, but the fact is that you just can't get married on a single day's notice in the UK. It's a bare minimum of twenty nine days between giving notice and ceremony.

(The only exception to this being if you can prove that you think someone is about to die.)

So, even if it isn't set here, the thought of a day's notice wedding likely wouldn't occur to any of them (except maybe in Vegas, idk). Maybe they don't know what the minimum is, but it likely wouldn't occur to them that they could do it that fast.

Additionally, the standard place for a non-church wedding ceremony isn't the courthouse, it's the registry office. Which he'd probably refer to it as before catching himself in a non-UK setting.

I don't actually know the (likely) fifty seperate sets of laws on this in the US, but I can tell you what the laws are here.

And, as far as I can tell, if the two people live in the same district and there are no immigration concerns, then one of them should be able to give notice. (If they live in different districts, they have to seperately inform both. If there is an immigration concern, it's more complicated still and likely will involve them both.)

(Also, looks like you need to live in a district for only seven days before you count as 'living there'.)

(I'm mostly not sure because I'm a spinster.)

What I do know for sure is that once the twenty nine days are over and the paperwork is all done (it can take longer), you must wed within a year of giving notice.

So there's two dark fic ideas built on UK law for you:

Your CoD man of choice having to keep the reader around for twenty nine days before dragging her to the registry office.

Your CoD man of choice moving to reader's district, waiting for seven days, giving notice, waiting twenty nine days and only then making his move via an unprotected one night stand or what have you.

Ooh, ooh, and I just thought of a third option.

3. Your CoD man of choice using his military occupation and connections to pretend to be mortally wounded to force a quicker notice period before making a ~+*miraculous*+~ recovery after the ceremony. (But I wouldn't count on that being less than a few days at the least.)

(IDK, the military might get special privileges, but I am not putting in the effort to find out what they are.)

That's just what things are like here. Sadly, this also applies to Gretna Green, so no Vegas style weddings in His Majesty's realm T-T.

[storiesundercandlelight]

I am in love with your Vampyr work, I just love my lovely Dr. Reid and surly Geoffrey fics like a desert enjoys the rainfall~ If you're still taking requests, can I have one where Jon takes his lady back home (and Geoff is following/spying) and knowing he's being stalked, proceeds to ravish her near the windows. Bonus: next night, Geoff can't look him in the eye, lol!

This has got to be the best request I've had in a minute! I cried with laughter when I first read it! I loved it so much I almost did a Geoffrey version too!!

Jonathan x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW +18 (slightly anyway...more suggestive than going into detail)

The sound of Jonathan and your footsteps were light on the dark streets of London, usually Jonathan would have walked you home earlier than this given the situation at present in the city. But your evening had gone on longer than expected, Jonathan's research was finally proving useful enough to take up a considerable amount of both of your time.

Not that he was complaining, getting to spend more time with you was worth the slightly brisk walk back to your home.

It wasn't until you'd both made it halfway from the hospital that he sense him. Geoffrey was a good hunter there was no mistaking it, but Jonathan recognised his scent easily, the way his heat beat far too steadily in his chest as he followed the pair. The fact that Geoffrey McCullum felt the need to stalk Jonathans movements annoyed the Ekon far more than he'd let on. After everything he'd done so far as well as avoiding any guards of Priwen he came across, leaving them unharmed, should have been enough to prove to Geoffrey they were on the same side. But no, clearly the hunter wasn't giving up on his prey so easily.

Jonathan wasn't sure McCullum would know about his private life with you, or you at all for that matter. Jonathan was certain he'd never followed the two of you before so he found it unlikely he would be in the know about your relationship. Probably just assuming I have mesmerised her, taking her somewhere quiet to finish her off.

Jonathan almost stopped walking as the idea formed in his mind. God what a scandalous idea it was too. A small smirk pulled at his lips as his grip on your hand increased and he pulled you slightly quicker down the street. You looked at him in question but Jonathan simply put his finger to his lips, shh you'll find out, his expression said.

He sense McCullum keeping pace, staying in the shadows, ironic really. By the time you'd both made it back to your house you were still confused and non the wiser as to Jonathans plan. Where would he do it? Sneak around back into the garden perhaps? When Jonathan lead you down the side alley of your home you almost stopped him to ask what on earth he was doing, but he hardly gave you the chance. Opening the gate and leading up to the back door of your home, leading to a generous kitchen....with windows. Perfect.

Jonathan couldn't believe the plan he'd conjured up in his mind, could hardly believe he was actually going through with it. Perhaps he simply wanted McCullum to realise Jonathan had other intentions besides drinking blood and giving into the best Geoffrey so often called him. Perhaps he wanted to show him he was different and still clinging to human life. Perhaps he wanted to simply embarrass him.

Either way, Jonathan excitedly pulled you though the back door once you'd unlocked it, kicking it closed behind him as he walked you to the furthest counter. Knowing full well McCullum would need to enter the garden to see them from that angle. Jonathan lit a single candle - Geoffrey's human eyes would need the help after all- before making quick work of lifting you onto the empty counter top.

"If I had known this was the reason for your eagerness to get me home we could have left sooner" You giggled as Jonathan pushed your now open blouse down your shoulder, placing kisses as the fabric fell down exposing your skin to his lips. He wouldn't remove everything, just incase, he didn't want to give McCullum too much of a show. His hands slipped down pushing the skirts covering your legs up until we could happily slot between your thighs, his covered length evident already.

McCullum sighed as he carefully pried open the lock of the gate, he'd caught a glimpse of Reid leaving the hospital, the girl on his arm had caught his attention. He'd never seen Reid with her before. Call it whatever you like but he couldn't let the girl go home with a leech, likely unknowingly walking to her death.

He wouldn't give Reid the satisfaction of feeding tonight, or any night ahead if he had any say in it. The lock gave way and Geoffrey quietly pushed the gate open, slipping inside. The garden was dark, the path up to the back of the house just visible in the moonlight, his eyes snapped to the kitchen windows were a faint light flickered.

He moved fast, making his was up to the windows, keeping low to avoid being seen. A gasp, just audible through the closed windows from his position. His hand reached for his gun, pulling it from the holster he moved along the house, leaning up just enough to look inside the window. The kitchen was dull, the candlelight not aiding much to light the whole room but he saw shadows. Two shadows, Reid was leant over the girl. Geoffrey moved quickly to the further window, he'd be able to see Reid from there, perhaps take a shot at him through the glass.

Another noise came from behind the window, Geoffrey leant up, still out of shoot of the window, a well placed bush hiding him from view as he positioned himself. He leaned forward just enough to-

"Jesus fucking christ" Geoffrey's angered whisper would have almost carried through to Jonathan had he been just a fraction louder. The hunters face flared with heat as his eyes found the vampire and his so called prey. Jonathans' body was indeed hunched over her, but not in the way Geoffrey had hoped, or could ever have expected.

Jonathan's movements never faltered, even when he heard the hunters heartbeat increase momentarily, a quick secretive glance towards the window told his Geoffrey had fallen for the bait. Your moans simply adding to his grand plan. He also didn't stop himself from pushing you back further just a little to change the angle and hit a spot he knew would make you moan all that little bit louder.

Not the crime scene you expected is it hunter? Jonathan felt your hand come behind his neck pulling him to you, he followed placing a kiss to your lips before you pulled back just enough to speak.

"As happy as I am for you being able to make your point my love would you kindly bring your attention back into the room now?"

"You knew?"

"Yes it was rather transparent I'm afraid" You smirked and pushed your hips into Jonathans quickening the pace slightly. "I hope he appreciated the show"

McCullum made a quick dash down the garden and back out the gate, no longer able to allow himself to watch. When he reached the Main Street again he cursed. "Fucking leech"

The only thing more satisfying than Jonathan's plan last night and being intimate with you was the idea of Geoffrey having to be in the same room as him tonight. Edgar had arranged a meeting with McCullum and wanted Jonathan to be present, he wasn't sure why but the reason hardly mattered to him as he quickly made his way up the main stairs in the hospital to Edgar's office.

He stopped when he saw McCullum waiting outside. "Geoffrey"

"Leech" McCullum spat, not unusual for him however.

"Edgar isn't here yet I take it?"

"Oh no I just thought I'd stand out here like a fucking idiot, what do you think?"

"About you being an idiot or Edgar being late?" Now usually a snide remark from Jonathan would have Geoffrey up in his face ready for a fight but the hunter barely glanced sideways at him. In fact to Jonathans delight he realised Geoffrey was looking everywhere but at him. "Geoffrey? Something wrong?" He could hardly keep the smirk off his face.

"No"

"Are you sure? You won't look at me"

"I don't make it a habit to acknowledge your kind unless you're on the end of my blade"

"Hmm quite" Jonathan paced a little edging closer to the hunter, he knew Geoffrey noticed, of course he would, but still his eyes remained on the door to Edgar's office. "Would you like to know what I think? About your aversion to looking at me I mean?"

"I don't care what you think about anything but I get the feeling you'll tell me anyway"

"I think...you went on a hunt last night and saw something you weren't expecting...or am I wrong?" This made Geoffrey look, his eyes flicked to Jonathan, a look on his face so pouty and pissed off Jonathan almost laughed.

"Why are you smiling like that you fucking-" Geoffrey turned to Jonathan now. "You fucking knew"

"Knew what?"

"Don't play fucking stupid with me you perverse fucker, you knew what you were doing"

"Only a little perhaps" Jonathans smile continued to grow at McCullum's discomfort and his own attempt not to laugh.

"I swear to fucking God leech-"

"Gentlemen please refrain from shouting insults in my hospital, I apologise for being late let's go in. McCullum why are you so red?" Jonathan did laugh then, walking into the office ahead of a very confused Edgar and a raging Geoffrey McCullum.

[tanoraqui]

Elros&Elrond superhero anon here, I absolutely love those powers for them, they’re so cool. I mean, healing powers are fairly standard but you’ve got me entirely on board with healer!Elros (although I’m betting that Elros does NOT heal Maglor’s hand after the twins regain consciousness) and I just really love what you’ve done with Elrond’s powers!

(re: this post)

HEALER!ELROS SUPREMACY. And while I’m at it, Elros being the first to (conditionally) trust and even come to love their monstrous kidnapper-cousins, because quicker commitment and greater daring for the unknown makes sense in one who will one day choose to die as a Man; why is Elros always the stabby one and Elrond always the sweet one in kidnap-era fics! supremacy. Elrond is going to end up sweet, okay; he doesn’t need to start there. In the superhero au, when he masters his power of this aura of peace, he’s going to be able to do the “I am one with the force and the force is with me” walk from Rogue One through battlefields, but he has to learn how to maintain that true sense of calm and non-violence.

(Partial credit for the idea goes to @isi7140 btw, for suggesting the Elrond-appropriate twinly mirror to healing be making some sort of protected area a la Rivendell.)

Also ha, yeah, Elros definitely is NOT going to heal Maglor’s hand right there. Maybe, maybe, in several weeks when they’ve bonded a little he’ll heal whatever’s left of the wound as a show of the bond formed between them by then? …or in several months?

What happens in this weeks and/or months, of course, is Elrond and Elros making multiple attempts to escape supervillain captivity and find their mother while Maglor and Maedhros try to figure out who they are, where they came from, and can we ransom them to Doriath for Silmarils? Meanwhile Elwing doesn’t even know her sons followed her through the rip in spacetime; she and Eärendil are…idk if they both got to Earth at roughly this time, or if only one did and the other is off finding Valar in space somewhere, or if they’re BOTH off finding Valar and/or distant mermaid relatives (respectively) in space? NO WAIT, THE TELERI ARE ATLANTIS! PERFECT! That makes Eärwen and her kids’ genetics make so much more sense! So, Elwing ended up in the ocean somewhere, drowning, and is rescued to Atlantis, but she’s trying to find Eärendil who is in space somewhere, meeting gods…

Thingol is the former King of Atlantis who moved permanently to land to marry a minor forest goddess, who shaped herself a permanent material form in order to marry him…the romance… (Sometimes he makes noise about bossing around Atlanteans again and Olwë is like, “um, you LEFT, actually.”)

Yes of course this means that all of Eärwen’s kids, grandkids, etc. can shed their human legs & grow gills in water and turn into mermaids!! Though it gets harder the more they interbreed with humans. Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor & Galadriel can all do it easily. Orodreth, Celebrian and Finrod&Amarië’s Golden Horde have to make an effort and it hurts a little. Finduilas and Rodnor require Musical assistance, though much less than an ordinary human would. (Aegnor marries an alien of some sort so idk what’s up with their kids—probably standard quarter-Atlantean, really, because it’s about magic Music more than genetics. Amarië is also an alien but the Vanyar are only as alien as, like, Vulcans; Andreth is something much stranger.)

[zeroducks-2]

Hey hey hello hi. Hi Zero. Can we get 25 O and Robard?

Hello there! This seems to have gotten me out of writer’s block at least a little, thank you ♥

25. Non-consensual filming/photos + O. "You are a disgrace" - Eobard Thawne/Robern Thawne

Also an entry for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card, at the voice “zip ties”! (fandom DCU, The Flash)

(TW: sibling incest, mild blood, non-consensual touching, suggestive themes)

«What do you think you’re doing…?» Eobard hisses, but when the other wrenches his arm free he doesn’t force it. 

«Oh because you don’t think I saw?» Robern leans in, and with his height he easily towers over his older brother. «I wonder how many other interesting things I’d find, if I were to pay more unannounced visits. Or if I were to just turn this on-» He reaches over and motions to flick the monitor back on. Eobard grabs his wrist again, gritting his teeth and simmering with rage as Robern fixes him with a level stare. «Or if I were to confiscate your equipment for a search, even.»

«Are you done?» Eobard clicks his tongue. «You’re not a cop yet. Overriding the security systems of my living space is an infraction, and so is stealing a master keycard from whoever you took it from. Those things leave a trace on the cubicle’s log, so now I’m the one who wonders what would happen if I were to submit those logs to the-»

Police training made Robern quicker, enough that Eobard doesn’t expect the blow from the way his brother’s body slightly rears back. It’s an elbow hit below his chin which knocks him back hard, and by the time his head stops spinning he’s being pinned to his desk again, arms brought up as the zip ties get secured around his wrists and a nook of his holographic library. Eobard grunts, a tremor breaking out at the feeling of blood trickling through his hair and wetting his neck. Stunned as he is, he can’t focus either on the instinct to defend himself or on the learned, ingrained lesson that hitting his brother is something he just can’t do. And so Eobard ends up just trying to pull away as his vest is grabbed and tugged to the point of ripping open on his chest, down to the already disheveled state of his bottoms. He’s held still by the hair on the top of his head, and the momentary doubling of his vision suggests he has to be concussed.

He ends up wondering what on Earth has happened that got Robern so riled up. Something at the academy, probably. It is in fact none of Eobard’s business, but he’s never been manhandled like this, because this… it’s worse than usual, isn’t it? He’s never been tied down. Being hit is not new, though. The way his chest is being gripped and squeezed isn’t, either. But there’s a glint in his younger brother’s eyes that feels almost entirely foreign.

«You’d let me do anything to you.» The younger Thawne mutters under his breath, roughly yanking open Eobard’s knees to fit himself in between. «You are a disgrace. Letting your own brother have his way with you.»

(...)

Continued on my AO3! Please mind the fic tags if you click that link!

[galaxyhanart]

Heyo again! Was looking through the Cabinet Man Au stuff (would have done so much sooner if I remembered quicker and didn’t have to get 3 friends into ninjago and do my rewatch while having one watch the show for the first time-) and was wondering if you had it organized in any sort of way other then just the plan tag?

Like things that should be seen first, things non canon to the Au, memes, etc etc. From what I could find the fic isn’t done yet so can’t start from there-

Love all the art still (Seriously amazing work!!) and Superstar Rockin Jay is probably still one of my favorite character designs and Prime Empire is part of my top 5 seasons at least-

HIIII I MEANT TO ANSWER THIS ASK DAYS AGO I'M SO SORRY HKJGSFDHJGKHJK I'm so glad you love the art and AU!!!!! Currently I don't have anything organized in a concrete way, just the #cabinet man AU and #CBAU art tags! I have a masterpost but I need to make a new one as some things are inaccurate. If you're looking for more Cabinet Man AU content check my sideblog @spinjitsuburst !! I yell about a lot of ninjago stuff there too

[sinsandsweetness]

rules for this page:

No minors please. I cannot control what you you might read but please do not interact if you are under the age of 18. This page is basically straight up porn and very much adult content. Underage/ageless blogs are at risk of being blocked!!!

This blog is a safe space for the dirtiest, smuttiest thoughts on our favourite twd men and women. No judgments or being mean. Peace and love only sweeties.

inbox and dm rules:

Anons are welcome! I again ask that you’re over 18!!! Feel free to send in prompts, requests, comments on fics or anything rlly! I love to hear random, general thoughts as well. Interact with me! It makes my day<3 I basically just love to talk and am chronically bored :)

Please keep messages kind, respectful and sweet. Also… despite my love for darker media, I actually am a really sensitive soul and can’t always take reading certain topics. Fun little stories and looking for advice regarding friendships or whatever is totally fine but let’s just keep everything nice and light and sweet. There are many resources out there if any of you need real help <333

If you interact with me frequently and I still don’t follow you back, please make sure you have your age in your bio. If you’re my mutual and wanna chat about writing and tv and all sorts of whatever… dm me <3 (If we’re in love already… we should probably be friends too right?)

as for my writing/requests/prompts:

I will write for Rick, Daryl, Shane, Rosita (sometimes Merle and Negan) Dean Winchester, and Frank Castle <3

I only write x reader. I mostly gravitate towards fem!reader but I will gladly write gender neutral or afab with no use of pronouns. I try and mix it up and keep as many works as neutral as possible. If nothing is specified in a prompt, I will typically write it as fem!reader. And If we’re mutuals and I already know your pronouns, I’ll go based off those for your requests:)

For requests, a specific situation/plot line is easiest for me to work with. General requests (like Rick x hyperfeminine!Reader) are usually not specific enough for me to come up with something. Prompts with a plot line or situation (like reader finds a cat and brings it home to Rick and Daryl) are so much easier to work with and will often come out much quicker <3

As far as requests go, I may not write every one. Some, I am just simply not into and wouldn’t want to write, some I can’t seem to come up with a situation for/are awaiting a spark of inspo, and others are too similar to something I’ve read or done (in that case I will lead you towards those fics)

Please note- I do have a lot in my inbox most of the time so requests can tend to take a while. I apologize for this, but I am a student and I write on this blog for fun and to connect with people so I don’t ever want to feel stressed or pressured. I’ll usually get around to them and I will try my best, but I’ll admit I’m pretty slow <3

Most of my content is smut, but I really love fluff too though so please don’t be shy to request situations for that as well:)

I’m not huge on angst, generally I’m trying to escape when reading and writing, so I’d rather not write about sad things.

my absolute no’s:

incest (stepcest is fine), underage, scat play, age play/age regression, pet play, anything with self harm, abuse or eating disorders. Take a look at my work and see if it’s on par with what you may want to request. I will politely tell you if I don’t feel comfy writing for it. There’s also no harm in asking if you’re ever unsure. I truly don’t judge.

☾ darker themes, such as dub-con or consensual non consent are cool with me (to an extent. If you have questions feel free to ask…) ☾

prompt list here

(please do not plagiarize, copy, repost or translate any of my work here or on any other platforms and make sure to give credit where credit is due)

[xenia12]

Me and @froggythesculptor came up with YET ANOTHER Darcy AU lmao. This one happens after the 10 year timeskip when Sasha, Anne, and Marcy manage to get a portal working. Marcy ends up getting re-possessed by The Core (ofc it’s still alive. It’s a cockroach, duh) except it now only consists of the non-royal members. We have more info but I don’t wanna elaborate too much right now since I might end up writing a fic for this lol.

Anyways, here’s a script scene thing I wrote :P

*Inside an FBI outpost or whatever near L.A. at 4am*

Darcy: *attempts to get the portal to start up by trying different commands on the computer next to it*

*The door busts open and Darcy raises their head to see Anne and Sasha enter, each holding up some sci-fi looking gun that they probably stole from the federal government on their way to the portal room*

Anne: You won’t be conquering anything on our watch, cockroach.

Sasha: I suggest you put your rental hands up if you don’t want us to kill you again.

Darcy: *smirks at them then casually focuses back on the computer and continues typing, clearly not intimidated in the slightest* Ah, there you are, girls! And you arrived *glances at the time in the corner of the screen* 7 minutes quicker than we calculated, well done! However, you still manage to disappoint us. We already told you that we rid ourselves of the Leviathan dynasty, yet you still believe we have the same insipid goals.

Sasha: Are you saying you… don’t care about the whole multiversal domination thing you were going for last time?

Darcy: *scoffs* Of course not. Not only is it impossible to control an infinite number of worlds, but the aim is also remarkably basic. As to be expected from a line of narcissistic tyrants who share a personality, we suppose.

Anne: Oh. *lowers her gun a bit* Then what’re you doing?

Darcy: Just checking how you humans cracked making portals without the gems. We don’t exactly have the resources to figure it out ourselves anymore since you three *makes a circular gesture with their finger to include their host* somehow DRAINED the most powerful objects in the multiverse.

Sasha: But why would you need portals if you’re not going to other worlds?

Darcy: *laughs* Oh, blondie, we never said anything about that! We may not be invading, but we do still have a mission.

Sasha: Which is…?

Darcy: *sighs* Eh, why not. *finally looks up from the computer again and leans on the desk a bit with one hand* We intend to discover all that we can about as many dimensions as possible. Of course, following the same logic as earlier, it is quite impossible to learn EVERYTHING. But, even so, the idea is far more appealing than what those boorish overgrown salamanders had planned. Like, they’ve destroyed so many thrilling temples and puzzles along with countless fascinating species just for their ridiculous pursuit of power. What a waste.

Anne:

Sasha: Oh my god it’s a fucking nerd-

[goffilolo]

Revival of Midoriya Izuku: Chapter 4 "My depression may be chronic, but my ass is iconic"

I bet you didn't think you were ever gonna see an update. well neither did I. What can I say? writing with a broken hand is a struggle.

Link to the fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/81090403

Izuku’s first day of high school was interesting, to say the least, or it would’ve been if he actually went to school instead of spreading mayhem amongst UA’s first years. Shinjuku Metropolitan has been rather lenient in regards to his attendance or lack of thereof, thanks to whatever bullshit Shin wrote to the school on his behalf to ensure that the faculty would accommodate his ‘condition’. Which is just fancy wording for ‘I got a get out of school card’. Truth be told, this is probably the best thing that the doctor has ever done for him since Izuku was nowhere near ready to return to mainstream education, not after everything that has happened in middle school. The last thing he needed were looks of pity and guilt-induced niceties from people who otherwise had no problem laughing at his misfortune.

So instead Izuku has decided to spend his time productively - if you could count tormenting your ex-childhood friend and having an accidental family reunion as such.

Uncle Shouta always had a bit of a mean streak to him, although it never really felt as such when Izuku himself interacted with him. From what little of his childhood he could remember that didn’t involve trauma and discrimination, his uncle was a somewhat kind, but grumpy man. He believed in a brand of tough love - that somehow did not correspond with the way his mother raised him in the slightest and went above and beyond for things and people he held close to his heart. Sure they haven’t seen each other since Izuku was 4, but if his uncle’s empty threats from today’s Quirk Apprehension Test are anything to go by, not much has changed.

Which brings him back to now; sitting in an empty classroom that he does not belong to - a school that he does not belong to, writing down his ever-so-detailed notes about the quirks he will only be able to admire from afar. Not much has changed , indeed.

It almost feels like a betrayal. Almost , being the operative word, because he has no reason to cling onto the things that he no longer cares about - should no longer care about, for they had died along with him that day on the roof, and were properly buried within the four walls that Izuku called his own during his stay in the hospital.

But well...looks like today Izuku is in a mood to dig up old corpses.

Metaphorically, that is.

“God, you’re still here!”

“Kacchan we’ve talked about this” he replied, rather dramatically “God is dead and all that’s left is me”

Kacchan clearly did not appreciate his superior sense of humour, if the lack of response is anything to go by. “No seriously, why are you still here?”

“I could ask you the same”

“I actually study here you fuckwit!” the blond exclaimed in his ever explosive fashion “Besides I had to come back and get my change of clothes since that demonic pet of yours was sitting on them when we were all leaving for the test”

“Huh, that actually reminds me...where’s Bandit?”

“Oi, don’t change the subject you shitty Deku” replied Bakugou, as he kicked one of the chairs over towards the desk that was currently occupied by Izuku and slumped down in it in a way that would perhaps appear as non-caring to absolutely no one “I didn’t know your uncle was a pro-hero.”

Ah, so that’s what he was bothered about.

“That makes the two of us”

“Wait, really?!”

“Honestly Kacchan! Did you really think that IF I knew my uncle was a pro-hero that I would be able to ever shut up about it?”

“No way in hell!”

“Exactly!”

Well, now that the topic of his uncle has been cleared up, there wasn’t much else to talk about, at least not much that wouldn’t result in collateral damage or a Bakugou shitshow 2.0. Both of the boys were well aware of it of course, but let it never be said that either of them could be stopped by things like common sense, especially when it came to avoiding conversational land mines.

“So...what are you scribbling over here?” asked Bakugou in a rather poor and possibly the most awkward attempt at establishing small talk that has ever been known to man and sheep kind alike.

“Ok, no! That is not happening” snapped Izuku, who very much saw where this was going and was having none of it “We are NOT having a civil conversation!”

“Why the fuck not?!” replied the blond, his anger as booming and apparent as his quirk.

“Because that is not something we DO Kacchan!” shouted the teen, banging his hands against the desk, his notebook long forgotten.

“Well, maybe we should?!” exclaimed Bakugou, who was quick to anger, yet quicker to notice his ex-friend’s unusual mood as he tried to make an effort to de-escalate the situation.

“Oh? Should we really? !” sneered Izuku, feeling the kind of anger and disdain he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since that fateful day in the ward.

“That’s rich coming from you” he continued as he stood up form the chair, unable to keep still in his fury as he circled the classroom “All you ever did was shout at me, insult me and throw baseless accusations at me left and right for god knows how long, but suddenly YOU want to have a conversation with me? Isn’t it enough that we kinda talked about our feelings that one time when I was still stuck in the psych ward?!”

Honestly, what do you expect Kacchan?” asked Izuku, feeling raw and hysteric and all kinds of wrong, spilling his metaphorical guts to his ex-bully/friend “That we will just start having normal conversations like nothing ever happened, act like we’re friends or some shit? Because let’s be honest, we haven’t been friends for a very long time, that ship has sunk long before I even attempted suicide! ”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” screamed Bakugou, feeling equally angry, but mostly out of his depth in the situation. He expected Deku to possibly mock him for his awkward attempts at small talk. What the blond didn’t expect was for him to snap, in a way that was somewhat familiar but not quite, as even the few times they’ve spoken back when Izuku was in the hospital or when he got released, his tempter felt controlled in a way it was not at the moment. Katsuki wasn’t sure what exactly triggered such a strong response, but he was not looking forward to having another fight, at least not one initiated by him.

“I’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen” he explained “I just want to move forward. I’m not the same asshole I was last year and neither are you, so I don’t want to be stuck on how things used to be ! It makes me feel like I’m going nowhere.”

“Ok! Fine! You wanna talk?! Then let me fuckin TELL you something! You asked me what I was ‘scribbling’ over here?” exclaims Izuku, as he stomps his way back towards the desk and snatches his notebook, waving it aggressively in front of Bakugou “IT’S THE SAME STUFF I’VE BEEN SCRIBBLING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!” he screamed “Those quirk analysis notebooks you used to mock me for? It’s another one of those because as it turns out  I still AM the same asshole I was last year! Now then, can YOU tell ME how many of those I’ve had?”

“Thirteen…” mutters Bakugou, feeling like he’s walking into a proverbial trap.

“Good boy, you can count! Now, can you tell me what number does it say on this one?” sneers Izuku sarcastically as he points once again at the notebook in question.

“Is this a trick question? There’s fuckin nothing on it”

“EXACTLY! And you want to know why?” screamed the distressed teen, no longer feeling angry, but tired and vulnerable, unable to stop himself from having a conversation he didn’t even want to be a part of “Because these notes used to serve a purpose, a purpose I no longer have. Hero Analysis for the Future , to be exact. But guess what Kacchan…” he whispered, no longer looking at the red eyes that used to bring him so much pain “...I no longer have a future…”

The blond hung his head in shame as he listened to his childhood friend break down in tears while hiding his face behind the very notebook that started their argument, all the while Trash Bandit who woke up due to their screaming was trying to get his owner’s attention with pathetically quiet ‘baaah’s.

“You have the right to be angry with me, after all this shit I put you through” stated Bakugou after what felt like an endless silence broken only by Izuku’s stuttering sobs. He never thought of himself as a coward, but at this moment he could not find enough bravery to sit face to face with the crying teen.

“I KNOW that you shithead-” replied Izuku as he shakily tried to take a breath in between the sobs “-but what good is that gonna do?! You’ve actually admitted that the way you treated me was wrong, hell you even voluntarily went to therapy! You’re basically going through a whole-ass redemption arc and what do I do? * sob * I’m still stuck in the past and I can’t let go of my grudges, which isn’t doing me or you any favours. I’ve told you to get your shit together, and this is exactly what you’re trying to do and instead of being h-* hic *- happy for you I’m mad-”

His rant broke off as he took another breath with tears still rolling down the freckled cheeks despite the boy’s best efforts. Izuku slumped down in his seat and with shaking hands he took out a cigarette and lighter from his backpack that was still hanging by the hook on the side of the desk. And although putting the cigarette in his mouth was relatively easy, lighting it was another matter. As Izuku grew more frustrated with the quiver in his hands, so did Bakugou. The blond became impatient as he grumbled “give it here damn it” much more quietly and gently than he normally would’ve done as he leaned forward, all the while grabbing the other teen by his shoulder with one hand, as he used to the other to quickly light the cigarette with a small explosion. Izuku’s flinch at the sudden but familiar noise and heat did not go unnoticed.

To say that Izuku was shocked by his ex-friend’s action would’ve been an understatement, but he was pleased nonetheless. If anything it proved his point that Kacchan was trying to be nicer to him, even if the attempts were somewhat awkward. The freckled teen, feeling only marginally better, leaned back in his chair facing the ceiling as he continued to blow circles of smoke up into the air, trying to regain his original train of thought.

“You’d think they would have a fire alarm in here or something” mused Bakugou as he stared at the disappearing circles.

“Hmm” replied Izuku, absentmindedly “You’d think”

The silence has once again stretched between the 2 boys, although this time it felt less oppressive in its need to be filled. Bakugou was happy to wait for Deku to finish what he started, it was the least the blond could do seeing as he was at fault for the current state of things between them.

“I’m so fuckin angry...” stated Izuku as he crashed the burnt out cigarette against the desk, which Bakugou conviniently ignored seeing as the desk was his. “I’m so fuckin angry-” he repeated despite his tone and words not matching at all “-because this proves that you could’ve gotten your shit together this whole time” he continues while gesturing vaguely between the two of them.

“You could’ve stopped this bullshit and apologised to me!” exclaims Izuku in a tone that is half resigned and half accusing “You could’ve spared me the misery, and yet you didn’t. I feel like I’ve suffered for nothing-”

“You did!” interrupted the blond.

“What?”

“You’ve suffered for nothing” clarified Bakugou “There’s literally NO good reason for you to have gone through even half the shit you did”

“I dunno about that Kacchan” teased Izuku “I’m pretty sure the reason is sitting right in front of me”

“I said no good reason damn it, don’t go around twisting my words you fuckin Deku!”

And Izuku couldn’t help but break out in laughter, because he was pretty sure that this was the first time ever that Bakugou had made a joke at his own expense and this moment was going to live in his brain rent free from now on.

“Oh God, Kacchan-” he wheezed, trying to stop himself from laughing “You were right, you really aren't the same asshole that you were last year!”

“I sure fuckin hope not” replied Bakgou who was just as close to laughing “Otherwise I would’ve had to demand refund for all of those shitty therapy sessions”

“Look at us Kacchan” said Izuku, his laugh now subdued “We’re still a fuckin mess”

“I guess we are” agreed the blond as he stared down at his friend’s notebook in a thoughtful expression.

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

After the truthfully embarrassing heart-to-heart with Kacchan, Izuku wanted to do nothing more than sink into the void for the next eternity, or at least until he gets his reminder text that he’s running late for yet another therapy session. Unfortunately neither of these options were viable seeing as he was on a self-appointed mission to catch up to his uncle. The boy hoped that uncle Shouta would still be somewhere on the premises seeing as his ugly-ass sleeping bag was still in the classroom. Izuku used that to his advantage as he gave the sleeping bag to Bandit who promptly sniffed it and began to follow the scent of a premature-midlife-crisis. Who knew that sheep could make such good hounds?

Bandit had dutifully led their owner through an ever inconvenient maze of corridors, which eventually ended with the two entering the teacher’s lounge like they had every right to be there (which they kinda did, shoutout to Nedzu!). As expected, Izuku’s uncle was in the lounge, surrounded by fellow members of staff as they tried (unsuccessfully, at least by Izuku’s standards) to get any information out of him regarding his class this year. Uncle Shouta for the most part looked like he’d rather be doing anything else and so Izuku has made an executive decision to insert himself obnoxiously into the situation.

“In my humble opinion-” he said, as he sat down next to his uncle, while Bandit jumped up on his lap “that Mineta kid should’ve been expelled. Like, we get it uncle, he has potential ” continued Izuku, as he spat the word distastefully “But how far is that potential gonna get him when all he does is harass the entire female population, like every other mediocre straight guy with self awareness of a sea cucumber?”

“A sea cucumber? Really?” asked uncle Shouta, sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he is.

“I mean don’t get me wrong” he continues, completely ignoring the unnecessary commentary “Straight people are already embarrassing as they are, but this guy is on another level, the kinda level that usually leads to a straight jacket, am I right?! Hah- I just made a pun!”

“The little listener does have a point, Shouta” replied Present Mic.

“Also, did he just say uncle ? Shouta, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” asked Midnight, you know, like a traitor.

“No”

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

It wasn’t until they walked past the gates of the school that his uncle finally stopped in his tracks to voice at least a portion of the questions that have been bubbling in his mind since the impromptu family reunion with his nephew.

“Izuku” says Shouta, with as much concern as an uncle-who-you-haven’t-seen-in-almost-a-decade is allowed to voice “What the fuck?”

“Look, I heard that question far too often in my lifetime, mostly from my therapist, so you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific” replies Izuku sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he hopes to evolve into through the sheer power of genetics and generational trauma.

“Look kid-” says the hobo looking man that has the privilege of being related to Izuku as he puts his hands together, takes a deep breath and prays to whichever God he believes is not yet dead for some guidance on how to handle this “-as much as I’d love to elaborate on the sheer amount of confusion I am experiencing right now due to your questionable way of life, I do actually have to go on a patrol so this conversation is gonna have to be postponed. In the meanwhile give your mother my regards, and I’ll hopefully see you in the near future when you decide once again to wreak havoc in my classroom.”

“No” replies the freckled teen in a total disregard for other people’s prior engagements, thus truly earning his title of a problem child.

“What do you mean no ? Izuku, I have a job to do!”

Instead of replying, Izuku has decided to simply pull a pro-gamer move, by quickly taking out a familiar pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his backpack, cuffing one side to his uncle’s hand and the other to his own. That on its own is probably not particularly impressive, however it is the speed of the action that has earned it the title of a pro-gamer move, which Izuku is quite proud of. His uncle on the other hand is definitely less so, looking at his cuffed wrist like it has somewhat betrayed him.

“Please tell me you did not just do that”

“I did not just do that”

After wasting about 10 minutes of his life on fruitless struggle of trying to get the handcuffs off like an untrained dog trying to chew off its own leash, Aizawa Shouta; the underground hero Eraserhead, the infamous Erasure Hero has slumped in defeat, internally swearing to himself to one day get revenge on his unruly nephew.

“God, I am so going to have a talk with my sister about this” he says, as if a threat of authority had any meaning to the green headed teen.

“Yeah, no shit, that’s the whole point, we’re going to my house now” replies the teen, completely disregarding any attempt at ‘ an adult asserting their authority ’ over him.

“I still have to go on a patrol tonight” repeats Shouta, as if it was somewhat relevant.

“That sounds like a you problem”

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall." 

[dumblydork]

Summer

Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?

As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.

Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!

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The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.

"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.

And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).

Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.

"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.

"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-

"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.

"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.

Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.

"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.

Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.

However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.

The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.

"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.

However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.

They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.

The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.

"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.

"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"

Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.

"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.

She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.

"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"

Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.

"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.

"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.

"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.

"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.

"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.

"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.

"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.

They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.

"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.

"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.

"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.

"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.

"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.

"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.

"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.

"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.

The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.

Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.

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TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //

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Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.

As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!

Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Someone who cares (Angel Reyes x nurse!reader)

Summary: You patch up Angel when he gets injured and end up realizing more about yourself than you were expecting

Pairing: Angel Reyes x nurse!reader (I kept it gender neutral so it can be read as a female or male or non-binary character)

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Mayans MC. I’m still finding their voices and I probably need to watch the seasons another time to make sure I got it. Hopefully, Angel didn’t get too ooc.

Wordcount: 915

Warnings: mentions of bullet wound and canon violence, but nothing major

You were pretty sure you had never been this angry or scared in your life. Your heart seemed to be trying to bust out of your chest and your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the needle to stitch Angel’s shoulder.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you asked, slapping his uninjured arm, your face a mask of fury. You weren’t even a little bit sympathetic at his little whine of hurt as he moved around, trying to escape your assault.

Been brought up in this life, among the Mayans, seeing them injured or even dead sometimes wasn’t something new. It hurt, of course, because you considered them all family, but you knew it was part of this life.

Was this precisely the reason you decided to go to nursing school? So you could help patch them up whenever they were either unable to use the tunnels or if they needed some quicker care before going back to a job.

So, seeing Angel here, with a wounded shoulder shouldn’t faze you all that much. You had treated worst than a bullet graze. Yet, here you were, completely undone by the sight of older Reyes brother bleeding on your gurney.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop that!” Angel complained with a frown as took hold of your hands. You could feel the warmth of his skin even through your latex gloves. “Why are you mad at me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh no?” Your voice was getting a little more high-pitched now as the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin threatened to spill. “ ‘cause everyone seemed to think you jumped in front of that bullet.”

Angel snorted and held onto your wrists tighter, bringing your hands to his chest to keep them from escaping and assaulting him with slaps once again. It wasn’t like they actually hurt but it was the principle of the thing.

“I was just getting Ez out of the way,” he explained, meeting your eyes. “It would’ve done a lot worse to him, trust me.”

You stopped your struggling to be free of his grip and just heaved a long sigh that sounded more like a sob. Your brain finally caught up with your heart and you finally understood why you were so upset.

You cared for Angel. More than you realized at first. More than you would like to admit. Even to yourself.  

Face with that truth, your shoulders sagged and you ducked your head as you tried to recompose yourself. Angel must have judged himself to be safe because he let go of your hands and tilted your chin up so he could properly look at you.

“Are you ok?” You shook your head once and finally looked at him.

“You love Ez, I get that. He’s your baby brother.”

“Ok,” Angel frowned at you, confused and you sighed once again, stepping away from him and focusing on the tray of medical supplies so you wouldn’t have to look at him as the next words came out of your lips.

“I just wished you would stop trying to get yourself killed to prove it to everyone else.” Angel’s little gasp of shock was discreet but perfectly clear in the otherwise silent room.

As you treaded the needle you were going to use, you wondered if he even realized he did that. Put himself second to his brother. Even if you didn’t know a lot about Señor Reyes, you had witnessed enough of his interactions with both sons to realize he was closer to Ez than he was to Angel. You could only imagine what kind of wounds and resentment grew from that. And that might be why the older Reyes brother seemed to think he was disposable when compared to Ez and frequently put himself out there to protect his little brother.

Regardless of the reason, you hated it. Even if it wasn’t any of your business. Even if you knew Angel probably didn’t even see you like that.

“I hope one day you realize,” you spoke again, tone soft as you finally approached him to suture him up. “That there are several people that would be incredibly devastated if you end up dead.”

“You mean like you?” Angel asked a small teasing smile on his lips despite your loaded statement. But wasn’t that one of the reasons you liked him? His ability to lighten up the mood with his antics.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, not looking directly at him. The motions of stitching up skin had become almost second nature to you but still, it was nice to have a reason to focus on something else. “But mostly I meant your brothers.”

“Right…” Angel chuckled loudly and smirked. “Just admit you like me!”

“You really wanna mess with me while I have a sharp object this close to your open wound?” You threatened, but it was devoid of any actual heat and only made Angel smirk grow.

“Pfff! You wouldn’t! Because you liiiiike me!” You rolled at eyes but didn’t answer, focusing instead on finishing up his stitches and patching up the suture.

“Thanks!” He said climbing down from the gurney. “I’ll try to keep the jumping in front of bullets to a minimum from now on.”

To your surprise he pressed a kiss to your cheek before heading towards the door, leaving you behind to shake off your shock and laugh at his silliness as a small flower of hope started to blossom in your heart.

 xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers! 

[thotful-writing]

Invasion Ch. 14

Description:  A planet conquering race of Saiyans invaded Earth and deemed it worthy of habitation. After bringing the humans to their heels, they set up a new society where humans had one role, to serve. You found yourself in the unlucky faction of being bought and sold as a human pet. With absolutely no interest in owning a human but no way out of having one, Kakarot made a bid on you at the urging of his brother. It was only a matter of time before you were either killed or forced into obedience.

You can find previous chapters in this link: Ch. 12 and Ch. 13 or you can read it here on my AO3

Note: Sorry about the delay in updates on stuff. Sweat is in it’s final chapter now and will be posted soon. Thank you to everyone who is still reading our fics, we really appreciate it!

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Vegeta’s grip around your throat was harsh, “you made a deal with me, woman.”

“Forget the deal. Send me to the Arena.” You weren’t scared of the prospect anymore.

He smirked, “you act as though you have a choice here. I paid for you. I put myself on the line more than once and I fully expect to be repaid.”

“What do you want?” You stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how scared you were.

“I can still smell him on you. Kakarot. His scent seeps from your pores.” He inhaled close to your ear.

You couldn’t hide the pounding of your heart against your chest at his closeness and how unnerving he was being. You knew you could take down another human, but fighting off a saiyan was something completely different.

Suddenly he released you and stepped back, “I’ll make this short, I know about your little trips to the Arena with Gine.”

“H-How-“

“Doesn’t matter how. I’m taking over your training and your placement at the Arena. You’ll fight and win until I’m satisfied you’ve paid off your debt.”

You weren’t sure you were actually hearing him correctly, “you want me to fight? And what happens once I’m free of my debt to you?”

“You’ll never truly be free, of course, but you can come and go as you please. No expectations or questions from me.”

The offer sounded too good to be true. You wanted to continue fighting anyways, but having him take over was a little worrisome.

“I do this and I’m free from any obligation? That includes being mated with?” You didn’t care about being blunt at this point.

“If that’s what you want.” He said.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Train me and I’ll fight in the Arena for you.” You had no hesitation after hearing that you’d have free reign over your own interest in being mated with.

“We’ll start tomorrow. Dawn.” He pushed past you and left your room without so much as a glance at you.

You closed your door and collapsed on the bed, the ache in your chest returned when thoughts of Kakarot flooded your mind again. You wondered where he was and if he was even still alive at this point. You knew you’d have no access to anymore information about him. You hated that you loved him, that you convinced yourself you could have a decent life with him. Never again would you trick yourself or let yourself fall prey to such childish notions.

The next day came and you dragged yourself out of bed after spending most of the night obsessing over Kakarot and switching between crying and being angry with yourself. When you finally found Vegeta he was in one of the many training rooms in the palace that he had built, of course, Bulma had the walls reinforced to withstand his anger and power.

“Late.” He snapped.

“Would’ve helped if you’d told me where the fuck you were going to be.” You said without thinking about who you were talking to, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Kakarot’s mother has trained you, right? Show me.” He stood firmly in the center of the room as you walked towards him.

It was odd seeing him without his normal saiyan armor, he seemed almost approachable for a split second.

“You- You want me to hit you?” You were a little hesitant as you’d been informed previously that any slight against the Prince would end with your head being removed from your body.

“Yes. Now get on with it.” He said impatiently.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly as you prepared for what would be a rigorous training session or the last few seconds of your life. You attacked him quickly, aiming to almost land a hit somewhere, but of course you missed. He was quicker, nimble, barely moving himself out of the way. He moved with ease as if you were moving at a slowed down speed, which compared to him you probably were.

“Again.” He said, hands behind his back as he waited.

You attacked again, launching yourself at him, trying your hardest to hit him at least once. You aimed for his chest, missing. Again, aiming for his abdomen, missing. You fought harder, fist coming close to his cheek, but again falling short. By the time you were done, sweat was dripping from your brow and he had barely moved an inch.

“Pathetic. How are you winning fights like this? Are the other saiyans really not training their humans?”

“Turles is. His human fights like him.” You panted, trying to catch your breath.

“Then you should have beat her in your first fight.” He said.

You furrowed your brow, “how much do you actually know about all that?”

“Enough to know you fight like you’re not trying to win, just get the life beaten out of you.” He explained.

It wasn’t that he was wrong, but you didn’t realize it was that obvious to other people.

“Bruises feel better than the other shit.” You shrugged.

“Winning will feel even better. You lose a fight and I add more to your debt.”

“That seems unfair. There are some really good fighters at the Arena.”

Vegeta scoffed, “then it would be wise to be better.”

It seemed like a simple thing to him, to just be a better fighter, but it wasn’t that easy for you. He knew why you started fighting, what was driving you, but he expected you to just flip a switch and fight to win instead of trying to numb the other pain you felt.

Over the next few months Vegeta trained you. Each day you left feeling like your body was just going to dissolve into a puddle. Your muscles ached, bruises covered you from head to toe and he refused to let you use one of the med pods. He wanted you to remember where the bruises and cuts came from. He pushed you, pushed your limits, pushed your body until you begged for him to stop, but even then he pushed more.

“Pathetic. Kakarot actually saw you as a viable mate?” He paced around you as you lay motionless on the floor.

“Don’t.” You sneered breathlessly.

“I’m just trying to understand what he saw in you. It couldn’t have been your fighting skills because those are non-existent. Bulma could kick your ass at this point.”

You felt your anger raging inside, unfurling in your stomach as you pushed yourself up off the floor on shaking limbs. You wiped the blood from your lip, sweat stinging the wounds that covered you.

“I’m done. Fuck this.” You pushed past him.

“Quitting already? Not surprising for someone so spineless. Don’t know what I expected when you didn’t even try to save him.”

You stopped in your tracks, “what?”

“You made no attempts to stand up for him, to break him free. You had all of the resources at your fingertips, Bulma, Gine, but you just let him die.”

You turned around quickly, “are you fucking serious? I had no way of saving him. The second I would have tried he would’ve stopped me or some other giant saiyan fuck would’ve intervened.”

“At least you would have tried instead of cowering like the weak human you are.” Vegeta snapped.

With clenched fists and rage burning in your throat, you launched yourself at Vegeta. He narrowly blocked your attack, but that didn’t stop you. You were determined to make him eat the words he shoved in your face. All of the pain and aches that had forced you to your knees previously, were now driving you forward. The pain pushed you, the rage fueled you. Vegeta smirked in your face at the failed attacks he continued to avoid, until you landed one hit across his jaw. The second your fist made contact with his face you felt it, that jolt of accomplishment, pride that you’d actually done it.

An expression of pure astonishment was etched across his face and your own, “you little-“

With a hand around your throat instantly he shoved you back against the wall, fingers digging into your skin. Your chests heaved, fighting to regain control over the rage you both felt in the moment. His gaze burned into yours, heat radiating off of both of your bodies.

“Am I still pathetic?” You asked breathlessly.

“Yes, but a little less now,” he said with a rare smirk, “use that anger first next time.”

There was something in that moment, something that had changed the dynamic between you. You couldn’t place it, or maybe you didn’t want to admit it, admit the building bond between you. Despite his callousness, roughness with you, it was there, drawing you in to something different.

“You should be ready for your first fight soon.” He released your throat, ignoring whatever look you were giving him.

“I’m not ready, I got my ass handed to me last time. Gine had to put me in one of those pods for like hours afterwards.” You shook your head.

“Don’t get injured as badly and you should be fine. I’ll arrange it for next week.” He walked by you without giving you a moment to argue your point.

You didn’t feel ready, hitting Vegeta once didn’t exactly seem like a great qualifier to fight in the Arena, although it did feel amazing. Training with Vegeta had given you something to focus on for the last few months, almost daily, for hours, you spent time fighting him. His snide remarks pushing you further, using your anger and hatred to boost your strength. Never in a million years did you think you’d look forward to spending time with him, but it was the perfect distraction and a pure carnal release to fight with him.

The next week came and your anxiety was unfurling in your gut as you stood at the sidelines in the Arena. Vegeta was next to you, but made no move to give you any support or last words of encouragement.

“Remember, you lose, I add to your debt.” He said just before you entered the cage.

“Thanks. That helps.” You said sarcastically.

You came face to face with your opponent, clearly an unfair match, which made you wonder if Vegeta had hand picked her. She was at least a good two feet taller than you, built like a fucking truck. Her biceps alone were bigger than your head.

“You both know the rules. Tap out, knock out, or death. Those are your only ways out of here.” The referee saiyan said.

You nodded and looked up at your opponent, her gaze set directly on you as if she was thinking about all the ways she was going to eat you after she dismembered you.

“Fight.” He said and stepped out of the cage.

You readied yourself, getting into a fighting stance and preparing for a direct attack, but she didn’t move, not even a little. She stood still, almost like a statue.

“Um, are you okay?” You asked when she just stood there.

She stared at you but didn’t answer. It felt weird attacking someone who showed very little brain activity.

“What are you waiting for? Attack her!” Vegeta yelled from the side.

You turned to look at him, “I can’t, look at her, she’s-“

Suddenly you were being lifted off the ground by a harsh grip around your throat. You gasped and grabbed at her arm, but it did nothing to keep her from basically tossing you across the cage. You landed with a thud on the ground, the air knocked from your lungs. She was trudging towards you, looking even angrier. You pushed yourself up off the ground and brushed yourself off before running headfirst at her.

Attacking her abdomen did nothing, landing punch after punch was basically useless as she showed no signs of even feeling it. With one swift slap, she knocked you down again, almost burying you into the ground.

“Fuck. What are you?” You struggled to stand back up.

She came right for you again, not slowing down or showing any signs of stopping until you were either unconscious or dead. You wiped the blood from your lip, trying to refocus on how you were going to defeat this mountain. You looked around your surroundings, trying to find something to take her out with, but the cage was devoid of anything. You had nothing on you either, but she still had her collar, which looked to be digging into her skin. That was your out. Your key to winning.

You stood still, waiting for the right moment to attack. She lunged at you, giving you an opening. You moved swiftly around her and grabbed the collar from behind, jerking it back as you used all of your weight to hang onto her by it. She tried to grab the collar but it was too tight around her neck for her to get any leverage. She turned around, trying to sling you off, but you wrapped yourself around her like a vine, determined not to die. She fell to her knees, gasping for air as her face turned red, hands still trying to grab onto something to get you off of her.

“I’m so sorry.” You said as she fell face first on the ground, consciousness fading from her.

A significant amount of complaints and boos were thrown out by the saiyans, most of whom had probably bet against you. You climbed off of her and headed for the cage door.

“See that? I took that monster down by myself.” You panted as you approached Vegeta.

“Nothing more than luck for you. There’s no way you would’ve been able to defeat her without it.” He rolled his eyes.

“Still counts though, right? My debt?”

“Sure. Let’s go.” He sighed.

He was silent for the time it took to get back to the palace, clearly annoyed with the way you’d won. It was annoying how nothing was impressive or good enough for him, he was a stark contrast to Kakarot, which was irritating.

“You know a little positive reinforcement goes a long way.” You said as you followed him back to the training room.

“Oh, you want praise for using a trick to win a fight? How noble of you to avoid using any actual strength.” He snapped.

“You said win, you never said I had to explicitly fight with my fists.” You argued.

“What honor is there in what you just did? How do you have any pride after that?” He turned to face you.

“The fuck do I care about honor and pride? I just want to live my life.”

Vegeta was on you in an instant, hand around your throat once again as he shoved you back against the wall, “what kind of life is it if you take the coward’s way out every time?”

“I’m not a coward.” Words you didn’t fully believe yourself, but you said them anyways.

“Prove it. All I see is a weak, little human whining about how unfair her life is, refusing to take it back for herself.” He sneered, eyes burning into yours.

With adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you made a stupid decision. You grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back as much as he allowed.

“Let me go.” You said through gritted teeth as his hand tightened around your throat.

“Maybe you would be useful for something, a feisty little mate. Sell you off to the highest bidder?” He grinned, sharp fangs on full display.

You pulled harder on his hair, trying to keep him from moving closer, but it did nothing. He leaned in, lips ghosting against yours. You snapped at him, biting his lip and drawing blood.

“Insolent little-“ Vegeta squeezed your throat.

Everything in your mind was telling you it was wrong, the sudden feeling of attraction was nothing more than the adrenaline left over from your fight, but you ignored it. You needed another release, something else entirely taking over you. You leaned forward as much as he would let you and flicked your tongue over the blood on his bottom lip. His eyes were wild, matching your own with the need you both felt in that moment.

As if you both knew what the other was thinking, you released the hold you had on one another and attacked. He pressed his lips to yours, biting you harshly just as you’d done to him. You repeated in your mind that it was nothing more than a release, something you needed.

You grabbed the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, “this doesn’t mean anything. I’m not your fucking mate.”

He turned you around and slammed you against the wall as he jerked your pants down, “I’d never take someone as feeble and useless as you for a mate.”

Before you could make another comment, he shoved his cock into you, forcing a loud yelp from your lips. You pushed back against him, refusing to give him any satisfaction or notion that he was the one fucking you. His fingers dug into your hips, pinching the skin harder by the second. He took out his full frustration on your body, grabbing, biting, fucking, all of it as hard as he could without breaking you completely.

Every doubt, feeling of guilt, you pushed from your mind while he drove into you over and over, each thrust harder than the last. It wasn’t like you had anyone to worry about, Kakarot was long gone by now and it was just you at this point.

A silent, mind numbing haze fell over you as you walked back to your room, a ghost of his harsh grip lingered on your skin, sweat sticking to your clothes. The vast differences between him and Kakarot weighed heavily on you. Over the last few months you’d worked so hard to push every memory of Kakarot out of your mind, forget the feeling of his tail wrapped around your thigh, the heat that radiated off of him in the night. One desperate release with Vegeta brought all of it flooding back to your mind at once, the good and the bad.

Kakarot was rough with you, but caring at the same time. His touch was firm, but gentle, filled with all the emotion he held back. Vegeta was all surface, harshness with nothing beneath it for you. You’d noticed the way he was with Bulma, how he took such care with her, but for you it was different, lacking. It was evident you were nothing more than a release for him as well. You weren’t complaining, you didn’t want anything more with him, but it made your chest ache at the thought that you wouldn’t have that with anyone again.