This all happened because you couldn’t watch your clever mouth. As an experienced improv performer with the hottest troupe on campus, you thought you were hot shit, and that your wit would make you a Youtube star or get you on SNL. During shows you’d choose members of the audience to do interactions with, often ribbing them for whatever thing you noticed at the moment. Whenever you spotted them, you’d always single out the football players in the audience, with all the usual quips about dumb jocks being slow and no good at anything but working out and playing ball.
That was until the night you broke the last straw, and got ambushed by the team’s defensive line as you left the venue. They threw you in the trunk of their car, and dragged you into their coach’s house. It was there that Coach had a long chat with you, and made you see the light. (And you swear there were literal lights, though you can’t ever explain or find the words to describe those glowing orbs that pierced your very being.)
Though you don’t remember exactly what Coach said to you, he helped you realize that your beginner improv classes were simply a waste of time and money, and that there’s no point in continuing to embarrass yourself with your slow drawl and simple, painfully literal responses to any prompt. You had the wit of a rock, but that was OK, because you had the speed for a promising defensive end. And if you gave yourself over to Coach—body, mind, and soul—you could bring excitement to tens of thousands of audience members in the football stadium. As a football player, it won’t matter how dumb you sound: you’ll let your body do the talking. As for words, you’ll only ever need to repeat team chants, say “Yes Coach” or “No Coach,” or count out reps in the weight room. And it was that night you agreed to become nothing more than Coach’s walk-on defensive end: Player 72.
This is something new I’m trying where the reader is a Lawyer for Tony Stark but after the Avengers get back together after the Accords Ross is still coming after them. Tony Stark wants the reader to get Ross off their backs but what happens when Ross decides to play a little dirty?
“What is this, Tony?” Steve looked from the sheets in his hand.
“It’s a resume.” Steve stared at the man. “Y/N L/N, she’s my go to lawyer. When I met her she had only just started at her firm. She had just finished a case and was handing it in to Hayden Hughes, the Managing Partner at the firm, when I was in his office. Instead of taking me to a senior partner to sign with, he told me to sign with the girl. I’ve never regretted it.”
Steve looked back at the paper. “So you trust her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Listen, Rogers, if there’s anyone you can get you out of your predicament, shall we say, it’s her. Her record runs on a strictly win-only basis.”
“She’s worth a shot, Steve. I may have only met her for twenty minutes once before when she was getting Tony to sign something but she’s a good kid. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone keep him in line as well as she did apart from Pepper.” Bruce looked up from his StarkPad to affirm Tony’s praise of the lawyer.
“Hey! I’m not that bad!”
Natasha spoke up from her quiet conversation with Clint. “You’re only proving his point, Stark. Besides, this L/N lady can’t be that bad; she’s from the best law firm in New York, Hughes and Wood, which means she came from Harvard, the best law university in the country. She’s used to working cases which have high stakes so she knows discretion is key.”
“What’s the worst that she can do? We’re already wanted fugitives.” Wanda quipped in her thick accent.
“Call her, Stark. Let’s see what she can do.”
“No need, Mr Rogers, Mr Stark already called.” You waltzed out the elevator bags scattering your body. “But more importantly, I brought the Chinese.”
“We’ve already eaten.” Steve turned to look at you front on.
You laughed. “Oh that would be a good joke if takeout menus weren’t scattered across the coffee table, members of your team weren’t holding the aforementioned menus, half the people didn’t perk up at the thought of food and I didn’t get all of your favourites.”
“How would you know our favourites? You have never met us.” Wanda queried. Her distrust for you was clear on her face and through her body language.
“Then how can I do this, Miss Maximoff?” You plopped most of the bags on the floor apart from the food. “Crispy Shredded Beef for Mr Stark, Chicken Chow Mein for Dr Banner, Sweet and Sour Chicken Balls for Captain Rogers, Szechuan Spare Ribs for Miss Romanoff, King Prawn Chop Suey for Mr Barton, Honey Pork for Mr Odinson, House Special Foo Yung for Miss Maximoff, Special Crispy Noodles for Mr Vision, Singapore Mixed Meat Chow Mein for King T’Challa, Stir Fried Mushrooms in Black Bean Sauce for Mr Lang, Shrimp Chow Mein for Colonel Rhodes, Beef Shanghai Style for Mr Wilson, Chicken Singapore Noodles for Mr Parker, and finally Crispy Chicken Fillet and Roast Duck Fried Rice for Sergeant Barnes.” You finished as you placed the final tub on the table.
“Oh that’s it. She’s my favourite lawyer.” Clint fist pumped the air dramatically.
You raised an expectant eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you miss the memo? I wasn’t done. I also got Prawn Crackers, Prawn Toast, Crispy Seaweed, Spring Rolls, Crispy Wontons, Salt and Pepper King Prawns, Honey Roast Spare Ribs, Yung Chow Fried Rice, Fried Dumplings, Deep Fried Crab Claws, Aromatic Crispy Duck and finally Fortune Cookies for a bit of fun.”
“I think I’m in love.” Scott whispered, staring at you.
Ignoring the blubbering man, you pulled out a gift bag from the collection around your feet. “Sorry I couldn’t make your birthday Mr Stark, you know I had court the next day and you can’t arrive in court under influence.”
“Sure thing, Bunny, no worries.” The man smirked as the nickname came out again. Apparently when you were working or thinking your nose scrunched up and Tony had made it his job to entitle you with a nickname because of it; he thought of Bunny to be a sufficient name. Either way, everybody was watching with rapt attention as Tony removed the black tissue paper from the top of the bag and pulled out the box inside. Tony’s face lit up at the sight, prompting the question.
“What did Lawyer Lady get ya, Tin Man?” Sam asked expectantly, like a petulant child.
Thankfully Vision saved him from his despair. “It appears to be a Glen Garioch 46 Year Old 1958 Whiskey, average pricing around $2,777.”
Low whistles ran throughout the men of the room.
“Vis! You don’t tell people the price of gifts!” Wanda gave an exclamatory hiss in said man’s direction causing him to frown in thought.
“Damn, L/N. That’s good whiskey.” Sam addressed you but his eyes were still on the bottle.
“If you play your cards right, Mr Wilson, you might get gifts like that too.”
He shot you a flirty smirk. “I’ll play you any cards you want if it gets you around here more often.”
“I’m surrounded by people like Mr Stark, and more, all day, Mr Wilson, you’re going to have to do better than that.” You pouted slightly at the man, fully enjoying the little exchange.
“I like her. I’ve been telling you for a long time, Birdbrain, you’ve got to up your game.” James permitted himself to join the conversation.
“Damn, and here I was thinking the only person you like was you boyfriend: The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan.”
“Didn’t you get anything for yourself, Miss L/N?” Peter asked you as he leant forward to get his noodles.
“I got the Szechuan Spare Ribs. They’re the best thing on the menu.” You replied with a nod towards Natasha.
“Amen to that, sestra!” She raised her beer to you and it reminded you of the other bag.
You pulled out the beer that you had brought with you, alongside the Chinese. “Vy khotite drugogo?” You held out a bottle for her.
“Ty govorish’ po-russki?” She looked surprised as she took the bottle.
You nodded. “My parents were quite pushy and strict when I was younger. They made sure I knew as many languages as I could so I would be well prepared for life.” You took a can opener from your bag; you were starting to feel like Mary Poppins. Carefully popping the cap off your bottle, you offered the opener to Natasha and she gratefully accepted.
“It’ll be fun to have another Russian speaker in the mix.” James stirred his food quietly before taking a bite.
“The Three Musketeers.” Clint raised his bottle to us jokingly.
“Any other talents we should know about, Sweetcheeks?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows and you simply gave him an unimpressed look.
“Alongside Russian and English, I also speak French, German, Portuguese, Spanish, Latin, Italian, and Mandarin. Fluently. Mum made me do Ballet and Gymnastics whilst my Dad made me do martial arts whilst growing up. And I had to learn the piano at school.” You listed them off with an impressive air of nonchalance.
“You have the skill set to join the Avengers.” Scott announced dramatically whilst chewing on his mushrooms.
“And you clearly didn’t read the resume.” You quickly rebutted, taking a swig of your beer.
“What’s making you say that?”
“Honestly, Mr Lang, it’s obvious.” You shook your head to yourself. “The only people who have read my resume in this room is Mr Stark about 9 years ago; Miss Romanoff, Mr Barton and Sergeant Barnes all have read it because they wanted to assess my threat level to themselves individually and the team, hence why they have been carrying most of the conversation as they are trying to evaluate me; Mr Vision will have read my resume due to the fact that he has never seen or interacted with a lawyer before; and finally Captain Rogers will have read my resume as he doesn’t trust me in the slightest right now, his feet are angled ever so slightly towards me showing interest, he hasn’t spoken at all to me apart from a defensive lie at the beginning and now he’s contemplating on how to talk to Tony about me after I’m gone without causing conflict. Tell me I’m wrong.” No one said anything. You stood up from your seat and gathered your bags. “Mr Stark, I presume I’m in the usual room?”
Tony let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, Bunny. Please just call me Tony for the millionth time.”
“Of course, Tony.” The pair of you shared knowing smiles as you picked the bags up and disappeared down the hallway.
A/N: Aw, anon, your English is perfect, don’t worry ^ - ^ Thanks for stopping by and leaving a request <3 I’m sorry that this is embarrassingly late, I hope you enjoy it anyway~
Jin: “Why do you have to dance with him?” Jin pouts, as you crouch
to lace up your trainers for dance practice.
“It’s only for one stage,” you soothe, standing up and
closing the short distance between you and your boyfriend. A chaste peck on his
lips has the frown smoothing into a smile.
“I know,” he says, “I just wish it was you and me together.”
Your face falls at this, as your mind seeps with concern. Jin always puts on a brave face for you, but you know there
are a lot of feelings he keeps quiet to save you the worry. You worry anyway, of course, because that’s just who you are.
He picks up on your change of mood, and gives your cheeks a
poke, forcing the corners of your lips up into a grin. “Hey, none of that,” he
says, “If I practice enough maybe it’ll be me dancing with you next time.” To prove it, he takes a
step back, and breaks into his famed traffic dance. It never fails to have
you spluttering with laughter, and soon you’re joining in, flailing your limbs
about in time to your own rhythm.
You collapse against each other, shaking with fits of the giggles. “Oh, boy, I don’t think the world is ready for our traffic
dance collab,” you sigh, resting your forehead against Jin’s.
“Maybe not,” he murmurs, “Some day though. Some day.”
You chuckle. “Some day.” One more kiss, then it’s time to
leave for practice.
Yoongi: From his spot by the bar, Yoongi keeps his gaze rooted to you.
When you asked to go clubbing with him, this isn’t exactly what
he had expected. In his mind, you had your arms wrapped around each other, floating in your own calm world, amidst the chaos of thumping music and flashing
Yet here he is, sitting alone while you shake your hips, surrounded
by a swarm of slobbering guys. The only thing keeping Yoongi calm is the diss
track he’s composing in his head for the crowd of fawning men. He should write some of
this stuff down - it’s gold.
But then he sees one of the guys getting too close, placing his
hand on your waist, then sliding it lower. Oh, there’s no way in f-ck he’s
getting away with that!
Without a clear idea of what he’s doing, Yoongi pushes himself away from the bar, ploughing through the swarm of sweaty bodies, and
thudding a heavy hand into the man’s chest. “Hey, keep your hands off what doesn’t
belong to you,” he snarls.
The man stumbles back, gives Yoongi a once over, and decides
it’s not worth it. The crowd oozes away from the area, till you and Yoongi are
left, invisible in the corner of the club.
“Um… thanks,” you smile sheepishly, “I had it under control
“I know,” Yoongi says, “I just… couldn’t help myself. Creeps
like that make me furious.”
You bite your lip. “Wanna get out
Hoseok: Hoseok doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t mind… Well, okay, maybe a little… But it’s hard to watch you (the love of his life) dancing (the second love of his life) with another
man. It should be him leading you
as you follow the complicated steps, that cute, concentrated look on your face, that he’d just love to kiss
away. But instead, it’s Jimin by your side. And
seeing his hands on your waist has something
sprouting in Hoseok’s heart. A seed of… jealousy? It isn’t a feeling he’s used to – it’s odd and constricting, crushing him from the inside, and forcing the air out of his lungs in a long, loud sigh.
“Hey, honey, what’s wrong?” you sink down beside him on the dance studio floor, cheeks pink from practice.
“Nothing,” Hoseok forces a smile, which you see
through with one blink and one shake of your head:
“Come on, you can tell me anything, Hoseok.”
“He’s jealous because you’re dancing with me.” Jimin sends a Cheshire cat grin your way.
Hoseok doesn’t respond, just picks at the laces of his
shoes, and then mutters, “You guys should watch your footwork at the beginning of
the second verse. It gets a little sloppy. Yours especially Jimin.”
Jimin laughs this off. “Oh, I was just about to pack up for
the day… But if you think we need improvement, maybe we should practice for another couple of hours. What do you think, Y/N?”
Hoseok’s ears turn red at Jimin’s teasing. “No,
on second thoughts, I think you’ve done enough for one night.” He slides his hand into yours. “Let’s get out of here, what do you say?” A nod from you, accompanied by a kiss on the nose is all he needs to perk up.
Namjoon: Namjoon has decided to start going to the gym more often. This has nothing to do with the fact that you’re now getting dance
lessons from Jimin. It’s just a weird coincidence that he wants to life more weights after hearing you wax lyrical about your dance partner’s body. (“And then Jimin taught me how to do lifts. He’s so strong. Have you
seen his arms? Wow.”) It isn’t that Namjoon’s self-conscious, but
the thought of you spewing praises over him like you do with Jimin is certainly a good motivation to exercise.
Finally, he’s in a position to say: “Hey babe, check this out,” and
show off his arms, in close-fitting tank tops. This is a sure-fire way to keep
your eyes trained on him, and no one else.
“Have you been working out?” you ask, eyeing him as he flexes.
“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’, looking pleased with himself.
The frown that clouds your features is not the response
he was hoping for. “Is this because of me and Jimin?”
you probe, lips thinning into a straight line.
Namjoon’s smile fades away. “Maybe.”
You shake your head sadly. “Baby, you know that no matter
what I say about the other members, or any other man for that
matter, you’re the only one I’ll want.”
Namjoon did know that. But it’s always nice to hear you say it.
Jimin: Seeing you at dance practice with Jungkook had given Jimin
That’s why, when you come home from work that evening, you’re greeted by a trail of rose petals at the door. A smile curling your lips,
you leave your bag in the hall, and follow the scatterings of pink and crimson to
the living room where Jimin’s standing in a suit, a flower in one hand.
“What’s all this?” you ask, breath releasing in something between a gasp and a sigh.
“I’m teaching you how to ballroom dance,” he announces, eyes
scrunching up as a smile stretches his lips. Crossing the room, he flicks on the stereo,
and a few strains of stringed instruments start up. “Ever since I
saw you dancing with Jungkook, I couldn’t stop feeling
jealous, which is stupid… I know,” he goes on to explain, holding out his hands, which you grab onto, pulling him in until he’s no more than an inch from you, “I decided that teaching you some of the most romantic dances I know would cure me of the green-eyed monster.”
You duck your head, gently bumping your forehead against his
chest. “You know you never have to worry about me spending time with other
“I know. But I worry anyway. Since you’re the most
precious thing I have.” These are the last words he murmurs before the
music drowns all else out, and you get carried away in a flurry of melodies and the golden sparks in your boyfriend’s eyes.
Taehyung: Seeing you dance with another boy makes Taehyung feel… weird.
In the scattered rainbow of disco ball lights he can see your smile growing wide while this guy – who is he, anyway? – spins you around. With those simple gestures,
Taehyung’s heart twists and turns - a writhing dragon, growling to break
free from his rib cage.
There’s only one thing to do.
He strides towards you, pushing through the crowd until he’s by your side, where he feels at home. Then he does the only thing he knows how to do. Making you smile: his specialty. As the music picks up, he moves along with it, limps flapping, head bobbing.
Catching his movements, you grin, and seeing
that he’s made you happy, Taehyung keeps on going, exaggerating his movements, until you’re
bent over with laughter, the other guy completely forgotten. Then you take Taehyung’s hand, and begin to sway with him, lighting up a fire inside him. This is how it should be. Only him. Only you. And no one in between.
Jungkook: Smile. That’s all Jungkook has to do. Smile as he watches you practice with Hoseok for set rehearsal, allowing his heart be pricked like a pincushion, again and again. Smile as your eyes scrunch up, gracing your dance partner with their warmth. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, and that at the end of the day, when
the sun sinks low in the sky, it’ll be you and him going home together,
hands intertwined. But waiting for that moment is torturous. Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Just a few more sets of sixty minutes. He’ll count every one.
You glance his way, as the managers call time-out. Slipping from the group, you run over to him, and satisfy his need with a tight bear hug.
“Hey,” you whisper.
He grins into your shoulder. “Hey.”
You break apart before too many curious eyes dart your way.
It’s not a secret that you’re dating, but you’d rather not parade it around in
front of everyone. There’ll be plenty of time for all the needed touching,
kissing, loving when you’re alone. For now, you give Jungkook’s hand a squeeze that promises: “soon”. Then you’re heading back for another rehearsal.
It’s enough for Jungkook. He’ll keep on smiling till you’re back in his arms again.
“Everyone here wouldn’t say no to a piece of that ass, Murdock.”
For the second time that day, Matt started at her words. Jessica took a sip of her bourbon and waited for him to regroup. It was refreshing to see him all flustered and blushing—a far cry from the snarky smartass who barged into the precinct.
“Thought you didn’t like spreading lies.”
Jessica sighed. “There’s a guy giving death stares across the bar just because I’m talking to you, so let’s cut the shit. You’re eye candy, plain and simple.”
Matt tilted his head to the side, and yep, Jessica was never going to get used to how the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen looked like an attentive puppy when he became a human lie detector.
“So. Is his heart rate up or not?”
“Elevated heart rates in a place like this don’t mean anything,” Matt finally said, waving his hand around the steadily filling bar. “And everyone is a gross exaggeration. I know for a fact you don’t want to maul me in an alleyway.”
Jessica smirked her into her drink. “That’s because you wouldn’t last a goddamn second if I did.”
hi, do you have a post about binding safely? I want to show my mom so she can see that it's not unsafe if you do it right. thanks!
I did try my best to make a comprehensive but not too long Binding 101 post here - and one that can hopefully be read and understood by people who don’t bind & have no desire to bind themselves, at that!
Of course this post won’t include everything, but it should hopefully cover most of the basics. It may not be exactly what you were looking for though, because even when done safely, binding is not ever completely danger-free.
Why do people bind their chest?
There’s more than one reason to bind, of course, but the most common one among trans people is physical gender dysphoria.
The feeling of disconnect or dislike towards a part of your body can be hard to explain in word sometimes, especially since many people experience it in very different ways. But it is a feeling that is draining, that is painful, and that can do tremendous harm to a person’s mental well-being.
So, binding one’s chest in order to hide these parts of our bodies, both from ourselves and from others, can be a hugely relieving and freeing thing. And something that makes life so much more bearable and enjoyable.
How do people bind their chest?
There are many different ways to bind your chest, some more dangerous than others.
Ace bandages (and any other brand of similar bandages) and tape are a no-go if you want to keep yourself safe while binding. They are capable of messing you up pretty seriously even if you only bind with them for a very short time.
However, the best option is to get a binder that is professionally made. [gc2b] is a company that makes binders specifically for trans people and it is where I have got my binders from, but [Underworks] is another popular place that a lot of people buy from. And of course there are many more aside from those two.
Wearing one (1) high compression sports bra in your right size can also be one way to bind you chest. Although keep in mind that they are not designed to be work for longer periods of time and that the lower band of it will put a lot of focused preassure on your ribs (while a binder will distibute it more evenly). Wearing multiple sports bras on top of each other, or wearing ones that are too small for you, is not safe.
When should you not bind your chest?
There are numerous medical conditions that could make binding very unsafe, so if you worry binding may trouble you for those reasons, it could be a good idea to talk to your doctor about it.
I personally have asthma and that makes binding a bit more dangerous for me than for non-asthmatic people, as my breathing is already a bit worse than it should be. So further restricting it by binding is something I would like to avoid doing, which is part of the reason I am working towards getting top surgery to have my breasts removed. Still, the possible dangers of binding are still worth it for me when I weigh them against the certain mental suffering that comes from not binding.
Even for people without medical issues though, there are times when you should not be wearing your binder:
**The given maximum of binding hours per day in one go is 8. But everybody’s body is different, so not everyone can safely bind for that long. Personally I can usually only manage 6 hours before my ribs start to hurt pretty bad. And it’s best to not start with trying to go for the 8 hours limit right away when you get your first binder; it’s better to start binding for a smaller amount of time in the beginning and the gradually increase it over time, to allow your body time to adapt to it.
***Binders can be difficult to get out of on your own sometimes, especially in the beginning when you haven’t yet figured out the best way to do it. So in the beginning, it is best to only bind when you have other people around that can help you out of your binder in case you would need help getting it off.
How do you take care of your binder?
Binders will get worn out over time, just like any other piece of clothing. However, it may be more noticable in binders than in regular clothes, as their compression ability will visibly get worse and worse the more worn out it gets. Getting a new binder about once a year is usually recommended, but it really depends on how much you wear it.
You should wash your binder regularly. Doing this might actually help it last longer, depending on the style of it.
Some have tags that say they are machine-wash safe, in which case you could absolutely wash them that way. But personally I always handwash mine, just to make sure they’re not unnecessarily
I use a small amount of mild detergent and cold water. Spend a lot of time rinsing it out afterwards with just water, to make sure there is no, or at least no big amount of, detergent left in it. Then I carefully scrunch it up into a ball to get as much water out as possible (don’t twist, because you don’t want to stretch the fabric) and then hang it on a hanger over the bathtub to let it drip and dry completely overnight.
For the style of binder I have (the gc2b ones), washing it regularly in cold water helps the fabric retain some of its elasticity. Which is something that can help it bind better for longer.
It may be ideal to wash it after everytime you’ve worn it and sweated in it, to prevent it from irritating your skin, but washing it just once a week is enough if you can’t do it more often than that.
What are the dangers of binding your chest?
Binding will inevetably wear out the elasticity of your skin and the breast tissue in your chest area after a while. How long it takes varies from person to person, as everybody’s body is different. But you will likely notice some difference within the first year if you bind a lot. This has little to no known actual dangerous side-effects in itself, but it will make your chest sag more and may affect how the result of top surgery looks if you plan on getting that in the future, as well as affect what types of surgeries you can get.
Even safe binding will likely give you some aches in your ribs, back and shoulders. But it is still best to take your binder off and give your body a break once you start feeling pain.
Excessive and unsafe binding comes with a lot of dangers:
Difficulty breathing, which can lead to fainting and, if binder is not removed, suffocating.
Extremely irritated skin.
Damaged (bruised, sprained, brokwn) ribs.
Damaged lungs (if punctured by a broken rib).
These things can usually be avoided as long as you bind safely, however.
How do you know if the pain/side-effects you get from binding is normal or not? When should you be worried?
Listen to your body and learn to interpret its signals. Everyone has different pain thresholds and everybody’s body has different limits, after all. So you will need to learn your own.
But some general signs and side-effects, normal and not, are as follows:
Sore arms, shoulders, neck and/or back. This soreness may linger for a a couple of hours after you take the binder off, or not show up until the day after. It should go away completely after 2 days without binding.
Getting a bit out of breathe after having climbed a set of stairs or similar. Although you should still be able to catch your breathe again without too much difficulty.
Some chafting under your arms.
Increased chest and back acne.
Slight anxiety caused by feeling restricted.
Not normal, take the binder off as soon as you can and see a doctor if the symptoms don’t go away within a couple of days:
Difficulty breathing, especially if even after you’ve taken the binder off.
Not able to take deep breathes, cough or sneeze.
Sharp pain in chest or ribs.
Lightheadedness, feeling like you’re about to faint.
Losing vision, having your ears ringing or getting a tingling sensation in your fingers, even if just for a moment. (Often signs that you are about to faint.)
Feeling too sore/too restricted/too tired to do everyday activities that you could do without problems before you started binding.
Numbness in arms.
Nausea during or after binding.
Not normal, go see a doctor as soon as you can, could be signs of a serious injury:
Any of the symptoms from the list above, if you are feeling very worried about them. Better safe than sorry.
Not able to breathe at all.
Blueness in your libs or fingertips.
Sudden intense bursts of claustrophobia and/or panick attacks, especially if you do no get those when not binding.
Noticable change in ribcage shape.
Wow, that’s a lot of dangers. Is it really worth it?
For many people, including me: yes.
Like I said in the beginning, there are many reasons for why people bind. But mine is dysphoria, so that is the only thing I can talk about here.
Dysphoria is not a joking matter. It is often a very intense and painful kind of suffering. And taking these risks is often still better than having to deal with the dysphoria that we have when we are not binding.
This may be difficult to understand if you are not dysphoric yourself. But please try to understand that people would not knowingly be taking these risks if we didn’t feel like we needed to.
A/N: So, for
those who didn’t see my update, I totally broke my computer and lost
everything, so I need to re-type all of my fics… FML, right? I’m
gunna use my mom’s computer, but it’s a piece of shit! Thank you for
being patient with me! I wrote this short, little fic to hold you over until I
can retype everything! Xoxo!
Anyways, I was on YouTube, watching “Momma has a breakdown!
Unseen Moments!” from KKandBabyJ’s family vlog (Karen and Khoa with their
babies: Jackson and Landon) and Karen was crying from pregnancy hormones and
that clip in the video gave me this idea!
Shitty Summary: Reader
is 35 weeks pregnant. There are tears. Lots of tears.
“Seriously, child? Again?” You muttered at your belly, making
your way to the bathroom.
This was your fourth trip to the bathroom since you had
gotten back from the grocery store, a few hours prior.
The baby that was nestled within your belly was supposedly
the size of a Honeydew Melon, but it felt like someone had put a fucking
bowling ball in your uterus and was trying to crush your bladder. Damn you, Steve Rogers, for your Michael
Phelps swimmers. You had to pee all
the time! Your boobs hurt, you had stretchmarks starting to form on your
body, you couldn’t see your feet anymore, and when you sneezed, you’d pee. When
you laughed, you’d pee. When you’d cough… You’d
Where the fuck is this
beautiful glow people fucking rave about?
You and Steve had just gotten married when you had found out
that you were pregnant. You hadn’t realized, because you had been on birth control,
but you kept getting morning sickness and were tired all the time. So, you went to your doctor, who confirmed you were
pregnant. (That was when you remembered that you had missed your appointment
for a birth control shot by a week, due to a mission.) You were so excited that
you ran to the store, bought a Captain America baby onesie, and gave it to him
as a gift.
He burst into tears when he understood what it meant.
He was so excited that he called a team meeting and blabbed
to everyone. He couldn’t contain his excitement,
and almost announced it without you in the room.
Now, at 35 weeks, you were miserable.
Still excited, but miserable.
Your pregnancy hormones were insane. You cried all the time. What didn’t help, was you
also had effects from the super soldier serum that was running through your
child’s veins. You were constantly breaking things. What sucked was that was
the only effect. You were still clumsy, emotional, tired, and the baby broke
one of your ribs from kicking. The only thing you got from the serum was the
ability to break shit.
“Y/n, honey, the team is back!” Steve called from the other
room. “The guys and I are going to watch the game in the living room!”
You washed your hands and waddled back into the communal
kitchen to grab your bottled water. You leaned your hands against the counter
as the baby shifted around in your belly. “Jesus, kid, get any bigger and you’ll
be exploding out of me.” You grunted, taking in a sharp, painful breath as the
baby’s foot grazed your rib. “Ow! Fuck.” You continued to take deep breaths, leaning
forward to press your forehead against the counter.
“You okay, Y/n?” Natasha asked from the doorway to the
kitchen – running to you once she saw you hunched over, rubbing a soothing hand
up and down your spine.
“I’m fine.” You sighed, standing back up, “The baby just
kicked me in the ribs.”
She chuckled, moving her hand so it rested on your swollen
belly, “You hurry up and grow, so you can stop giving Auntie Nat a heart
attack.” She looked up at you, “Want to go watch the guys fight over the game?”
“Yeah, sure, let me just bring the cookies I made earlier.”
You smiled, waddling into the pantry, “The baby wants cookies. Not sure where he
gets it from.” You joked, full knowing that the sugar loving came from Steve.
You were more of a salt lover.
gasped in astonishment, “I thought you wanted to keep it a surprise?”
“I did.” You said, sheepishly taking a bite of a cookie and
setting the plate on the counter, “But I couldn’t wait. So, now it is a
surprise to everybody but you, me, and my doctor.” You smiled down at your son
nestled in your belly, “I can’t wait to see Steve’s reaction when the baby is
She chuckled, walking over and wrapping you in her small,
muscular arms, “So much for naming your child after me. Nathaniel is already
You shook your head with a laugh, “Clint already named his
kid after you. You’re getting greedy.”
Picking the plate back up, you guys made your way through
the kitchen – you much slower than Nat – and into the living area where the men
were crowded onto the couches, already yelling over the game. You were mid-bite
when, suddenly, something slammed into your leg. Fucking coffee table! Letting out a yelp, you squeezed the plate
and it shattered in your hand. The pieces went crashing to the floor and
Natasha’s arms were steadying you, since your balance was off.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Steve jumped off the couch,
running over as the group of men paused the game and stood up in a panic.
“My cookies!” You shrieked,
tears pricking at your eyes. Oh, god. Don’t
cry. Don’t cry.
Natasha let out a breathy laugh of relief, letting go to pick up the
shattered pieces of the plate.
You burst into tears.
“I’m sorry!” You cried, covering your face with your hands
as the sobs started getting borderline hysterical. “I made those cookies for
you guys, too!”
Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards the
kitchen, “Don’t worry about the cookies, Doll. We can make more.” He walked you
both over to the chairs in the kitchen and sat down in one, pulling you onto
his lap, “Shh. It’s alright.”
You threw your arms around his waist and hid your face in
his sweater as the hormonal sobs started to get worse. You couldn’t stop
crying. You didn’t even know why you were crying so hard, but you felt like
there were still so many things to cry about.
It was confusing.
Which made you
“Hey,” He murmured, wrapping his arms around you tighter and
planting a kiss on your temple, “Why are you crying like this?” You tried to
answer, but your voice was muffled by his sweater. “I didn’t hear a word of
what you just said, doll.”
You turned your face a little so your messy, red face was
slightly visible, “There are so many things, Steve!” You wailed, feeling a
headache coming on, “I broke the plate, the c-coffee table is in a bad spot, I
dropped t-the cookies, I can’t see my feet, it was raining t-today, and I can’t
find my favorite pajama pants… I- I- I just-” You turned your face back into
his sweater as the sobs got louder and more hysterical.
“That’s why you’re
crying?” He chuckled, running his hand soothingly up and down your back.
“It’s not funny!” You whined against his chest, trying to
wipe the steady stream of tears leaking from your eyes with your hand, “These
are real issues, Steve!”
He closed his mouth, opting to press a kiss against the top
of your head, instead. Then, he moved his mouth close to your ear, “I’m sorry
for laughing, doll.”
“You should be.” You pouted, shifting so that your ear was
against his chest to hear his heartbeat. You sniffed, wiping under your nose
with your sleeve as your sobs turned to hiccups.
“I love you.” He brushed your hair away from your face,
placing another kiss on your forehead.
Stop being cute, you
“I love you, too.” You sniffled, closing your eyes as the
tears finally stopped, “Even if you turned me into an incubator who can’t see
her own feet and cries a lot.”
He laughed, and suddenly there was a scrape of a chair being
pulled up next to you.
It was Bucky. “I brought you my secret stash of cookies.” He
whispered, handing you a package of Girl Scout cookies. “Don’t tell Sam.”
You felt tears prick at your eyes, again. “Oh my gosh, Girl
Scout cookies!” The crying started in, once again. Fucking hormones.
“Come on, man, I just got her to stop crying!” Steve
complained, rolling his head back in exasperation.
You slapped him on the shoulder, “These are happy tears, you
jerk!” You turned to Bucky, grabbing his hand – the vibranium one – and smiling,
“Thank you, Bucky.”
“Does this mean you are naming your kid after me?” He asked
with a wink, squeezing your hand gently in comfort.
“Hey!” You hear Nat shout from the living area, “They are
naming their kid after me!”
“You already have a kid named after you!” He shouted back, getting
up and walking into the room to argue with her.
“We aren’t naming him after Bucky, either.” You rolled your
“Wait!” Steve gasped, leaning back to look at you in shock, “Him?”
“Shit!” You yelled, covering your face with your hands in
shame, “I was going to keep it a surprise!” Cue
the tears. God DAMMIT, Y/n! Stop it!
His look of astonishment turned into glee, “I’m having a
son!” His blue eyes were a little misty, and his thousand dollar smile was filled with happiness.
“Yes, you’re having a son.” You said with watery eyes, and a
wobbly smile after seeing the look of pure joy on his face. “I was thinking of
naming him Grant.” You wiped your hot face with your sleeve, finally getting
the stupid crying under control, “He could be named after his dad. Grant
“Hey!” You hear Bucky and Natasha shout from the living
You let out a laugh, and Steve pressed his lips against
yours in a long – but chaste – kiss, moving a hand down to where your son was
resting in your swollen belly. “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you.” You replied, laying your head back down on his
chest while he caressed your belly. “And you, little Grant Rogers.”
“What about Grant Nathaniel Rogers?” Natasha yelled, a laugh
in her voice.
Tags: (I do permanent tags, if you want to join the party! *wink*)
They’re both stupidly awkward about their relationship. Like, not uncomfortable silences or aborted conversations or anything angsty and painful like that, but rather, they both fumble and stutter and get flustered as all Hell about each other constantly.
Lance is always acting flirty and ridiculous, which is easy enough for Keith to brush off or roll his eyes at, and thus maintain his composure, but any genuine moments of affection between the two of them (ex: Lance kissing him all slow and sweet, Lance genuinely and sweetly complimenting him, Lance saying “I love you,” etc.) tend to have Keith blushing like crazy and trying (and failing miserably) to hide his embarrassment and enamored-ness.
Keith has never been a very romantic person, so he often doesn’t really do any of the big or cheesy romantic gestures that Lance will sometimes go in for, but the fact it doesn’t happen often only makes Lance stammer more and turn redder when Keith just casually holds his hand or gives him a peck on the cheek, never mind really big gestures and/or surprises (Lance is a TOMATO).
The whole team calls them gross. The teasing never stops.