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tam [she/her] counterpart to my dino oc bigs (she's the one who nicknamed her that, lol). australopithecus / unemployed computer programmer with a gambling addiction
(the two of them are "roommates", in the sense that they're squatting in an abandoned warehouse together)
Hi hi! Could you maybe write the gachiakuta cast reacting to reader who has adrenergic urticaria (basically getting hives when stressed)? I have that, and people always freak out until i explain it, lol
Cute little headcanons about Gachiakuta men reacting to and taking care of you when stress makes you break out in hivesâcourtesy of Anon, who has this.
hope you donât mind my choice of characters! I wasnât certain which ones you wanted, so I went with the ones I liked.
ââââââ ⥠written with care ⥠ââââââ
â StrawberyLover đ
âď¸ âĄ Tamsy ⥠âď¸
Tamsy notices the hives before you even register the stress fully yourself.
He always does.
Itâs not concern that flashes across his face firstâitâs assessment. A brief, sharp look that takes in the spreading redness of your skin, the way your breathing has changed, the tension sitting in your shoulders. He doesnât ask immediately. He waits, watching, letting the moment reveal itself before he steps in.
When he does speak, his voice is calm. Almost gentle.
âStress response?â he asks quietly, already knowing the answer.
Once you explain adrenergic urticariaâhow adrenaline and stress trigger itâhe nods like heâs filing away a useful fact. From that point on, everything changes, though you might not notice it right away.
Tamsy becomes very good at managing your environment.
Arguments around you die before they start. People who raise their voices near you are smoothly redirected, pulled into other conversations, given other tasks. Stressful situations somehow resolve themselves faster when youâre involved, and you canât always tell whyâonly that Tamsy had been nearby beforehand, murmuring something low and persuasive into the right personâs ear.
If someone reacts poorly to your hivesâstares too long, asks invasive questionsâTamsy handles it with unsettling ease. He explains just enough to stop panic, frames it in a way that makes the other person feel foolish for overreacting, then subtly ensures they donât do it again. Not by threats. By social pressure. By implication. By making it clear that upsetting you is inconvenient.
Romantically, his care is possessive in a quiet, deliberate way.
When the hives flare, he positions himself closeânot touching unless you allow it, but undeniably present. His hand might rest near yours, close enough to feel the warmth, grounding you without drawing attention. He speaks softly, slow and steady, guiding your breathing down without explicitly telling you to calm down.
âEasy,â he murmurs. âYouâre safe. Nothing needs your attention right now.â
And somehow, you believe him.
Whatâs unsettlingâand comfortingâis realizing that he means it. When youâre stressed, Tamsy doesnât just support you emotionally; he removes the sources of that stress entirely. Sometimes without you ever knowing. Sometimes in ways that toe the line between protection and control.
Later, when the hives fade and youâre calmer, he allows himself small, intimate gestures. A hand at your back. A quiet check-in spoken only for you. He never calls your condition a burden. Never treats it like weakness. Instead, he treats it like something that must be managed carefullyâlike you are something precious and volatile at the same time.
If you ever confront him about how much he interferes, how much he manipulates situations for your sake, he doesnât deny it.
âI know,â he says simply. âBut it works.â
And the unsettling truth isâit does.
Loving Tamsy means being cared for in ways you donât always see. It means trusting that when your body reacts to stress, heâs already three steps ahead, reshaping the world so it hurts you lessâeven if the methods are morally gray.
Especially because the one thing he never manipulates is you.
Only everyone else.
âď¸ âĄ Corvus ⥠âď¸
Corvus notices before anyone else reacts.
He doesnât rush. He doesnât raise his voice. He simply shifts closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the subtle signsâthe way your shoulders tense, the quickening of your breath, the faint bloom of red across your skin. Stress, adrenaline, fear. He recognizes the pattern quickly.
When the hives appear, his expression doesnât change much, but his attention sharpens completely.
He doesnât ask whatâs wrong in front of others. Instead, he creates space firstâguiding you away with a gentle hand at your elbow, positioning his body so others naturally give you room. Only once youâre somewhere quieter does he speak, voice low and steady.
âIs this the stress response you told me about?â
When you confirm, Corvus nods once, already adjusting. From then on, his focus is on grounding you. He speaks slowly, deliberately, guiding your breathing without making it obvious. His presence is calm in a way that forces your body to follow, adrenaline easing as you mirror his pace.
Romantically, Corvus is attentive without being overwhelming.
He stays close, close enough that you can feel him there without feeling watched. If your skin is irritated, he asks before touchingâbut when you allow it, his touch is careful and reassuring, thumb brushing your wrist or knuckles in slow, rhythmic motions meant to anchor you.
If someone reacts poorlyâpanic, staring, too many questionsâCorvus handles it efficiently. One look, one measured sentence, and the situation diffuses. He doesnât explain more than necessary, and he never lets you become the center of attention. Protecting your dignity matters just as much as protecting your health.
Later, when things are calmer, Corvus checks in quietly. Not with dramatics. Not with fussing. Just a simple, âAre you feeling better?â asked in a way that makes it clear heâll adapt either way.
Heâs thoughtful about your limits. He encourages rest without framing it as weakness, suggests alternatives without pushing. If stress is unavoidable, he stays beside you through itâsteady, unshakable, a constant point of calm in a chaotic environment.
Corvus doesnât try to control your reactions or eliminate every stressor. He knows thatâs impossible. Instead, he becomes something reliable when your body betrays youâsomeone whose presence lowers the temperature of the room, whose quiet care reminds you that youâre not facing it alone.
With him, the world feels slower. Safer.
And when the hives fade, the warmth of his hand lingers a little longer, like a promise that heâll be there the next time, too.
âď¸ âĄ Rudo ⥠âď¸
(Platonic | Same age)
Rudo doesnât get it at first.
Not because he doesnât careâbecause he doesâbut because your condition doesnât make sense to him in the way injuries usually do. Thereâs no obvious wound, no blood, no clear cause he can punch or break. One moment youâre tense, the next your skin flares up, red and angry, and Rudo just stares at it with a tight knot in his chest.
âDid someone do that to you?â he asks immediately, voice sharp.
When you explainâstress, adrenaline, your body reacting to dangerâhe listens, jaw clenched, hands balling into fists. He doesnât interrupt. He doesnât joke. His anger just shifts direction, away from you and toward the world that keeps putting pressure on you.
After that, Rudo becomes very serious about stress.
Not in a subtle way. In a Rudo way.
He starts checking in constantly, especially before missions or risky situations.
âYou good?â
âYou sure?â
âYou donât have to do this if itâs too much.â
Heâs not smooth about it, and sometimes he asks at the worst moments, but itâs always genuine.
When the hives flare, Rudoâs instinct is to get you out of there. He physically puts himself between you and whateverâs causing the stressâdanger, shouting, tensionâlike itâs obvious that the solution is distance. If someoneâs yelling, he snaps back at them. If things start getting heated, he drags you away without asking, muttering about how stupid everyone is.
He doesnât care if people think heâs overreacting.
Rudo sits with you when the reaction peaks, restless but refusing to leave. He paces, cracks his knuckles, grumbles under his breath, clearly frustrated that thereâs nothing he can do. But when you tell him just staying helps, he plants himself beside you, stiff and awkward, like standing guard is the only thing he knows how to offer.
If anyone stares at your hives or makes a comment, Rudo immediately takes it personally. âWhat are you looking at?â is a warning, not a question. He doesnât explain your condition for youâbut he makes it very clear that disrespect wonât fly.
Once the stress fades and your skin starts to calm, Rudo relaxes too, tension draining from his shoulders. He never treats it like a weakness. If anything, it makes him angrier at the circumstances that caused it.
âYou didnât do anything wrong,â he tells you once, blunt and firm. âThis place just sucks.â
And somehow, that simple honesty helps more than anything else.
Rudo doesnât have the words, or the patience, or the finesseâbut heâs loyal to the bone. When your body reacts to stress, he reacts to protect you, no questions asked, no conditions, just stubborn, unwavering support from someone who refuses to let the world push you around alone.
âď¸ âĄ Enjin ⥠âď¸
Enjin panics the first time it happens.
Not quietly. Not internally. Full, visible panic.
One second youâre fine, the next stress spikesâvoices too loud, danger too close, adrenaline flooding your systemâand suddenly hives bloom across your skin. Red, angry, unmistakable. Enjin freezes for half a heartbeat, then swears under his breath and is at your side immediately.
âHeyâhey, whatâs wrong? Did something hit you? Are you hurt?â
His hands hover uselessly at first, unsure whether touching you will help or make it worse. He looks furiousânot at you, but at the situation, the environment, the world that dared trigger this reaction in you.
When you explainâbreathless but trying to stay calmâthat itâs adrenergic urticaria, that stress does this, that youâre not dyingâhe listens hard. Too hard. Like every word is being branded into his brain.
After that, Enjin becomes⌠aggressively attentive.
He doesnât manipulate like. He doesnât plan ahead. He reacts. Fast. Loud. Sometimes recklessly.
Anything that spikes your stress immediately becomes a problem in his eyes. Raised voices? He shuts them down. Arguments? He steps in. Danger approaching too fast? He positions himself in front of you without even thinking. Heâs not subtle about it, and he doesnât care who notices.
âBack off,â he snaps at someone once when they wonât stop staring at your hives. âTheyâre fine.â
Romantically, Enjin is all feeling. When youâre stressed and your skin flares, he stays close, constantly checking your face, your breathing, your posture. He keeps talkingânot always about anything important, but enough to anchor you. Jokes, rambling observations, stupid comments meant to pull your focus away from the panic.
âYou good? Yeah? Okay, coolâhey, did I ever tell you about the time I almost fell into a pit because Rudo dared meââ
It works more often than not.
If youâre overwhelmed, he doesnât ask you to explain yourself again. He trusts you. If you say you need space, he gives itâbut he stays within sight. If you say you need him, heâs there immediately, arm brushing yours, solid and grounding.
He hates that he canât fix it.
You catch him glaring at the fading hives later like heâs offended by their existence. Like if he stares long enough, theyâll learn not to come back. Thereâs frustration thereâbut also guilt. He worries that heâs part of the problem. That his chaos, his recklessness, might be stressing you out more than helping.
When you reassure him, he laughs it offâbut the care doesnât fade.
Enjin loves loudly. Protectively. Imperfectly.
When stress hits and your body reacts, Enjin becomes your shieldânot by controlling the world, but by standing between you and it, fists clenched, heart wide open, daring anything to try and hurt you again.
And somehow, with him there, it feels easier to breathe.
âď¸ âĄ Jabber⥠âď¸
Jabber notices the hives almost immediatelyâbut he doesnât respond with panic or overly sweet care. Instead, he squints, cocks his head, and blurts out something teasing.
âWell, thatâs⌠new. You getting all blotchy on me, huh?â
Heâs teasing, sharp, chaoticâlike everything has to be a joke at firstâbut itâs his way of checking in. He watches you carefully under the guise of humor, always just close enough to make sure youâre not in danger without admitting that heâs paying full attention.
When your stress spikes and the hives bloom, he might mock-whine, âUgh, gross! Donât do this in front of me!ââbut his movements are precise. Heâll grab your hand lightly if he thinks youâll panic, or nudge you toward a quieter space, all while making commentary thatâs half teasing, half⌠oddly reassuring.
Romantically, Jabberâs care is subtle and unpredictable. He wonât sit still and hold you, but heâll stay near, leaning over a shoulder, whispering sarcastic but comforting things, or even distracting you with nonsense until your adrenaline slows. He might make faces, pull funny expressions, or mutter âstupid stress, stupid hivesâ under his breath while keeping a watchful eye.
If someone else notices and freaks out, Jabber doesnât politely explain. He snarls under his breath, muttering, âChill. You wouldnât get it anyway,â in a way that makes it obvious: youâre his problem, and he doesnât want anyone else interfering. He doesnât need anyone to understandâhe's enough.
Even as your flare fades, he doesnât relax immediately. He sits near you, one arm lazily draped over the back of the chair or across your shoulders, watching you with that sharp, mischievous gaze. He might make little jabs, like,
âYo you look ridiculous, you know that? But somehow, cute too.â
His teasing voice is soft now, almost protective, a subtle contrast to his usual chaotic energy. He keeps you close, making sure you can breathe, making sure the world wonât intrude while you recover.
With Jabber, the world may feel messy, unpredictable, and loudâbut when the hives flare, you realize something important: in the chaos, there is someone who will always notice, always react, always keep you close. And even if his methods are unorthodox, even if his words sting with teasing, his presence is constant, loyal, and somehow deeply comforting.
Even after everything calms, he stays nearby, hands ready to catch you, arms ready to pull you close, eyes always watching. He doesnât need to say it out loudâhis chaotic devotion does the talking for him.
âď¸ âĄ Zanka ⥠âď¸
Zanka notices the subtle signs before anyone elseâyour shoulders stiffen, your fingers tremble slightly, the way your gaze flicks away when your body reacts to stress. Outwardly, he keeps his usual calm, serious demeanor: arms crossed, voice clipped, eyes narrowed.
But inwardly, heâs working through a storm of thoughts. Heâs worried, yes, but he also wonders if heâs doing enough, if heâs strong enough to help you, if heâs capable of protecting you the way he wants.
When the hives start, he doesnât panic. He doesnât yell or flail. Instead, he approaches with measured steps, the weight of his presence serious and deliberate. His voice is blunt, low, and just enough to be grounding:
âStop fidgeting. Sit down.â
Itâs not gentle, but it carries authorityâa way to make the chaos manageable without adding to it. He crouches slightly, eyes scanning your body, observing the pattern of the hives, the tension in your muscles.
He doesnât comment on the hives themselves; heâs focused on how to help, quietly calculating, all while managing the turbulence he hides beneath the surface.
Romantically, Zankaâs care is a delicate balance of restraint and intensity. He wonât hover or coddle you openly, but he stays close, his body subtly shielding you, fingers brushing your arm occasionally to anchor you without overstepping.
He mutters sarcastic remarks under his breathââGreat, just what I needed, more chaosââbut thereâs concern behind the sarcasm, and you feel it. When you flinch or try to downplay the discomfort, he frowns sharply, voice clipped:
âDonât pretend itâs nothing. I can tell.â
His inward struggle shows here: he doesnât want to seem weak, and he doesnât want to overstep, but he hates the thought of you hurting while he does nothing. Every small gestureâmoving your blanket, offering a drink, adjusting your positionâis precise, almost rigid, but meant entirely to comfort and protect.
If someone else notices your hives and reacts poorly, Zanka doesnât lose his composure outwardly, but inwardly, heâs boiling. His glare is sharp, cutting, and he mutters a sarcastic remark under his breath, the kind only someone close to him would understand.
âIdiots⌠canât even keep their mouths shut.â
He positions himself subtly but effectively, shielding you without drawing unnecessary attention. If you allow him, he might take your hand, not openly holding it like a show of affection, but in a firm, grounding way, fingers laced just enough to anchor you when the stress spikes.
After the flare fades, Zanka doesnât immediately relax. He keeps close, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes, measuring your reactions, making sure the world hasnât left another mark on you. He asks bluntly, in his serious tone:
âYou good now?â
And if you say yes, he nods, but inside heâs still restless, thinking of how to prevent it next time, how to help better, how to do moreâeven if he wonât admit it. He might mutter sarcastic comments like,
âDonât let it happen again. Seriously.â
âŚbut thereâs a softness behind them, a subtle layer of romantic care thatâs easy to miss if you donât know him.
With Zanka, care is always serious, blunt, and tinged with sarcasm, but itâs underlined by intense loyalty and quiet emotional investment.
He may not overtly coddle or dramatize his concern, but when the world is overwhelming and your body reacts violently to stress, heâs thereâwatching, calculating, anchoring, and willing to shoulder his own insecurities to make sure youâre safe.
Even when he turns back to his usual stern demeanor, you can feel the undercurrent of devotion, the turbulent care hiding behind the calm, sarcastic mask. Thatâs Zankaâs loveâquiet, blunt, intense, and entirely his own.
Lady Gisela bringing tam into the neverseen was really funny to me because istg she was like "hm, bringing keefe into our organisation didn't work out... let's get the emo keefe"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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