#i have no idea how to get over the anxiety of it

[lightsoutnaway]

Hellloooo can I request Carlos x Reader meeting his dad/family for the first time??

Thank youuu!!!

Meet the Family

PAIRING: Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: You meet Carlos' family at the Spanish Gran Prix.

WORD COUNT: 1,114

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! Sorry it took so long for me to get too. I've just gotten through a big series of projects at work though, and I have a lot of free time opening up! I appreciate your patience.

You were hanging your clothes in the closet of the hotel that you were staying at. You really wished they would build a track in Madrid so you could have one race where you and Carlos got to sleep at home. You picked up your last dress, sliding it onto a hanger and placing it in the hotel closet. 

“What do you want to do for dinner?” You asked Carlos as you started putting your shoes away. 

“My dad has a dinner reservation for all of us tonight,” Carlos told you. You froze. 

“Your dad?” You asked.

“Yes,” Carlos answered. “My mom and sister too.” 

“You didn’t tell me they would be here!” You exclaimed. Carlos looked over at you. He hadn’t realized your panic until then. 

“It’s the Spanish Gran Prix. I assumed you would know,” Carlos replied. 

“I assumed you would give me a warning before I met your family,” you told him. You ran a hand through your hair. Carlos tried to hold in a smile at your anxiety. “I don’t have gifts for any of them, Carlos.” 

“You don’t need gifts for them,” Carlos said. 

“My clothes aren’t nice enough either,” you continued. “I didn’t bring anything that’s right for dinner with your parents.” 

“You look perfect right now,” Carlos replied. You weren’t really listening. You stopped and looked at him. 

“Carlos, what if they hate me?” You asked. Carlos frowned. 

“They will not hate you,” Carlos assured you. 

“How do you know?” You pressed. 

“Because I love you. And they’re my family,” he answered. You took a deep breath. 

“Are you sure they won’t hate me?” You asked. Carlos chuckled. 

“They’ll love you, mi amor. My mother has been asking about you for months,” he told you. “She tells me how much happier I seem every time we talk. She knows it’s because of you.” Your cheeks warmed and your heart skipped a beat. 

“What about your dad?” You asked. You knew how much Carlos loved and respected his father. The approval of Carlos Sainz Sr. was something that you found yourself wanting the same way his son did. 

“He’ll love you too, amor,” Carlos assured you. “They all will. You’re going to fit right in.” You took a deep breath and nodded hesitantly.

“Do you really think that they’ll like me? You’re not just saying it?” You asked. Carlos reached up and pushed a hair out of your eyes. 

“Yes, mi amor. I have no worries. They will love you almost as much as I do,” he assured you. “We’re meeting them in an hour.” Your heart leapt in your chest. Meeting your boyfriend’s parents with one hour notice wouldn’t have been your first plan, but it didn’t give you much time to worry. When you arrived at the restaurant Carlos Sr., Reyes, and Blanca were all there already. You weren’t late, but the idea that you had kept them waiting already had you expecting that they hated you. Instead when you walked up Reyes wrapped you in a hug, quickly followed by her husband and daughter. 

“Y/N! It is so good to meet you,” Reyes greeted. Reyes hugged her son as Blanca kissed your cheeks. “Ella es muy bonita, Carlito,” Reyes praised her son. 

“My son never stops talking about you,” Carlos Sr. said as you sat down. “He tells us all about your job.” You looked at Carlos, a bashful expression spreading over your face. 

“Yes, I love my job. It’s not quite as exciting as being a racecar driver, but I like it,” you said. 

“I’ve asked him some questions, but I’m not sure he listens to you as well as he should…” Carlos Sr. proceeded to ask you about your career, clearly impressed by the fact that you were so advanced in your field. Blanca quickly took to you, her sense of humor matching yours–similar to her brother. Reyes didn’t say much but as she watched her son fawn over you, she didn’t find the need to ask you anything. 

“Do you want the last bite?” Carlos held out a forkful of chocolate cake to you. You smiled and let him feed it to you. 

“Thank you, my love,” you gushed before kissing his cheek. As sick as the sight made her, Blanca couldn’t help but be happy for her brother. Reyes and Carlos Sr. had knowing smiles on their faces as they watched their son. You were the one. They knew it just as well as their son did. Carlos Sr. paid for the meal before Carlos pulled your chair out for you, offering his arm to you as you exited the restaurant. Reyes and Blanca were chatting with you about where you would meet in the paddock tomorrow as Carlos went up to the valet stand with his father. The two of them handed their tickets to the valet before he walked off to get their cars. Carlos was watching you laugh with his mom and sister, his father observing the way his son stared at you so fondly. 

“Don’t mess it up with this one,” Carlos Sr. warned his son. “You’re never going to do better.” Carlos looked over at his dad and chuckled. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Carlos assured his father. Carlos opened your car door for you before all of you headed out. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” You called to Carlos’ family through the open car window. Carlos smiled to himself before reaching over and innocently resting his hand on your leg as he drove back to the hotel. 

“I told you that they would love you,” Carlos teased you. 

“You were nervous when you met my parents,” you reminded him with a huff. 

“Your dad is scary,” Carlos said. 

“I told you that he would like you though,” you replied. 

“And you were right. And I was right that my family would like you,” Carlos said. “We are just one big happy family.” You giggled. 

“We’re family?” You asked softly. 

“Yes,” Carlos said firmly. “Soon enough it will be legal too.” You looked at Carlos with wide eyes. 

“What?” Your voice was small and hopeful. Carlos smirked. 

“I thought I could adopt you,” he said. “Charles and Oscar made it seem fun.” You laughed at him. Carlos pulled up to the hotel. 

“I don’t need to be adopted though. I’ve got parents,” you teased as Carlos helped you from his car. He smiled as he wound his fingers between yours. His fingertip rubbed against the empty spot on your left ring finger that would be occupied soon enough. 

“That’s okay,” Carlos assured you. “I can think of another way to make you my family."

[wsoc-gay]

World Cup Results II

Part 1

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: The beginning of Ona's Pregnancy

A/N: At least one more part to this of the pregnancy, might continue it after the baby too. But if anyone has a request please feel free to put it in my asks! I work much better and faster with ideas. I'm open to writing anything, smut, fluff, angst, kid fics, just let me know what you want to read!

You and Ona couldn’t be more excited on the drive home from the clinic. Neither of you could wipe the smiles off your faces as your hands were held together and rested in your girlfriend’s lap. The entire ride home was full of loving sentiments exchanged to one another and plenty of blushes being spread across faces. 

Arriving home began your new train in following the advice from the doctor as closely as possible as well as going a bit overboard. Your girlfriend was starting to get annoyed with you, but even she would admit it was sweet how caring you were. Ona never opened her car door, never lifted anything too heavy, didn’t carry her bags to training, and you hardly let her do household chores. Every night for dinner you cooked a meal full of all the proper nutrients the doctors had advised eating and made sure to buy Ona only the best prenatal vitamins.

You both had agreed to not tell your teammates until you reached the 15-week mark, until then Ona didn’t have to alter her trainings and could still play in games. You had let the coaching staff and medical staff know as soon as you found out so they could monitor the Spaniard closer, but as of now you wanted to keep it on a need-to-know basis.  

It was around the 8-week mark, right after the first ultrasound, that some of your teammates began to catch on that something was happening. Any slight bump or tackle Ona took during training led to you sprinting to be by her side checking up on her. The brunette found it sweet but needed you to let up a little bit before they had to tell your team sooner than expected. 

Your worries weren’t without their reason, the chance of miscarriage was drastically higher through IVF and until Ona was outside her first trimester you had every right to worry. The days leading up to your 8-week scan were some of the most stressful days in your recent memory. You and Ona both were worried sick about having the scan show that you had lost your baby.

Ona was more stressed than you were due to her late-night research of her symptoms which often times resulted in her reading many horror stories of parents going to the first ultrasound and finding no heartbeat. The internet on top of her raging hormones led to many tearful nights where you tried to alleviate her fears but knew that the only thing to help the brunette’s anxiety would be seeing your baby. 

Thankfully one day after training the two of you were able to go to the clinic for the scan and see your baby for the first time. Tears immediately came to both of your eyes as the doctor told you your baby was not only alive, but healthy and thriving inside your girlfriend. You weren’t one to cry, but Ona made a comment that she thinks you’ll be a mess at every ultrasound, and you couldn’t help, but agree. There was something about seeing your baby on that screen that made everything seem more real. Therefore, the attentiveness only got worse.

Your English teammates were the first to confront you about your recent behavior. The pair was sat alone at a table during lunch when Lucy pulled you into a seat, “What’s wrong with you?”

You gave the older woman a confused look, “What the hell do you mean?”

Kiera slapped Lucy’s arm and muttered something you couldn’t quite make out under her breath. She looked over to you, “What Lucy meant to say,” She sent the brunette defender a glare, “Is that you’ve been acting a bit different during training recently.”

You truly hadn’t caught onto what they were referring to yet and raised an eyebrow at the pair, “Is this your guy’s subtle way of telling me I’ve been playing badly?”

Lucy slapped the back of your head and groaned, “No you idiot,” You slapped her right back, “Every time someone so much as touches Ona you act like she got shot.” Lucy slapped you again, “And you’re always watching her like a hawk,” You slapped her back.

Kiera grabbed her arm before she could retaliate, “Would you two stop acting like children already.”

This wasn’t surprising behavior for you and the outside back, ever since you arrived at Barcelona the two of you grew much closer. Lucy helped you a lot to settle into the team and lifestyle of Spain, so overtime you grew a lot closer. Hence, why she was one of the first ones to notice a change in your behavior.

You suddenly realized what they were referring too and tried to hide it best you could, “I’m not acting any different, I always worry about her.”

Lucy gave you a dumbfounded look, “Yeah, but this is even pushing it for you,” She began to dramatically mimic you, “Oh my love, Ona, someone leaned on you during our full contact sport, and job, are you sure you’re going to survive this,” She leaned back with an arm laid against her forehead dramatically. 

You started slapping the older brunette again, “Oh shut up, I am not acting like that.”

Kiera sighed and pushed the two of you apart, “Would you two seriously stop it,” she looked at Lucy, “Luce stop being dramatic,” and then turned to face you, “You’re not acting like whatever the hell that display was, but you are acting extra protective over her.”

You ultimately made up some excuse about Ona having reinflamed her ankle and that you wanted to make sure she didn’t seriously injure it again. The pair of English women didn’t seem to believe your excuse, but let you go on your way.

On the ride home you had told you told Ona about the confrontation with Lucy and Kiera which she followed up by agreeing that you needed to tone down the protectiveness and worrying. She had begun to notice it too and believed it was sweet but agreed that it was about to get out of hand and was only a matter of time before more of your teammates began to catch on. 

---

It was a couple weeks later, around the 12-week mark, when Ona was quieter than usual after training. The car ride home was nearly silent, but you didn’t mention it and assumed she was just tired. As the pregnancy progressed Ona was starting to become increasingly more tired throughout the day, so you assumed that alongside the hard training today was the cause for her quietness. 

It wasn’t until a little later when you walked into the living room and found the Spaniard sitting on the couch with her head in her hands that you finally asked, “Is something wrong babe? Are you not feeling well?”

Her head remained in her hands as she softly muttered out, “I need to tell you something.”

You quickly sat down next to her with you hand on her thigh and concern lacing your voice, “Is it the baby? Do we need to call the doctor?”

She quickly sat back and leaned against the couch quickly alleviating your worries, “No, no the baby is fine. It’s just, es posible que accidentalmente le haya contado a Aitana sobre el bebé.” She had rushed out the last sentence in Spanish making it difficult for you to understand.

“Slower, por favor, you know my Spanish isn’t good when you talk fast.”

“I accidentally told Aitana about the baby today,” Feeling increasingly guilty she began to ramble, “I know we didn’t want to tell people about the baby this early, but she cornered me and you know I’m bad at keeping things to myself when someone asks and it just slipped out. I am so sorry mi amor.”

You chuckled at her rambling but let out a sigh of relief knowing this was the cause to Ona’s mood shift and not something more serious. Ona and Aitana had always been close, growing up playing for the academy together and since Ona returned to Barca they became even closer, so part of you was more surprised it took this long for her to find out. The outside back also was known for being bad at keeping secrets. Anytime someone would ask her about something she wasn’t supposed to talk about she would begin rambling making it obvious that she was hiding something and would usually end up saying it anyways.

You dropped back to lean against the couch and moved your hand from her knee onto her, hardly noticeable, bump, “Oh thank god, you had me worried, love.”

Ona covered your hand with hers, “There is nothing to worry about, I’m sorry she found out.”

The outside back when onto explain that Aitana had cornered her in the locker room after training when the rest of the team had already filed out. Instead of the usual comments which were about how protective you had become, Aitana had brought up how happy the two of you had seemed and that you were touchier than usual. She also had picked up on Ona subtly rubbing her stomach and your hand grazing over it after you would hug. She had straight up asked Ona if she was pregnant, and there was no escaping it from there, your girlfriend didn’t know how to lie.

“And you know I can’t lie, amor, she caught me so off guard and I must’ve taken too long to try and come up with an excuse, but she just pulled me into a hug saying how happy she was for us.”

You laughed again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull the smaller girl into your side, “I’m more surprised you lasted this long without everyone finding out.”

Ona rubbed a hand over her stomach instinctively, “As long as everyone keeps bringing it up to you instead of me, we should be okay, there’s only three weeks until I can’t play in matches anymore and then we’ll have to tell them.”

You looked down to her face as you smoke softly, “We can tell the team now if you want, you’re out of the first trimester, we just saw the baby, and everything is healthy, there’s no big reason to keep it from them anymore.”

“No, no, I like just keeping it to ourselves. Our own little bubble outside of football for now,” she leaned up to connect your lips softly and full of love.

---

Aitana did much better of a job keeping the secret to herself than you originally expected. The midfielder took her job as being the best friend and only teammate who knew very seriously. Anytime your teammates would begin on the topic when she was around, she would quickly shush their comments and would back any lie you made up to cover your secret. 

You and Ona were grateful for her efforts, but in a way, it only increased your other teammates suspicions. You also were now partially convinced much of the team actually already knew what was going on. As the last two weeks have gone by Mapi, Ingrid, and Alexia had completely stopped asking anything about the topic. Originally Mapi had been one of the most vocal players about finding out what was going on, but now had completely stopped in her efforts. 

The truth was Ingrid, being the observant and caring teammate and friend that she was, had picked up on the same signals Aitana had. She obviously told Mapi about her suspicions who then confided in Alexia about them. Therefore, they came up with a plan to get the two of you to admit it to them. 

It was after the last game of the season before the Christmas break that Alexia decided the team would go to a club to celebrate before everyone left to their respective homes. You and Ona were going to see your family in England for the break, so you tried to get the two of you out of going by saying that you had to finish packing before your flight. Alexia wasn’t taking this as an answer and needed the both of you there to try and get an admittance from you, therefore, said it was required team bonding and you had to be there. The original plan was for Alexia and Mapi to call Ona out on not drinking and essentially for her to expose the pregnancy, but this plan was quickly stopped when the two of you entered the bar, keys in Ona’s hands, clearly having drove the two of you there. Anytime she was asked about a drink it was easy for her to say she was driving that night, plus she didn’t have to lie so there was no worries about her slipping up.

Alexia and Mapi were still trying to come up with a new plan when, surprisingly, you were the one to let it slip.

You were sitting at a table with many of your teammates while Ona was dancing with Aitana, Patri, Claudia, and Cata when a guy walked up behind Ona and placed his hands on her hips. You were on your feet and dragging the man off her before she had the chance to pull away.

The man turned around to be face to face with the hands that had just pulled him off the girl he was obviously interested in, “What the fuck do you want?”

You stood tall with your chest puffed and harshly spoke, “I want you to get your hands off my girlfriend.”

He scoffed, “Girlfriend? Sorry bud, I don’t think she’s the girlfriend type.”

You laughed, “Sorry, bud, but I’m the one she’s woken up next to for the past 8 years so I think I might know her a bit better than you.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t see you anywhere until after I came over so looks like I’ve beat you to it.”

“Oh, fuck no,” You tried to shove past him to get to Ona, but he moved to block your path.

“Why don’t you prove it to me then?” By now a decent amount of your teammates had noticed what was going on and began to come over to help deal with the man.

This sent you over the edge, it might’ve partially been at fault to the alcohol you had that night, and you being a little more than drunk already. But with one big push to his shoulder you announced, “I think the fact that she’s pregnant with my baby proves enough,” this left him shocked and gave you enough time to walk over to Ona with your back turned to the man and place a hand on the side of her face, “Are you alright, love?” Most of your teammates were now standing around you with their jaws hanging open clearly in shock.

The man clearly wasn’t over the embarrassment yet, as he pulled your shoulder back to face him and landed a hook across your cheek, you threw one right back getting him across the nose before security was dragging him away just as Lucy was doing the same to you. You looked back to find Ona and saw Alexia standing in front of her having clearly dragged her back and away from you and the man, likely assuming the altercation may escalate and after your confirmation didn’t want the Spaniard anywhere near the potential of a fight.

After clearing some things with the security guards, they let you stay and Lucy was dragging you over to the table many of your teammates had gone to sit at, the rest following close behind you. 

Ona slid into the booth next to you with a bag of ice in her hand, and reaching up with her free hand to grab your chin and turn your head to assess the damage, “Are you okay? You know I hate it when you do that.”

You were waving your arm dramatically, clearly still affected by the alcohol in your system, “He wanted to take you home I was protecting you both.”

She had a soft smile and pressed the bag of ice to your cheek, which you took over holding against your face, “I know you were, but you could’ve gotten hurt a lot worse.”

“I don’t care,” You leaned closer to whisper in her ear, clearly having forgotten you had already spilled your secret, “You’re carrying precious cargo, Baby Mami.”

Ona chuckled and patted your thigh, “No point in whispering now, amor, you already announced it.”

You turned to see the rest of your team giving you both dumbfounded and shocked looks, but Alexia, Aitana, Mapi, and Ingrid just smirking to themselves.

Alexia was the first to speak up from across the table, “So, you two are having a baby?”

You moved your free hand to rest on your girlfriend’s stomach and smiled as Ona replied, “Yep, baby y/l/n-Batlle is due in May. We were going to tell you all after the break, but tonight was my last match for the season, I’m about to be fifteen weeks, so no more matches.”

You were met with a lot of congratulations from your teammates when Lucy finally connected the dots and pointed at you, “So this is why you’ve been so unbearably protective over her recently.”

You defended yourself, “She’s carrying precious cargo, that’s the future best player in the world in there,” You patted her small bump, and the brunette covered your hand with hers.

This caused a smile to breakout on Ona’s face and laughs spread around the table. Ona had decided you had enough to drink, and she was exhausted having played 70 minutes today, so announced that you would be heading home. It took a few minutes before you were finally out the door, having to go through and hug every one of your teammates and being told congratulations by each one of them. 

The next day the two of you flew to England for the first half of break, you would spend Christmas with your family before coming back to Spain to spend the rest with Ona’s family who you saw more often. 

Since the secret was already out to your teammates and your families had already known for weeks while home in England you and Ona were able to tell a few of your England and former Arsenal teammates you were closest with. 

While in London and met up with Leah, Lia, Lotte, Alessia, Beth, and Viv for lunch to share the news with them. Leah was especially moved when you told her, having been much like a big sister to you during your time at Arsenal. She couldn’t get past how grown up you were and that now were having a baby. Alessia did a lot of claiming that this all happened because of her setting you two up. While you’ll go to your grave denying her you can’t help but thank her slightly.

---

Thanks for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed! Again, please leave any requests or prompts in my asks!

[thesummerestsolstice]

There's this implication in Tolkien's writing that half-elves are kind-of immortal by default, and that they stop aging unless they choose mortality (though arguably they don't even really age then). See Arwen in the Lord of the Rings, who is several thousand years old and has clearly been living life as an elf, despite never having made the Peredhel choice.

I always wondered why Arwen was given that choice, actually. It seems like the Peredhel choice is mostly given to people who have a mortal parent and an immortal parent (Earendil, since Tuor was definitely mortal when he was born, and arguably Elwing depending on how you see Dior), or at least parents who are undecided (Elrond and Elros are born before Elwing and Earendil make their choices). Arwen is a fair bit more than half-elven, and has two immortal parents. And there's not really any evidence Elros's children got the choice. Why does she get to choose whether she wants to be mortal or immortal?

Now, this could just be some minor world building weirdness, but it raises another very interesting possibility. That Elrond, by the time his children were born, had not committed to being immortal, and was instead undecided. I feel like there's so much to explore in that idea. Maybe Elrond truly wasn't sure about his choice to stay immortal forever until much, much later in his life. Maybe he held off choosing specifically so his children would be able to. Maybe he didn't choose because he didn't want to have to pick between being an elf or a man, and just wanted to be a half-elf in peace.

There's also something very compelling to me about the idea of an Elrond who could have, at any point during the Second or Third Ages, decided to be mortal. Who could have left the grief and struggle of Middle-Earth behind forever, and who, nonetheless, always chose to stay; picking immortality, not once, but a thousand times over the course of his long life, no matter what difficulties he was faced with.

It would also be interesting to explore the idea that most of the people in Elrond's life assume he decided to be fully elven long ago, only to realize that that isn't actually true. I imagine it could be disconcerting, maybe even really anxiety-provoking to realize that someone you were certain would be around forever might not be. I also think it would be really hard for a lot of elves to understand why Elrond might not want to make that choice.

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter nine

Summary: The makeover.

Warning: ???

Word Count: 939

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A/N: She's a short one but I hope it's okay! Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

Each day that followed that evening in the bar, you battled to maintain your composure at work or amongst your friends. Your anxiety was only fueled by the continued whispers of accusations and suspicions. You needed a distraction, something to pull you out of the spiral of worry and guilt. And, you knew the ladies just for the job.

One evening, after a long day, you sent a text to your group chat consisting of only you, Natasha, and Wanda. You missed your girl's nights in with them, the times you shared laughter, stories, and secrets. As you typed out your text, an idea struck you - a makeover. You could use a refresh, something to break free from the cloud that loomed over you. 

The next day, you arrived at their apartment with excitement and anticipation. “Ready to become a new you?” As you entered the apartment, Natasha teased as she gestured toward the many outfits and makeup products in the living area. 

The apartment was cozy and inviting, the rooms filled with colors and their personal touches. 

“Let’s get started!” Wanda exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she entered from the kitchen, drinks in hand. “First things first, we need to pick out some outfits!”

You spent the next couple of hours trying on clothes, you laughed as your friends debated which of their styles suited you best. After some compromise between them, they settled on one of Wanda’s sleek, red leather jackets paired with Natasha’s dark jeans and a pair of combat boots - a look that you thought screamed confidence and strength.

You sat down as they got to work with your hair and makeup. Nat worked on your hair while Wanda focused on your makeup. “You know,” Natasha began, her voice gentle as she brushed your hair. “This isn’t going to make you any stronger, you’re already the strongest out of us all.” 

Wanda nodded in agreement. “You’ve handled everything with grace, this is just for fun, okay?” 

As they continued their work, you tried to stop your eyes from welling from their words. You knew this wasn’t about your physical changes, it was about embracing a new mindset, one where you could face the world without crying.

~

When you were done, you hardly recognized yourself. Your hair was styled with braids and a bandana, and your makeup accentuated your features. It gave you a bold, darker look. You felt like a different person, like someone who wouldn’t have trouble saying no to anyone. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured, turning to face your friends. “Thank you,”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Natasha grinned. “We’ve got one more surprise for you.” 

She led you to the front door as Wanda picked up an extra helmet and her keys. “We’re going to the bar,” she said, gesturing you to follow them. “Time to show off your new look.” 

~

A hush fell over the bar as you stepped into the familiar room. An intensity rose as all eyes turned toward you and your friends. They flanked you as you walked toward your usual booth, their presence giving you an extra boost of confidence. 

You noticed Steve, Bucky, and Sam were already at your booth. Their eyes widened in surprise as they saw you. The rest of the bar had similar reactions, quiet gasps and murmurs of appreciation filled the air. 

“Wow,” Steve said, standing up to hug you. His expression shifted as he noted the lingering stares from the others in the bar. His protective instinct reveals itself. “You look amazing, Sis,” 

Sam nodded in agreement, a playful smirk spreading across his face. 

You blushed, “Thanks, it’s all thanks to Nat and Wanda.” Giving your friends a small smile, you gestured you were going over to the bar. 

As you settled by the bar, Bucky’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the attention you were attracting. A group of men at the bar began whispering, and he noticed their glances toward you. He stood up and walked over to you, his large frame looming over you.

“You okay with all this attention?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned in closer. His gaze flickered back to the men, his jaw tightening. 

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes dry. 

He sighed staying by you as you ordered drinks for your group. The scanning of the room from Bucky didn’t stop, he sent uneasy glances toward anyone who looked your way. 

You tried to explain to him how the makeover had made you feel like a tougher version of yourself, more like Natasha and Wanda. You hoped that maybe not looking like the ‘weak link’ would make you no longer be, just that. 

After what felt like a while, he leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “So, you’re telling me,” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear, “you’re not going to cry if someone like… Rumlow came in here now and got this close to you?” 

His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, and a shiver involuntarily rushed down your spine. “Bucky, I…”

He didn’t let you finish, your gaze locked with his as his face was mere inches from yours. Your heart raced at the intensity between the two of you. “What about this close?” he asked as he moved his hand lower, grazing his fingers lightly over the exposed skin on your neck.  

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your emotions. “No… I know you’d never let him this near.” 

A smile spread across his face, his expression softening. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “That's my girl.” 

---

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[4theluvofsapphos]

Butterfingers - Ch. 2

Melissa Schemmenti x Futch Mechanic!Reader

A/N: no beta, but this is a shorter chappy but it's filler for big things i promise!!!! let me know how u like this one :3 enjoi!!!!

warnings: nada

chapter 1 here

tags: @10gay-keysmash01

Wandering through the halls of the school, you took your time– meandering about from machine to machine, checking stock. Nothing seemed to be amiss aside from a minor repair on the primary hallway vending machine. The thing seemed to have a busted display panel, so users wouldn’t know what they were picking, fate deciding whether or not their corn nuts would be barbeque or ranch. 

As you unscrewed the punch pad’s panel, you thought about your giant duffel bag carrying a cartel-sized amount of snacks for the teacher’s lounge. 

A small chuckle escaped your lips at the thought, something amused you about the idea of a bunch of adults wanting candy and Cheetos. In a way, you found it wholesome. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it, you thought. It made sense, they were around kids all the time– and kids had some of the best snacking inventory out of all of humanity. 

The sound of a familiar voice ripped you from your thoughts,”Hey new guy! What tech-centric genius IT thing are ya doin’ over there?” 

Janine jogged over to you, (miraculously) out of breath in the four hurried steps she had just taken. Your eyes glimmered with the question. 

You were always something of a teacher. Loving to teach, and more than that, loving to see people learn new things. There was something so satisfying about seeing the gears turn, before clicking things into place and watching a machine whir to life just as it should. 

“Oh! It’s nothing too serious, actually. The LCD here seems to be busted, so it’s just a matter of getting a replacement part and plugging these little wires back in right here.” You gestured to the small 5 pin wires needed to connect the screen to the rest of the vending machine. 

Janine nodded, clearly not entirely there. She seemed to be looking around for something, and her eyes lit up as soon as she (assumedly) found that thing…or person, rather.

You didn’t mind the dismissal from Janine– you knew your interests were boring to most, or just too complex for people to care about much. Rifling through your repair bag, you opened a large plastic container with multiple small compartments. Various pin wires, replacement nuts and bolts, and most importantly, a small handful of packaged LCD screens sat in the different compartments. 

Taking one out of its plastic, you stuck the container back in your bag, before looking over to Janine, only to see that she was waving down the fiery headed teacher from the day before. She was approaching rather quickly, alarmingly so, actually– how on Earth did a woman so petite move so damn fast?!

Brushing aside your unnerved feelings for the mach one woman racing towards you, you turned back to the pin holders still sticking out of the machine, connecting the red and blue wires, before going to connect the black and yellow ones. 

“What is it, Janine?” The woman grunted, seemingly annoyed she had to detour. “I’m boutta’ to be late for class, and so are you, kid. Whaddya even doin’ over here– oh.” 

The older woman’s gaze went from the beaming young teacher, to your face, before darting away. 

“Yeah uh. Hey.” She muttered, shifting uncomfortably from one heel onto the other. Something in you crumbled at her reaction to your presence. Did she really not like you? Maybe it was just because it was early morning…that’s what you told yourself to calm your rising anxieties. 

Smiling in response, you let out a little hum in greeting, before turning back to your work. 

Melissa clutched her jacket tighter around herself. You noticed she used it like her shield. Something hardened and tough to protect her, maybe? You didn’t have time to speculate– Janine hopped up, patting you on the shoulder and jogging off to class. 

“See you, y/n! Glad to see you’re settling nicely!” Janine yelled as she rounded a corner, disappearing.

“Oh- uhm! Bye!” You called after, turning to the machine, before looking over at Melissa, who stood there– seeming to hover, as if waiting for something. 

You looked up into those prying green eyes, lips pursing tight as you thought of what to say. 

Looking down to your duffel of snacks, you suddenly realized what she was likely waiting for. Grabbing the grey bag with one hand, you lifted the bag while standing up. Melissa followed your gaze, having to crane her neck to see your eyes. 

“Sorry about that, I totally thought you were waiting to talk to me– you probably want this, right?” You asked sheepishly, opening a compartment in the duffel, and handing her a small Butterfingers. The bright yellow packaging gleamed in the fluorescent light of the halls. 

Melissa’s brows knitted, an unreadable expression crossing her features before she smiled small. 

“Oh...thanks, hon.” She sighed, seeming almost disappointed. You cracked a smile at this, knowing she would’ve wanted more than just the one piece of candy. 

“I’m messing with you, red. I have this for you.” With a swift motion, you grabbed a quart sized Ziploc bag full of the glimmering yellow and blue candy. 

The redhead’s eyes bugged out to the size of dinner plates at your grand display. 

“Holy fuckin’-- damn it, you really didn’t hafta do all this! When I said some, I meant a few. Do you know what a few looks like?” 

Your features lit up with a nearly face splitting grin,”Several, right? Which is more than two, but not many, but many is a lot, and this is only a quart size. So by definition, you could say this is a few, isn’t it?” 

Melissa’s eyes rolled so hard they almost fell right out of her head, a smile threatening to spill onto her features. 

She gave a small laugh, and the sound had you grinning even harder, somehow. You presented the bag to her with two hands, the duffel half open on one arm, your tool belt on your other arm, and your repair bag hanging off of your wrist. You looked absolutely insane, but something about that fact seemed to endear Melissa.

She carefully took the bag, cheeks puffing out with how surprisingly hefty the bag was. “In any case, you’re absolutely insane n’ I think you’re crazy for this.” She chuckled halfheartedly, her features hardening to a level of genuine sincerity. “Thank ya, though…really. No one’s ever really done…this for me. Get me my favorite candy n’ what not. So. Yeah. Thanks..”

Before you could say anything back, Melissa turned on her heel and sped off (at that alarmingly fast speedwalk). You let a small puff of air out of your nose, something like a laugh. But you’d never laugh at Melissa Schemmenti. She wasn’t someone to be laughed at. Turning back to the LCD you’d been fixing, you plugged in the remaining connectors, before screwing the panel back on and plugging the machine back in. 

As expected, the screen flickered to life. You nodded to yourself, before standing up and heading to the teacher’s lounge. 

–

Melissa settled into her classroom while the kids went about writing their daily plans and writing prompt for the morning. Looking at the bag sitting in her lower left drawer, she noticed something sticking out of the mound of Butterfingers she’d recently come into possession of. Opening the bag, she grabbed the slip of paper, unfolding it carefully. 

Hey Red,

Hope you don’t hate me for my clumsy introduction. Found these fresh from the factory for you. 

Enjoy!

y/n

Melissa’s lips parted, before she quickly crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. She couldn’t do this, not again. 

Not another repairman, not another relationship.

But if you were a woman, did that make it different?

[chocolate-pies]

silent praises are a weakness for sure

simon riley laying his hand on your forearm, thumb rubbing circles as he glances at you with a proud glint in his eye, after offering a nice suggestion/replacement to something t141 struggled to get around with

his eyes burning into your back as you offered the last dinner roll to a new sergeant. quietly mulling over how kind you are, and how that kindness is definitely going to get more than praise tonight.

"nice job, darling." he'd be uncomfortable saying such an affectionate nickname, but if he says it in front of others? and sees how bashful or nervous or ANY reaction from saying something he's not used to (at least around other people)? he's got pride swelling when he got you preening.

oh and the reassuring back rubs when you're cramped together in the storage closet on base, balls deep into your little cunt. his shaft obviously too thick for you, but when he's all the way in, his thumb is caressing your shoulder blade, your lower back, silently praising you for how well you're doing. his grunts also metaphorically saying the same thing.

like he's obviously not going to say much during sex, I mean, the man struggles with social anxiety anyway, but you bet he's looking at you like you're a goddess when in missionary or any position where he gets to look at your face. all blissed out, eyes half-lidded, mouth agape, and you bet that man is still rubbing circles on your thighs with his thumbs. maybe even having his hands on your waist, thumb going up and down as a loving gesture, sweetly going over any stretch marks and rolls

idk i like the idea of silent praises

[writers-potion]

Hello there. New to tumblr and really enjoying your posts. Can I please ask if you have any ideas/advice on how to write the experience of seeing and hearing things others don't and the disorienting feeling of trying to distinguish this from reality? Thank you 💚

Writing Characters With Special Senses

Hey! Thanks for the ask :)

I’m going to categorize the various types of “hallucinations” your characters may experience: 

Super-Sensitive Senses 

This is where your character would see/hear/smell things that others cannot. Hypersensitivity is generally considered a superpower, but what if it gets too much?

Your character can hear the sound of people’s blood flowing in their veins…which is indistinguishable from the sound of the nearby river, or the water flowing from a tap.

A party or buffet always smells faintly of blood from the barbeque/steak being served…which smells dangerously close to human blood, making a party smell like a murder scene for the character. 

You can depict the disadvantages of hypersensitivity where being able to pick up minute stimuli actually creates confusion for the character as to what they’re sensing is even real or not. They might:

Be scared of going outside because the world is simply too much for them to process

Get a headache

Develop random sets of allergies

So, your character might: 

Try to impair their sense of smell/sight, etc. because a flood of stimuli is actually painful for them

Avoid certain places and people

Befriend animals with senses above that of a human. A character who can smell extremely well will vibe with their Golden Retriever more than their human buddies. 

Struggle with anxiety that something bad is happening. When you have too much stimuli to process, one of them will always tend to be ominous.

Seeing Another Realm

This is where your character has “The Sight” per se. They see elves, fairies, demons that others cannot see. 

They feel scared and horrified. They might even seek psychological help and try to “kill” what they see. If they still can’t get rid of them, they may choose to ignore them.

On the other hand, the character might try to befriend and follow the things they see. They may actually have fun chasing and exploring these outworldly creatures. But once the Sight fades or the creatures disappear, they’re left teary and empty. 

They may cope with this by drawing pictures and writing diaries about what they see. 

Gamified Reality 

This is where your character is living in a “game world” or the world suddenly becomes (partly) gamified for them. They’ll see instruction panels popping up, HP bars or see profiles of other people as game characters. 

Your character might have fun with this “game”, but slowly start to confuse the purpose of their life with the tasks handed to them by this “game”

Your character starts to over rely on the game to form relationships. For example, let’s say a character can see a “Likeability Score” to determine how much the other person likes them. They start distrusting people with a lower number and obsess over increasing the “Likeability Score” rather than being themselves.

One day, the gamified reality suddenly disappears, but the character is left living in that reality, viewing the world as a gamer would.

Hallucinating

This is where the character actually sees stuff that doesn’t exist at all. Generally, these hallucinations will originate from a preexisting (almost always negative) memory, or is the result of a compulsion the character has. 

The character may make up a chant to make the bad memories/hallucinations go away. (e.g. “he’s gone, he’s gone, this isn’t real.”)

The character has a sign of their own which helps them distinguish hallucinations. For example, the hallucinations might be extremely real but with a slight red glow to them. 

The character may actually talk nicely to the hallucinations to go away and wait for them to fade. Each time they meet someone, they would mutter, "please go", wait for two seconds and if the person doesn't lose transparency, you know they're real.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[rampantram]

I've been saving this but I can't take it anymore... your art is super cool!! I love the drawing style you have, especially the lines and expressions. Also the dynamic poses and interactions between characters, everything looks so cute but at the same time exciting to keep watching!! I would read a whole manga with your art in it :3

Curious question: what size are your drawings normally? I see that you draw in pencil and many times there is more than one drawing on a single canvas/sheet so I am curious to know approximately the size of your drawings

I hope you don’t mind me using your ask to say this, but…you guys have no idea how much your kindness and positivity has affected me since I started posting my CotL stuff.

I’ve had anxiety since I was a kid, and depression for almost a decade now, and most recently been diagnosed with ADHD and OCD. I’ve had the most lows in my life over the past few years, and my consistency and drive to draw has suffered for it; at most, I’ve posted every other week, but mostly once every couple of months, and even longer than that until now. Being on medication has affected my motivation to draw, and I’ve been on short-term disability for over a month now, trying out new medications and feeling mostly miserable from the side effects.

Despite all that, I’ve wanted truly to finally be consistent with art, interact with people, try new things, and it’s helped so much to have so many people loving the things I’ve come up with. I haven’t been as consistent this last week, and spotty some weeks before that, but you’ve all been so patient despite that, which is part of the reason I want to give you some transparency and vulnerability on my part.

So I apologize if things continue to be a little less than organized or consistent, but I’m going to keep trying my best everyday, because I want to keep bringing you things you enjoy and want to interact with, so…thank you. 🥹

But getting to your question before I really start to tear up…this 9x12 sketchbook by Strathmore (specifically the recycled paper) is what I’ve been using for my sketches for a long while:

And it typically depends on how big or small I think each of the drawings should be, but I do try to keep them on one page if I can just for organizations’s sake.

Also if I know I need to post it from my phone, I try to make things easier for myself by putting things within proximity of each other with my phone’s camera in mind (not the whole page because it’ll be blurry, up and down since that’s easier for me to take a shot with, and so on).

If I’m gonna scan it, that makes things a bit easier, but I do try to condense them enough so I can try and avoid doing two scans of the same page and having to stitch them together (this one below just ended up taking the whole page, and since most scanners - my roommate’s included - usually only scan Letter or A4 size areas, those I end up having to scan on multiple parts and edit them together in Clip Studio Paint).

But of course, it all comes down to what feels right or works with your own method the best (as long as you achieve the outcome you wanted, the tools and method to get there don’t necessarily have to be the “best” or “right” way to do it).

I hope this helps, though, and that you have a brilliant day~✨

[steviewashere]

If It Has to Happen, Let It

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Emetophobia, Vomiting, Panic/Anxiety Attack, Negative Stimming as a Form of Self-Harm/Self-Regulation Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sick Steve Harrington, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Steve Harrington Has Emetophobia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling, Steve Harrington Has Good Parents

Okay, I wrote this while enduring a migraine. So we'll see how good this actually is. But I couldn't shake this idea, so here it is. Also, this is based on experience and I have pretty debilitating migraines and emetophobia. I'm asking y'all to be kind about this, that's all. <3

Read On AO3

🤢—————🤢 Steve used to have normal, everyday headaches when he was younger. They’d last a few hours. Be kind of an annoyance, prickling him with an undercurrent of ache. Sometimes make it hard to focus on tasks at hand. But they weren’t life changing. They didn’t affect every aspect of his day to day life. They didn’t linger or take over or knock him down for the count. His headaches used to be normal.

Now they aren’t. They’re debilitating. Humiliating. All consuming.

It wasn’t the concussions that resulted in the migraines, surprisingly enough. Everybody seems to think that and they’re not wrong, not really. But his mom had them. And his dad had them. And his nana had them.

The migraines started out as being mainly genetic. It sucked, sure. They’d come and go. Once every few months, maybe. At most. Just for a day. Isolate him to his bedroom. Leave him to spread on his bed with an ice pack on his forehead. That sort of thing.

Then the concussions came. One after the other after the other. They got worse. Astronomically worse. It wasn’t just a day that the migraines would hang around. It was multiple days. It was an entire week. Even once, it was three weeks in a row. He was sensitive to everything, sometimes nothing. The smell of Robin’s perfume. The sound of Dustin’s voice. The lights inside Family Video, inside Scoops Ahoy, inside his own house. He’d hole away. Lay in the expanding darkness of his bedroom. Curtains closed. Bed stripped of his sheets. Ice on his head, under his head, wrapped around his neck. He’d sleep shirtless, sleep nude, sleep fully clothed—his body couldn’t regulate. Would barely get up because the world would swirl around him like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane.

Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea.

When he was little, he remembers his nana taking him out for his seventh birthday. Pancakes—Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, topped with fruit and whipped cream and as much maple syrup as he wanted. He drank orange juice, bubbled the liquid with his straw, took bites of his nana’s egg salad, giggled and snickered and cried with joy. It was fun. A good day. And then no less than eight hours later, he couldn’t keep himself standing. Could only kneel, stripped to his dinosaur themed underwear, hair stringy to his head, his mom cooing softly in his ear—hurling and spewing and coughing on and off for hours. Until, eventually, he landed himself a pretty uncomfortable spot in the emergency room, IV in his vein, and tears on his cheeks.

He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. Remembered all the times between being seven and now where he’d kneel on the tile of his bathroom, head stuck inside his toilet bowl, clamping to the porcelain with his slick palms, heaving until there was nothing left to give. And then he’d hack some more, just to see if he was done. If it was over. If he could be relieved instead of walking on glass.

He’d ruined plenty of Pyrex bowls. Dirtied plenty of blankets. Stained several mattresses. He’s apologized through tears as his mom helped clean up the carpet in his bedroom. Let her pet his sweaty hair and say it was alright, even though he knew it wasn’t. Even though it would scare her when he’d dissolve into hysterics.

Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is.

The migraines don’t help. If anything, they make him anxious. Make him trapped inside his own body, shaking and breathing shallowly. Knobby knees and burning tears. Flapping his hands out at his sides as if the stupid movement could will the feeling away. Sometimes, when he’d get really upset and he couldn’t calm down, he’d take to slamming his closed fists over his thighs. Trying to distract himself with another sensation. Something else that should bother him. Steve would slam his palms into his chest. He’d claw at his stomach until he’d either bleed or tire himself out. Would tangle his fingers into his hair and pull, hard enough to leave long strands in his palms. He’d hurt and hurt and hurt until he could forget what it was like to have bile coat his throat.

And he knows, by all means does he know, that to any ordinary person he looks like a basket case. He knows that sometimes it seems like he’s overreacting. That he’s making something out of nothing. But he can’t help it. He can’t help the little freakouts or the rapid breathing or the sound of skin smacking against skin.

Sometimes he knows how to regulate. When he’s feeling even the slightest bit sick. Open a window, stick his head out and take several long gulps of cold night air. Stick himself under a near third degree burning hot shower. (Because his mom had said that hot water helps. Not this hot, but she doesn’t need to know.) He keeps a case of ginger ale. Has a new addiction to peppermint gum. Shoves his big head between his knees and just prays. He’ll say over and over in his head: “You will not throw up. You don’t need to throw up. You aren’t sick. You won’t throw up.” 

It’s all worked. Kept himself puke-free since sixth grade.

But now he gets migraines.

And today’s the worst one he’s ever had.

——— If he doesn’t open his eyes, he won’t throw up. Because if the light gets in his eyes, the pain will worsen. And if the pain worsens, he’ll throw up. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t do that.

It’s 9am on a Monday. He woke up nearly four hours ago, head throbbing, lights infuriating, and body aching. His sheets have been pulled away. And his blanket is tossed somewhere on the floor. Down to his underwear and nothing else. Very briefly, he considers stripping those off, too. He’s sweating, even though the A/C is on, even though his window is open, even though it’s something like forty-three degrees out.

He can’t take the smell of himself. Or the pillow under his head. Laundry detergent, sweat, and the lingering ghost of cologne. His stomach is churning like crazy. Every little movement makes his insides flare. And he thinks, at any moment, he’ll upchuck onto his mattress. Maybe he should go lay on the cold bathroom tiles, wrap himself around the base of the toilet.

I won’t throw up, he thinks behind the deep furrow of his eyebrows, I can’t throw up. I don’t need to. Don’t throw up, Steve.

He should get up. Get an icepack. Something to snack on. His medicine.

But if he stands up, he’ll be slammed by vertigo. If he’s dizzy, he’ll throw up. And if he throws up, he probably won’t stop. And then his heart will try to burst out of his chest and he’ll still be throwing up and then he’ll have a heart attack all by himself, but he’ll be covered in his own puke. He gently turns his head into his pillow, where the cold is running from him, and groans.

Something clatters to the ground downstairs. Followed by the thud of several footsteps. But he can’t get up. Vertigo means throwing up. I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, he repeats, a mantra.

Then, all at once, his bedroom door is swung wide open and the bright amber light in the hallway is bleeding into his room. It’s lighting up the hand by his head, the hairs dangling over his eyes. He doesn’t bite back the whine that erupts from him. Somebody’s walking closer, their shadow overbearing and large over him. Their body heat like the lick of a freshly lit campfire. He’s burning in their orbit—crisping, boiling, ready to be eaten alive.

“Christ, Steve,” the person states. The person is Eddie, once he hears the voice back in his head. A familiar rasp in his voice. And that’s when Steve picks up on the scent of a recently lit cigarette. He kind of wants to reach up and strangle Eddie, choke him until he promises to never smoke again. Maybe this is how Robin feels about him, too. “It’s fucking freezing in here. Why is your window open?” He steps away towards the window, the light coming back full force. “You’ve got a shift today, y’know? Robin’s already there. Called me to come get you because you’re late and—“

“Shut up, Eddie,” Steve finally gets himself to grumble. It doesn’t have the bite he wants it to have. Weak and small and breaking. He opens his mouth again to add more, but his mouth begins to salivate. He shuts up, swallows and swallows and…It doesn’t work. His stomach clenches harshly and he whimpers, hand traveling down towards his overheated middle, digging into his soft flesh, nails sharp and biting. I won’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

Eddie heaves a disappointed sigh. “Dude, you have to go to work. I’m sorry if you didn’t get enough sleep, but you have to go.”

Steve’s chest rises and falls a little too quick. He can’t catch his breath. Can sense the tremor in his hand through the back of his neck. Too hot. Sweating. Drooling onto his pillow. Kind of wants to cry, but can’t do that. Can’t do that in front of Eddie—he won’t understand. Won’t be able to calm him down like his mom can or give him words of comfort like his dad sometimes does.

Instead of dignifying Eddie’s conversation with a response, Steve sits up hastily. Legs dangling over the edge of his mattress. Vision swimming. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. His stomach swoops deep, then sloshes up towards his lungs as if it’s trying to break free. The throbbing is back full force, pulsating and overwhelming. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t get himself to wade away the nausea. I won’t. I can’t throw up. I can’t. I can’t.

He groans, reaching up to the sides of his head, gripping himself harshly. Fingers in his hair, pulling and tugging and pulling and tugging. Head tucked towards his knees. Swallowing and swallowing and…He tugs as hard as he can on his hair, eliciting a loud whine from his throat.

The window doesn’t close. The curtains don’t even move. But Eddie does. His body swarming Steve, his heat engulfing him as if he’s a house on fire. Hands flittering out. “Steve? You okay?”

“Mi—Mi—“ Steve stutters before gagging. He cries through a quick exhale from his nose. He can’t make it all stop. His heart’s beating too fast. His chest hurts from how fast his breathing has gone. He can’t. He can’t.

“Sweetheart? Are you gonna be sick? I can get you to the bath—“

“No, no, no,” Steve rushes out. “Not gonna—Won’t throw up. Can’t.” He tries to take a breath through his mouth, but with his lips agape and his tongue working to make words, saliva floods out of him. The heat of his own spit warm on his thigh, it glistens in the little bit of light from the hallway. “Head,” he whimpers, “hurts.”

“Shit,” Eddie softly curses. He crouches down in front of Steve, his hands floating above his trembling knees. “It’s a migraine. Okay,” he whispers, “what can I do, sweetheart?”

Steve sobs. “I dunno,” he wetly murmurs. Another wave of nausea crashes over him and he leans forward with his next gag. He’s not going to throw up, but the more the pain increases and the more his stomach flips and the warmer he gets, he may just do the opposite. That thought alone makes him cry harder. He detangles his fingers from his hair, flaps his hands out in front of him like mimicking a bird, and then thrashes them down onto his thighs. In front of him, Eddie visibly winces. But he does it again, harder.

He can’t see that well, but notices the way Eddie’s hands scramble out to stop him. But he flinches away. Fisting his hands tighter, enough that his nails bite into his palms, and punches down on the surely forming bruises. “Steve, stop it. You’re hurting yourself, stop it,” Eddie scolds firmly. But Steve doesn’t. Eddie visibly is shaken up, rocking forward on his heels, hands stuck between actions, and his voice warbles when he speaks. “I think,” he states slowly, “we should get you to the bathroom. And you should go ahead and try to flush out your system—“

“No!” Steve yelps with a whine. “No, I don’t need’a—“ He takes a quick, shuddering breath. Chest caving in with his panic. His thighs are sore and his hands sting. But he slams down again. “—don’t wanna—“

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs lowly, placating, “you’ll feel better if you let it out. I promise, sweetheart, you will feel better, okay? I’ll sit with you. Put a cold rag on your neck. I’ll—“

Steve’s saliva dribbles from his mouth again, more this time. His stomach gurgles. And it’s like somebody has an iron grip on his brain, squishing the organ between their fingers, toying with it like Play-Doh. I’m going to throw up, he realizes in panic. “Eds—Ed, ‘m gonna—Gonna—“

Gently, though purposefully, Eddie grabs Steve by the elbows. Half-walking, half-dragging them to Steve’s ensuite. He shoves them down in front of the open toilet bowl. And lays his left palm flat on the center of Steve’s back, wincing at the first jarring wet-heave that comes from the back of Steve’s throat.

He pets his palm up and down Steve’s spine. “Get it out, Stevie. I’m right here. You’ll be okay.”

With Eddie’s words and the soothing touch, Steve finally allows himself to expel. Bile burns through him. And he shakes through the first splatter into the toilet bowl’s water. He could never stand the smell, the sound, or the look of vomit. Yet here it is, sour and salty and yellow. Chunky and swirling and fresh. The next heave makes him start crying again, but he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about breaking down in front of Eddie because he now has to deal with this—the overwhelming anxiety that floods through him, out of him with each hurl. The rabid beating against his ribs and the gasps through sobs.

There’s so much coming out of him. Too much.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, “holy…You’re okay, Steve.” He leans across to the toilet paper dispenser for a few sheets. Folds it with one hand and wipes away at Steve’s face between short bursts of vomit. Barely draws his hand away before it starts up again.

Steve spits big globs of saliva-puke. Angles his head so Eddie can catch his eyes. Meekly says, “‘M sorry, Ed. ‘M sorry.”

“Shhh,” Eddie soothes. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You gotta do this, it’s alright.”

“Yucky,” Steve sighs. “’T’s…I hate this.” He closes his eyes as vertigo slams sideways at him, T-boned by the dizziness. Takes a burbling breath through his mouth.

“If you have more, let it out, Steve. It won’t do you any good to keep it in.”

He cries softly with his next exhale. “‘M sorry,” he keens. And then he’s convulsing forward with his next gag.

Time stretches, it feels like, for hours. His knees ache and his skin is cold and his hands are slipping with how wet the toilet bowl is from his sweat. Throat sore and stomach empty. But the malaise from gagging for so long lingers, making him dry-heave when there’s nothing left to give. He rests his forehead over his left forearm over the back of the toilet seat. Sniffs and keeps his eyes closed. Shaking through the last bit of it.

Distantly, the sound of the sink goes off next to him. He’s so out of it, he didn’t even realize that Eddie stood up and left him momentarily. Wishes he could leave this, too. Wishes he could step outside of his body and not experience this anymore, for the rest of his life, for the rest of time itself.

Eddie crouches down beside him again. Gently grasps him by the chin and pulls him up to be face to face. He runs the lukewarm rag over his chin, his lips, and under his nose. “Good job getting it out, Stevie,” he whispers, “how are you feeling now?”

“Tired,” Steve mumbles, “and gross and in pain.”

He gets a nod in return. “Okay,” Eddie mutters, “let me get your migraine things, alright? I’ll take you back to bed.”

Steve sighs. Closes his eyes in exhaustion. “‘M embarrassed, too.”

The rag and Eddie’s hand slowly comes off his face. The cloth is crumpled in Eddie’s palm when Steve glances. “Why’re you embarrassed, Stevie? It’s okay to throw up. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “Just—“ And Steve looks down towards his lap. At the mottled bruises on his thighs, peeking out from his two day old underwear. The light scratch lines on the soft give of his belly. “—It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m afraid of vomiting. Of vomit. I—I have a meltdown like a toddler when I feel like ‘m gonna puke and…and I get all hysterical and whiny and I sob like crazy. And I—I dunno. I was overreacting and I made you have to take care of me and it’s just…I’m just being dumb.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, that scolding edge back. “It’s not dumb, Steve. Vomiting is traumatic, I get it. And—Before you try and interrupt me—you didn’t make me help you. I helped you because I noticed that you were struggling. And had I not, you probably would’ve made a big mess in your room. I wasn’t going to just leave you in a state like that.”

“But it is stupid, Eds,” Steve urges, voice wavering. “It’s stupid because I’m a grown fucking adult. And I should be able to handle this. I should—“ The tears come back. “—Just fucking look at me. Crying, again. I’m so—“ He groans in frustration, fingers clenching into his palms, cutting them up again.

Gently, Eddie unfurls Steve’s hands. “Look at me, Steve.” He does. Fiercely, softly, Eddie continues, “You are sick right now. You didn’t feel good. You were scared. You were anxious. In no way, shape, or form were you stupid for reacting like this. Alright? Steve, you were overwhelmed with it all. I’m not going to judge you because you’re afraid of vomit. The only thing I’m concerned about is the hitting, but we can talk about that a different time, okay?”Eddie’s thumbs work tenderly into the backs of Steve’s hands. There’s a glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes and Steve latches onto it. Lets himself begin to believe that it’s actually okay. Even if his circumstances are concerning. “You wanna know a truly dumb fear?” Eddie murmurs lightly.

Steve almost wants to cry more with how caring Eddie is, but he pushes it to the side. Favors the distraction. “What?” He mumbles.

“I’m afraid of birds. And not them existing or being in my space or landing on my shoulders. I’m afraid of birds flying above me and pooping on my hair,” he states genuinely. Steve can’t help but snort, albeit weakly. “See? It’s kind of dumb, y’know? When have I ever cared about my fucking hair, Steve? Never, that’s when. Well, unless there are birds nearby.”

“I guess it is a little dumb,” Steve whispers.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, grinning. “Vomit isn’t dumb, though. I promise, Stevie. We can talk about it later, if you want. Or never, if you prefer. Let me get you settled in bed and I’ll grab your stuff.”

He lets Eddie guide him back to bed. Fluff his pillow. Lay him supine. When he returns, he’s holding three ice packs, a bottle of prescription migraine medication, a plate of toast, and some water.

Steve watches in silent infatuation as Eddie lays it out all careful on his bedside table. As he tucks the icepacks where they need to go. Helps Steve take his medicine, eat, and drink. And almost begins crying again when Eddie rubs gentle circles on his chest.

“Lay with me?” He quietly asks.

Instead of making up some long winded excuse, Eddie immediately strips down to his t-shirt and boxers. He slides right next to Steve, not touching, but not too far away, either. Rolls over onto his side to face Steve and gently places his hand over the cold compress on his forehead. “This okay, baby?”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he tries to relax back into his pillows. “Yeah,” Steve whispers, “‘m just nauseous still.”

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I’ve got some Altoids in my jacket if you want them. Your chewing gum might agitate the migraine more.” He reaches over the side of the bed and fishes out the tin can of mints. Pinches three with his index finger and thumb. And requests, “Open your mouth, Stevie.”

Steve lets him place the mints on his tongue. He spreads them out so that one is in the center and the other two are on either side. “Will this help?” He asks around the Altoids. As if to mock him, a feeling of malaise washes over him. Immediately, he lays his hands over his stomach and digs his fingernails in.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie whispers urgently, abandoning the ice pack and grabbing Steve’s hands instead. Soothingly rubs his thumb up the back of his hands and down to the underside of his wrists, where his pulse is hot, fast, and concerning. “No more of that. No more making yourself hurt.”

“Don’t wanna be sick,” Steve pants, breathing heavy through his nose.

“You won’t be sick,” Eddie says like a promise. Somewhere deep within Steve he knows Eddie’s saving face, saying something false. But he can’t bring himself to come to that realization. It sounds like the voice in his head. I won’t throw up, he thinks in tandem. “Just keep your eyes closed, alright? I’ll keep the door closed. I didn’t shut the window. Focus on the icepacks for me, sweetheart.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as tight as they’ll go, relenting when it only makes the migraine pulse alive. He tries to center the cold spots. “Where are they, Stevie?”

“My…My forehead.”

“That’s one,” Eddie whispers, “two more.”

“And my neck. And—“ He takes another deep breath. “And under my head,” he breathes out.

“Good,” Eddie praises softly. “That was good, baby.” He gently squeezes Steve’s palms. “Tell me what usually helps. Let me help you through this so that you don’t…I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”

Steve quietly whines. Digging back into the icepack underneath him. Breathing out the last little bits of nausea from that particular wave. But he knows it’ll be back. It’s how his migraines always are. “I like the cold air on me,” he confesses near silently. “And I need to make sure I have mints or gum in my mouth. And I—It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid, just tell me.”

He huffs. “I have to tell myself I won’t throw up. Like I need to hear that I won’t, I guess.”

Gentle and nimble fingers massage his hands and wrists. Small circles, little vertical stripes, horizontal strokes. “I’m getting the box fan from your parents’ room. And then we’ll just lay here. You won’t throw up, Stevie.” As Eddie gets up, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek—even where it’s sallow and tacky.

There’s something in the way Eddie says it, nonchalant but not dismissive, that makes Steve believe he’s right. Something in the way he’s not disgusted or afraid of Steve’s everything after, something in that kiss like a vow. So he indulges. Lays with his eyes shut, the box fan eventually blowing the cold air from his window onto his too warm skin, and Eddie’s fingers massaging his hands. Every single time he tenses, Eddie soothes him with that same promise.

He keeps Steve away from harm. Squeezing his hands firmly when he tries to hit or scratch at himself. Pets his hair and coos softly in his ear. And holds the icepacks when Steve goes boneless with sleep, mouth agape and drooling, snuffling softly into the calm silence stretching between them.

At the end of the day, he’s still afraid of vomiting. It’s probably something he’ll never get over, something he’ll be challenged with for the rest of his life (or however long these migraines last). Though, Eddie doesn’t judge him. Doesn’t let the negative in. He’s braver with Eddie. Safer. Afraid, but comforted.

That’s all he could ask for while going through this.

🤢—————🤢

[vodika-vibes]

Hi vod'ika! Congrats on the 650!!

For the event, could I request a Jesse fic 😍 set in the same Mermaid/soulmate au as your Tup fic.

Maybe Jesse helping his Cya're get used to her tail? Or whatever you want, just my first brush 😋

Thank you!

Don't Worry, I Have You

Summary: It’s done, after one long year, the binding is done, and you’re a mermaid. Just one problem. You don’t know how to swim.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 980

Prompt: Mermaid AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @the-bad-batch-baroness @kimiheartblade

A/N: I wanted this to be longer, but my brain decided that it was done wording. I hope you enjoy it! I can't wait until I can sit at my computer again. One more week.

The magic washes over you, cool and soothing, like a hand pressed against your forehead when you’re sick. It feels like a homecoming, like this is how you have always meant to be. 

You worried about so many things about today. That you would make a mistake, that you would ruin the binding, that the magic would reject you. You worried about what your tail would look like, worried that Jesse would no longer want you when you were mer (a ridiculous worry, but anxiety is a bitch), worried that the transformation would hurt, worry that you would panic the first time you tried to breathe underwater—

But now that you’re here and the transformation is over, all of those fears have vanished. 

You blink over at Jesse, who’s watching you with a look of such adoration on his handsome face that you lift your hands to cover your face. Or, that’s your plan, until you catch sight of your tail.

It’s shorter than Jesse’s, though your fins are longer and a lot more flowy. Your scales are a darker shade of blue than Jesse’s own, and you have a lot fewer white scales than him, your colors appearing to be more dark blue and gray, rather than the vibrant blue and white of Jesse. 

If you had to explain it in a word, Jesse’s tail looks more streamlined while you look more decorative.

You open your mouth to ask something, only to realize that you’re sinking. “Uh…?” It’s at that very moment that you realize that you have no idea how to move your tail. You try to move your tail, your face scrunching up in thought, but all you manage to do is flip yourself upside down.

Above you, Jesse laughs, warm and bright, sounding genuinely amused. Though you’re relieved when you feel his hands on your hips as he repositions you so that you’re upright again.

He keeps one hand on your hip while the other one moves to cup your face.

You close your eyes and rub your cheek against his rough hand, “How do I look?” You ask without opening your eyes.

“Perfect, just like I knew you would.” Jesse replies, and you open your eyes to see that he’s staring at your face. There’s a look of such adoration on his face that you can’t help but smile at him.

“My tail is darker than yours.”

“Safety thing. Women have darker scales to keep them safe from predators.” Jesse explains, “Babies are darker too.” He adds.

That makes sense, you decide after a moment of thought. It’s how it works with birds, at least.

“How are you feeling?” Jesse asks, his voice gentle. “I know you were pretty anxious for the last couple of days.”

You wrap your arms around him comfortably and consider his question, “Now that the binding is done,” You finally say, “A lot of my anxiety has faded. Some of my anxieties were a bit silly, thinking back.”

“Not silly. I couldn’t prepare you for everything, so they made sense.” Jesse corrects as he leans in and bumps his forehead against yours, “Have all of your concerns faded, then?”

You nod, and then smile at him, “There’s just one more concern.”

“Oh?”

Your smile turns sheepish, “I can’t seem to figure out how to swim.”

He grins, “I had noticed that.” Jesse pulls away from you and presses a quick kiss against your lips. “I’ll help you.”

“I won’t get in the way of you swimming?” You ask nervously.

“Never.” He pulls away and holds out his hands to you, and you immediately take them.

Jesse pulls you through the water, out of the chamber where the transformation happens, and into deeper water. Your hands tighten nervously around his hands, and he squeezes your hands reassuringly.

“It’s okay, cyare.” He says soothingly, “Don’t worry, I have you.”

Your anxiety fades almost instantaneously. Jesse would never let anything hurt you, you know this with the same confidence that you know that the sun will rise in the morning.

“There we go,” Jesse murmurs as he moves closer to you, “Just relax.” He releases one of your hands and presses it soothingly against your hip, “You’re doing great, cyare. Can you feel the water against your fins?”

“Mmhmm,”

“Excellent job,” Jesse praises, “Can you try and move your side fin for me sweetheart?”

“I…how?”

He hums thoughtfully, and then presses a quick kiss against your lips, before he swims several feet away. You almost panic when you start sinking, but then, it’s like something snaps into place, and you’re able to find your tail. 

“Excellent job,” Jesse says with a grin as you keep yourself on level with him, “Now. Come over to me and get a kiss.”

You huff good naturedly as you turn your head to look at him. For a moment you don’t move, but then, slowly, you manage to turn and swim the short distance between you and Jesse.

He grins at you and sweeps you into his arms as you stop in front of him, his lips falling heavily against yours. “Stars, I love you.” he breathes against your lips, “Look at you, picking up swimming so quickly.” He peppers feather light kisses all over your face for long enough that you dissolve into giggles.

You reach up and cup his face, “I love you too. So much.” Your smile widens, “And now you’re all mine.”

“Was always all yours,” Jesse corrects, “Now we’re just part of the same world.” He kisses you one more time, and then pulls away, “Now that you have the basics down, let’s go home. I want to show you our grotto. I’ve been perfecting it for months.”

You swim over to him and take his hand, “Show me the way?”

His gaze is bright as his eyes lock with yours, “Always.”

[airas-story]

Simple Gifts

“Here.” Stephen thrust the small package at Tony. He’d been debating with himself for the last three weeks. First about whether to get Tony something or not. Colonel Rhodes had assured him that Tony never expected anything from his friends, given how hard Tony could be to shop for—Stephen didn’t exactly want to stick himself in the friend category, anyways, even if he’d yet to make any sort of move. Then, when he’d finally decided to bite the bullet and do it, he’d had to decide what in the world he was supposed to give someone who had essentially everything.

Tony stared down at the package for a long moment, brow furrowed in bemusement, but he took the package. “What is it?”

Stephen would have thought that was obvious. “Your birthday present, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tony repeated. “People don’t get me presents,” he said the words as though Stephen should know better. “I’m kind of hard to shop for.”

“Trust me,” Stephen said. “I’m well aware of that.”

Tony eyed him for a long moment, then shrugged before carefully unwrapping the present. Stephen almost wished he’d just rip the wrapping paper off and get it over with, but Tony was apparently being contrary—even unknowingly—because he seemed to have decided that he was going to finish with a perfect thing of wrapping paper.

It seemed to take forever for Tony to unwrap the present, prying open the box carefully. He froze.

Stephen bit his lip. Had this been a bad idea? Vishanti, this had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have gotten anything. Or if he had, he should have gotten something normal.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“They’re spells,” Stephen explained. He moved closer, slipping into Tony’s space. “Here, dump them out.”

Tony carefully tilted the box; the three spells fell out into his hand, connected by a thin chain that could be hooked around Tony’s wrist. Stephen had contained each spell in a small containment unit, about the size of a standard dice.

The green and silver metal square was wrapped around the orange spells, seemingly contained by glass, though that was an illusion rather than a reality.

Stephen picked up the chain, settling it on his own hand. He pointed at the first one on the right. “This spell is a spell of invisibility. It’s not an entirely impressive piece of magic, but it will last about ten minutes and can be applied five times.” He pointed at the second spell, on the left. “This one is a mild levitation spell. You probably won’t need it often, with the suit, but it’ll last about five minutes and can be used five times as well.”

Tony looked up at him, the expression on his face difficult to read. “And the last one?”

Stephen rubbed a thumb over the spell in the middle. “This is a shield charm, it should withstand all but the most powerful of spells. It can be used twice.” He’d had to decide what was more important, a heavy-duty shield spell that could only be used a few times, or a light-weight shield spell that had a higher number of applications. Knowing Tony, though, if someone was going to go after him, they’d go after him with the worst they had. “I’ve charmed the container on this one so that I can re-apply the spell once they’ve been used.” The others would vanish once they’d fulfilled their purpose, but this one…

It had been a tricky bit of magic, but well worth it. The others he could replace based off what Tony wanted—if he did ever want more—but this one… well, shielding Tony… Protecting him... There was nothing Stephen would replace that with.

Tony examined him for a moment. Stephen tried not to let his anxiety show. “Is this… all right?” He knew that Tony had some reservations about magic, still, but Stephen… well, it was what he had to give.

And admittedly, once the idea had occurred to him, Stephen hadn’t been able to stop. The idea of being able to provide Tony with magical protection had been unrelenting.

Tony bit his lip, then nodded. He held out his wrist. “Want to do the honors?”

Stephen smiled, relief filling him. He wrapped the chain around Tony’s wrist and then used a quick spell to do the latch. “Only you can take it off,” he said. “Or me,” he acknowledged. “Since it’s my magic, but for all intents and purposes, just you.”

Tony shook his hand a little. There was a faint clink of the spells knocking into each other. It looked innocuous, like a simple charm bracelet—though admittedly, one that wasn’t entirely Tony’s style—certainly not like a minor magical relic.

“How much work did this take you?” Tony asked.

Stephen shrugged. Several weeks worth, but he didn’t want to admit that. “Not much.”

Tony nodded, looking down at his bracelet. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Stephen said. “I want you to be safe.”

Tony’s smile was soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever been safer.” He paused, considering Stephen for a long moment. A small smile crossed his lips and then he was pressing up. The kiss came, soft and gentle, pressed against Stephen’s cheek.

Stephen felt a flush rush over him; he was sure his cheeks were bright red. So, yes, maybe Stephen hadn't been entirely inconspicuous about his feelings. Tony’s kiss made Stephen think he wasn’t entirely alone in that, though.

“Happy Birthday, Tony.”

[jjkamochoso]

Lovesick… Emphasis on the “Sick”

Fluff

You have a really bad cold and Levi, of course, takes care of you :)

Levi Ackerman x sick!gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of mucus, runny noses, general cold/flu symptoms, cussing

A/N: hi everyone i am currently Sick as Shit so i really hope this fic flows okay and makes sense!! if it doesn't... yes it does

You had never felt so terrible in your entire life as you did that morning. Your whole body ached like you had gotten thrown into a tree by a titan and your head was throbbing with an intensity akin to thunder and lightning in your brain. Your stomach was getting sore from all the coughing you had been doing the previous night and your nose was completely plugged up in both nostrils. When you finally rolled out of bed, begrudgingly getting ready for work, you could barely stand up. You had no idea how you were going to complete your duties today in the state of exhaustion you were feeling. As a captain in the Survey Corps, you had lots of responsibility riding on your shoulders and you couldn’t let anyone down by taking a sick day. You bent over to pull up your pants which led you straight into a long lasting coughing fit, leaving you gasping for breath like you had sprinted a marathon. You let out an anguished groan as your jacket sleeves were yanked onto your arms to the best of your ability. Looking in the small mirror that sat on your bedroom dresser, your head fell forward in despair. If you thought you felt bad, you looked a million times worse. You were completely disheveled; your skin was taking on a sickly hue and your eyelids were barely staying open. You turned away from the grisly sight as quickly as possible without falling over or bringing on another bout of nausea, opting to pretend you noticed nothing different in the way you looked today if anyone dared ask. You grabbed a few stray papers from your desk that needed to be signed by the commander, choosing that as your first task to be finished this morning. As you closed the door to your room, you winced at the loud noise it made in the echoing hallways, doing absolutely nothing to help your headache. You soldiered on toward Erwin’s office, each step draining more and more energy from your frail body. You were one hallway away from where you needed to be when you felt a cough attack come out of nowhere, your body racking as spit and germs angrily shot out of your mouth and into the arm of your uniform.

“Who is making that disgusting racket?” a firm voice called from opposite of where you were standing. Captain Levi then entered your view, lips pressed firmly together and eyebrows furrowed in a state of repulsion.

“Captain Y/n. I’m not surprised those sounds were from you, you look like shit.”

“Always the charmer, aren’t you, Levi?” you said, sniffling and sneezing into your handkerchief.

“Tch. Why didn’t you take a sick day? I don’t want your nasty germs spreading around the Scouts,” he said, eyeing you from a safe distance.

Another coughing fit.

“Because,” you sputtered out, “I have work to do. I can’t slack off because of a little cold.”

“Looking like you’ve approached death’s door isn’t what I would call a little cold,” said Levi, now sporting a frown. Levi was no stranger to sickness—he’d been surrounded by it since his birth, and especially now while living in barracks with all these people, but it didn’t make seeing you come down with an illness any easier. You were one of his closest comrades and, as childish as it sounds, seeing people he cared for catch a sickness made anxiety bubble in his stomach as his thoughts roamed to the corpse of his beloved mother, staring at him with those lifeless eyes as disease slowly consumed her before she perished. He’d be damned if he let anyone else suffer that same fate so he certainly wasn’t going to let you run yourself ragged.

“I’m fine. I-”

“Go back to your room. That’s an order.”

“We’re the same rank, you can’t boss me around” you said, crossing your arms.

“Does it look like I care?”

Judging by his deadly serious expression, he truly did not.

“I have to get these to Erwin. It’s important,” you told him, waving around the papers you held. Levi crossed the gap between you in quick strides, the papers slipping from your grasp with ease into his own.

“Fine. I’ll take them. Go to bed, brat.”

You weren’t in the mood or right mental state to argue so you began to take your leave. Everything was going fine until you got superbly dizzy, your shoes barely able to grip the ground and keep you upright. You stumbled back toward your bedroom’s corridor but your boots could no longer make purchase on the slippery stone floor. Before you could fall to the ground, though, you felt two strong arms wrap around your middle, steadying you. You immediately knew it to be Levi and you were grateful as he helped you into your room, guiding you to your bed and setting you down as gently as could be.

“You have to be careful. I don’t want to clean up the remains of your cracked skull off the floor,” he reprimanded. You sighed, feeling a bit of guilt creeping up for distressing him. You knew this was his way of letting you know he was worried about you. Sure, he was gruff and used kind words sparingly, but his actions did all the necessary talking for him. And what he was saying right now, as he untied your boots and ODM straps, was that he was there to take care of you.

“Change out of your uniform and into something less presentable. I don’t want you getting any funny ideas of sneaking back to work after I leave.”

“Yes, Captain,” you joked, saluting him lamely and sending yourself into yet another coughing fit. Levi’s steel gaze softened as he observed you in your weakened state. It pained him to see you like this and he’d do everything in his power to nurse you back to health.

When Levi returned to your room a half hour later, signed papers in one hand and a piping hot cup of tea in the other, he wasn’t prepared for the absolute mess he was greeted with. There were used handkerchiefs littering the floor and you were preoccupied with hacking up mucous from your lungs. The sound of the wet cough made Levi cringe to the deepest extent, but he wasn’t deterred; in fact, it made him more determined to get you healthy again in no time. He never backed down from a challenge and this situation was no different to him that solving a problem within the Scouts—with a little bit of luck and a whole lot of strength and courage, he’d get you through this with as little hang-ups as possible. The raven haired man placed the papers from Erwin neatly on your desk, the tea finding a temporary spot next to them for a moment as he procured a mask from his pocket, covering his mouth with the fabric and tying the strings behind his head. He then picked the tea back up and walked to where you were coughing up a storm. He placed his free hand upon your back in an attempt to calm you. It seemed to work as you gained control over your breathing and stopped convulsing. He silently held out the teacup and you took it, a voice cracking “thanks” leaving your chapped lips. His eyes nervously scanned over your figure as you sipped on the warm drink he brought you, intensely looking for any sign of discomfort. As you swallowed down the delightful leaf water, you felt an extreme chill blast through your body. Levi noticed the goosebumps spreading across your skin and, without hesitation, rested the back of his hand against your forehead.

“You have a fever,” he stated plainly, trying to keep his racing thoughts at bay the best he could. Could he make you more comfortable in any way? Should you be under a blanket since you were cold or have a cold compress since you were also hot? How could he help you break the fever?

“Levi,” you whimpered, freeing him from the endless vast of questions he pondered on his mind, “can I h-have an extra blanket, pl-please? I’m f-freezing.”

“Of course.” He responded unnaturally fast, eager to fulfill any requests you gave him. The person taking care of you was still the awkward, almost socially inept, sarcastic man you knew, but the way he so lovingly tucked you in under the soft blanket he draped over your body had you wondering if you died, went to heaven, and were now under the care of an actual angel. When Levi put a cold washcloth to your hot-to-the-touch head, you let out a gasp of relief. Soon enough your eyes were closed and you were asleep, Levi keeping a close watch on how your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and making sure you weren’t having any difficulties breathing. He could hear that you were still stuffed up and had plenty of mucus build up in the way you were wheezing in your slumber, but he was happy you were at least able to get some good rest for now. He didn’t want to leave your side but he knew you needed medicine so he quickly departed, making a beeline for the infirmary.

"Captain!" the doctor saluted him, "how can I help today?"

"I need your strongest medicine for cold symptoms," requested Levi.

"I'll work on that right away," said the doctor, already preparing the ingredients. "Feeling under the weather?"

"It's not for me. Captain y/n is sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that, I hope they feel better soon. That's awfully kind of you to pick this up for them especially since I know how much you hate coming in here. They're lucky to have you around."

Levi just grunted in acknowledgement and hoped the doctor would end the torment of her making small talk with him. By some miracle, it was like she read the man's mind, making no indication of wanting to continue the conversation. The next few minutes in the infirmary were filled only with the sounds of glass clinking as your medicine was being made. The doctor eventually finished, handing Levi the elixir.

"Thank you," he told the doctor, wasting no time getting out of there. Like the doctor mentioned, he despised setting foot in the infirmary. All the germs and suffering that went on in there was nothing he wanted to willingly subject himself to unless it was a dire emergency. Getting you some medicine was absolutely worth every second in that repulsive place and he'd gladly go in as many times as needed if it meant he could see you well again. Moving through the hallways at top speed, he decided to grab you some snacks from the dining hall since he knew you hadn't eaten all day. Relief washed over him when he saw you were still soundly asleep as he opened the familiar wood door. Picking up the used handkerchiefs and placing them in the pile of used laundry in the corner, he was pleased with how quickly your room looked better. Now out of things to keep him busy, he left you alone one last time to retrieve a pile of his own work papers so he wouldn't fall too far behind. As he took a seat at your desk, he felt his attention roam to you once more. Seeing you lying there, finally so peaceful after experiencing such awful cold symptoms, stirred up an emotion in Levi he couldn't quite place. Sure, you two were close friends, on the same level of trust and respect that he held for his squad and even Hange, but had he ever gone this far out of his way to help them when they were sick like he was doing now for you? He couldn't recall. He disliked watching any of his friends fight sicknesses of any kind but when he witnessed the horrid display of your illness earlier that morning, it felt like his world was about to crumble if he didn't help you that instant. Never in his life had he felt the urge to abandon his duties in favor of doing something else--until today. He'd much rather forgo paperwork and meetings to help you back on your feet, or at least to make you realize you didn't have to struggle alone. He didn't know what was coming over him as he took notice of the strong desire to place a hand on your cheek and tell you everything was going to be okay when you woke up. Levi felt his face get hot with embarrassment at the mere thought of touching you so delicately like that. Was he getting sick too? What was with his heart pounding at the idea of getting close to you like that? He got ahold of himself quickly, deciding to sort through his frazzled thoughts later. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to: the work in front of him and keeping you as satisfied as possible. You were squared away for now so the only thing left for him to do was work. He glanced at you one last time, burying the lingering feeling of wanting to hold your hand in a comforting manner deep into the darkest corner of his mind where it could no longer torment him, then he turned away and began reading.

Levi's attention was pulled from his work when he heard you begin to cough and blow your nose a few hours later. He was next to you in a flash to help you sit up in bed, fluffing the pillows you had flattened in your slumber. He leaned over your side table to grab a small glass jar with oddly colored liquid sloshing inside.

"Medicine," he explained, taking the cap off and holding the jar out to you. You took it gratefully, chugging the contents. The bitter concoction was unpleasant on your tongue but you knew it would do you good so you didn't complain. You sat in silence for a bit after that, watching birds flit around outside your window, Levi having opened the curtains some to let in natural light. You tried to see what he was doing but his back was turned toward you. All of a sudden, the bright smell of citrus assaulted the one nostril of yours that had temporarily cleared up.

"Am I going crazy or do I smell an orange?" you asked. You were presented with a handkerchief filled with meticulously peeled orange segments, each looking as tantalizing as you'd ever seen.

"I never guessed fruit was going to be the tipping point of you questioning your sanity."

"Making fun of the sick isn't a good look," you grumbled, chewing up the juicy snack as Levi swallowed the chuckle about to escape his throat.

"Eat as much as you can tolerate. It helps your body fight the illness."

You hummed in agreement and the captain went back to filling out his never ending work papers.

"Hey, uh... Levi? Can I ask you something real quick?" You broke the comfortable silence but thankfully Levi didn't seem bothered.

"Sure."

"I'm beyond appreciative for all of your help today and I'm really grateful that you've been here with me... but... " You faltered.

He raised an unenthused eyebrow. "But what?"

"Why?"

When he didn't answer right away, you tried to do some damage control in between your sneezing and coughing.

"I just meant, I know you're always helping where you can and I've seen you bring tea and food to our comrades when they're sick, but I've never known you to be this attentive, or-or nice, as you've been to me and--"

"I like you the best."

His simple reply was astonishingly profound for such generic words. If anyone else had said it, you would still be happy, but for Levi to be as vulnerable as that, you knew you truly meant a lot to the man. You were aware that it certainly wasn't easy for him to admit anything about the matters of his heart and you were considering just how lucky of a person you were to hear any kind of confession from him, let alone such a personal one. However, as you looked at him, there wasn't a hint of stress or uncertainty present whatsoever like you thought there might've been. He spoke of his feelings for you as if they were plain, obvious facts like grass is green or the sky is blue.

"That's good to hear because you were always my favorite, too," you told him, a knowing smile blossoming as your hand slid over the blanket in his direction like you were the arrow in a compass and he was north. Levi understood the deeper intent of your words, the underlying meanings that matched his own. The unbreakable bond you two forged over countless years working and fighting together was something he had cherished for a long time and he was relieved to know you came to the same conclusion he had--you were going to be by each others' side for the rest of time. There was something about you that brought out his most loving, doting side, and though the softer facets of life were foreign to him, he wasn't necessarily against exploring them with you in the future, especially if he and the rest of the Scouts eradicated the titans and established a world free of that ever present danger. With you being as sick as you currently were, though, he didn't want to somehow take any sort of advantage of the situation since he knew some people latched onto their caretakers while in the throes of a fever, desperate for any sort of human contact to ground them. That's why he resisted the call of your warm skin, beckoning him to experience what it felt like to be under your touch, instead opting to rest his hand on the bed near your leg in an attempt to show that he was still there for you. He was content being with you in the same capacity as he previously was--except now, the promise of a care free life with you was another addition to the long list of reasons to fight so aggressively for a better tomorrow.

"I'll look after you until you're healthy. Someone has to make sure you're not infecting the rest of the soldiers with your piss poor cough covering technique."

"Can I request a different nurse? Your bedside manner is leaving much to be desired."

Levi handed you another snack, this time being a big chunk of bread.

"At least you didn't have the stomach flu. I wasn't in the mood to clean up your actual shit."

"Levi, please, I'm trying to eat."

He felt the slight tug of his mouth go upwards into an imperceptible grin. If this was a glimpse into what a future alongside you would be like, he'd do anything to keep you both alive long enough to see it, no matter if his foe was a titan or a viral infection.

[sunnified]

MEET THE RO'MEAVES !

synopsis. the idea of meeting your rich boyfriend's rich family is nerve wracking, but at least he's there to hold your hand.

pairing. mystreet!vylad x gn!reader

content. non-descriptive reader =), comfort/fluff, one reference of the endearment “baby” at the very start, reader is nervous, anxiety about not fitting in, garte doesn't make an appearance

word count. 2.0k

a/n. i’ve been super busy recently so hopefully this little piece makes up for the lack of content? anyway, this piece is for this lovely anon <3

your eyes traced over your own features once more, looking for any imperfections or problems. from where he sat in the passenger seat, vylad threw an odd look in your direction, “you look fine, baby.”

his reassurance did little to calm the quivering of your nerves, and your gaze was quick to dart back to the sun visor mirror in front of your face. there was a small frown threatening to tug at the corner of your painted lips, “‘fine’ isn’t enough.” you sighed, prodding at a crease between your brows.

your boyfriend, who was dressed in clothes far nicer than his usual attire, only blinked in response. then, his hand came to rest upon your mid-thigh, stopping the consistent and annoying jittering. vylad was much calmer, offering a gentle smile, “you look perfect, really. they’re going to love you.”

“hm.” you’d spent several hours tearing apart your wardrobe for something suitable to wear, dirty looks being shot at vylad every time he offered a positive response to an outfit that was clearly horrible. right down to your shoes and the bag of choice, everything had been meticulously curated and laid out for after a long, scorching shower where you could think about what to say and how to say it.

“besides, you already know zane, and he’s the hardest part of the entire night.” vylad grinned as though he had just made a very funny joke, tousling his brown hair with one comb of careless fingers. “dad is on a business trip, so you don’t have to stress over him,” he looks a bit crestfallen for a moment, before perking back up, “and mum hasn’t even met you, but she already loves you — why’re you so worried?”

you scoffed in response.

at least, with the added comfort of zane being there you could relax a little more tonight. it had been a stroke of luck that you had even managed to get to know the monochromatic man, having accidentally met him in the middle of a supermarket one time a year ago.

for the past fifteen minutes, the pair of you had been parked at the end of the street where vylad grew up. your car had seen better days and looked out of place in comparison to the sleek sports cars and large family homes lining the sides of the road. vylad’s father, as you had come to learn, owned the ro’meave corporation and therefore was extremely wealthy. you were just lucky that none of his extravagant tastes had filtered down into his youngest son, who preferred to order take out and snuggle on the couch as a ‘date.’

irene, you were nervous.

“oh, i dunno, maybe because this is your family we’re talking about?” you replied in a huff, about to continue examining your own appearance before vylad promptly snapped the sun visor shut, “seriously, these people might end up being my in-laws some day!”

“might?” at that, his nose scrunched and he shook his head adamantly, “no, no, they will be your in-laws some day. which is why, we’re going to get out of the car, walk to the house, and happily greet my family.”

he beamed.

you sighed.

noticing the worry covering your expression, he leaned over and pressed a single kiss to the round of your cheek, “trust me,” he murmured, “you’ll fit right in.”

“okay.” your agreement followed shortly, “i’ll trust you.”

stepping into the cold evening air, you instinctively looked down at your outfit once more. it was a little fancier than what you’d usually wear, but most of your clothes were designed for comfort whilst travelling for long hours. despite having scoured half of the world with your long-term boyfriend, you’d yet to meet his rambunctious family face-to-face, instead only offering to sign your name on postcards from different regions and extending your wishes during birthdays.

maybe most of your nerves stemmed from the idea that vylad’s parents would hate you for taking their son around the world without knowing much more than your name. in fact, a big part of you was scared that they’d blame you for his lack of presence in phoenix drop.

the man in question walked around the model of your car, his fingers curling around yours as he began to pull you in the direction of his childhood home. it was a little way down the street, a brisk walk at best, before you were both stood on the front door step. your hand fell from his, and vylad was offering the crook of his elbow in a gentlemanly fashion with a proud look on his face, “i wouldn’t hear the end of it if i didn’t escort you.”

you laughed quietly in response, the huff coming out as something of a nervous chuckle. both of you know that’s probably not true, since he uses your interlocked arms as a subtle way to pull you closer. curious eyes watched with mild uncertainty as his hand came up to push at the doorbell, a faint tune playing from behind the red painted door before it abruptly swings open and your face to face with a man; he’s not much older than yourself and appears the complete opposite to your boyfriend. he grins at you both, exclaiming happily, “baby brother!” before tugging vylad from your grasp and into a tight, welcoming hug.

vylad laughs, too, reciprocating the hug just as fiercely, “garroth, hey.”

when the pair pull away from one another, you’re able to get a good look at the one ro’meave brother you had yet to meet. he was tall, much taller than his younger two brothers, and had much sharper features. his hair was a jealous shade of blonde, curling in pretty swirls that had seemingly been made to sit neatly atop his head; like vylad, the button up shirt he wore was expensive and you faintly caught a glimpse of the embroidery initials woven firmly into the cuff.

the man, garroth, turns to face you, “you must be the person keeping my brother so busy.” he mused, sweeping you over once before you were pulled into the same crushing hug. you nearly yelped, had it not been for your merciful release only a moment later, “it’s great to finally meet you, i was feeling a little left out with both vylad and zane knowing you.”

you attempted to laugh along with garroth, albeit a little awkward as you nodded your head and agreed, “yeah, i was wondering when i could meet you, too.”

garroth brightens at the sound of your voice, “vylad was just scared i’d steal you away.” he muses, to which the younger of the two brothers huffs an equally amused chuckle out. you don’t miss how his arm encircles your waist.

“you wish.” he snickers in a quick response and your hand covers the entertained smile creeping across your lips.

the brothers shared a look, before garroth was talking to you again, “come on, mum’s dying to meet you.” he waved you further into the house, turning to venture off down the hallway and giving just a split second of privacy between you and vylad.

your brunette boyfriend leaned in, his words coming out as a mere whisper meant only for you to hear, “garroth’s always been a hugger — try to get used to it, ‘cause there’s a lot more of those in your future.”

you snorted softly, “right.” you hummed, “baby brother.” the teasing words were followed by a light shove of vylad’s shoulder bumping against yours, shining green eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lead the way into the family room.

“hey mum, zane.” his charismatic greeting was met with a muffled acknowledgement from the middle child of the three brothers.

his mother, on the other hand, was quick to stand from where she had been poised on the edge of the couch and engulf you into a hug. it seems vylad had forgotten to mention that his mother, too, was an advocate of hugs, “oh, darling! it’s so lovely to finally meet you, i’ve heard so much about you from vylad.” she gushed, holding you by the shoulders with a gentle grip, seeming to take you in all at once.

“it’s lovely to meet you, too, mrs. ro’meave.” you replied, a smile gracing your lips at her soft demeanour. you’d heard a lot about vylad’s mother, from his favourite childhood memories to how he recently described her soft personality.

the older woman giggled quietly, shaking her head, “oh, honey,” her emphasis on the little nickname was almost deceiving, “you don’t have to call me that — it makes me feel old!” she was anything but, “call me zianna, we’re family, after all.”

your heart surges at the word family, jaw going slack, “r-right.” your stuttering is met by a muffled laugh across the room, and you throw a halfhearted glare at zane, whose snickering to himself, “family.”

there’s a loud whine from behind you, before vylad is draping himself across your back. his chin sits on your shoulder, arms holding you flush against him — in front of his brothers and mother. he huffs, “don’t spoil the surprise!” he all but scolds zianna, who squeals at the scene in front of her. your face blooms with heat, and you can feel the warmth trickling from your cheeks down your neck.

vylad’s never been one to shy from affection, but now you know he’s really playing up since you’re in the presence of his family; whether he’s purposefully embarrassing you or attempting to create the perfect image of a devoted boyfriend, you’re not quite sure.

your small embarrassed protest of his name goes unnoticed, as zianna reaches for her phone to snap a picture of the two of you. she gushes, fawning over the image of her youngest son holding his partner in such a loving way, only to gasp when the sound of an egg-timer dings from the kitchen. she takes off to tend to the cooking dinner, leaving you to deal with the three ro’meave brothers.

the silence doesn’t last long, with vylad tugging your body in the direction of a cute armchair. it’s snug, how he sits down and you’re practically sitting on top of him, but he doesn’t mind the added weight in the slightest — especially since one hand rests on your waist whilst the other is used as a support to your back.

“so, how did you guys meet?” garroth asks, having since taken a seat at the opposite end of the curved couch from zane. he muses with his blonde hair, before eventually giving up and letting his arm fall to rest on the back of the seat.

“travelling,” you say at the same time vylad sarcastically replies with “a dating app.”

garroth raises a brow, and zane looks up from what he’d been doing on his phone to look at the pair of you. laughing awkwardly, you reiterate, “we met whilst travelling, he walked right into me in a coffee shop.”

garroth gasps as though just hearing something scandalous, a scolding tone taking on his voice. it’s proof he’s the oldest of the three. zane snorts from beneath his mask, before covering it up with a cough.

vylad groans from behind you, “i said i was sorry!”

“he bought me another coffee afterwards.”

garroth nods in approval at that, “good.” he doubles down, “i’m glad to know my baby brother is taking care of you.”

“shut up garroth, you’re only saying that because you’re single right now.” zane retorts, scoffing when garroth splutters.

“wh— hey! they didn’t need to know that, zane!”

“it’s true, though.” he shrugs.

vylad is laughing again, resting his face in your neck to hide for a moment. you sigh and lean back into him, watching as garroth and zane squabble. it makes you smile.

there’s a feminine call from the kitchen, as well as the sound of a small bell ringing. zianna’s voice carries through to the living room, “kids, dinner’s ready!”

when both the eldest and middle child scramble to sit at the dining table, vylad makes a point of holding you for just a second longer, smiling to himself, “welcome home.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

every time i think about getting my license i want to throw up from nerves

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A new challenger approaches (slowly)

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[uncanny-tranny]

Every time you think, "Oh, I don't have [x condition], I'm basically cured!" that is the devil talking. You aren't cured, you are likely going through periods of your symptoms waning. Don't cease whatever you're doing to help yourself, like medication, for instance, because it's likely you still have the conditions or symptoms, even if you aren't noticing them as frequently or severely.