#two midols and a dream

[chasiufan]

It’s his second day /;

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

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Tag List:

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[catdiarie]

☥  ˖ִ ࣪ 🦇 icyhot.　⠀p. parker & t. stark . . .

( ♱ ) … ftm!peter hates his period. tony orders him to relax and take it easy. (tw: injury)

777 。。masterlist

Peter hates the school bus. He sits somewhere in the middle, mostly surrounded by little kids that like to scream at 7 in the morning and have an obsession with pulling all their belongings out from their bags and dropping them all across their seats and into the aisle. Peter won’t pick up another water bottle, he refuses. The back of the bus, though, has the older kids, from his grade and just below. They play inappropriate music, don’t stop gossiping, and make fun of everyone they can. Including him. 

With a groan, Peter slides down further into his seat. Everything just aches, from his throbbing temples to his binder-wrapped chest to his toes. There’s nothing to make it go away either, he ran out of Midol two days ago and hasn’t been able to get more since. God, he hopes that it’ll be a little quieter in school. He pops his headphones in—StarkTech, noise-cancelling dialed to 11 for his spider sensitivities—and dreams of being anywhere but on a creaking yellow bus filled with people he can’t stand.

The rest of the drive passes in a pain-filled haze. Several times Peter contemplates crying, the ache in his body worsening. He’s not sick, he knows that much. Took his temperature this morning and everything. It doesn’t matter so much, though, because he knows exactly what’s wrong and just can’t bear to admit it. He disembarks the bus, rounds to his locker, and meets up with Ned and MJ.

“You sure you’re alright, dude?” Ned asks again, concern painted clearly across his face.

“Yeah, I’m good. I promise,” Peter reassures him, even as a wave of nausea curls in his gut. As nice as it is that Ned cares, Peter would rather jump off the school than talk about this. He doesn’t want it to be happening, let alone let other people know that it’s happening. 

“Well, if you need anything, ask,” MJ says. The way she looks at him says she’s already got it all figured out. He smiles at her, tight and closed-lipped, in thanks. Unless he’s literally bleeding out across the floor, Peter doubts he’ll be asking for anything. “And drink hot things. Might help you feel better. But no caffeine,” she tacks on casually. 

Ned squints, looking between them like they’re speaking in code without him. “Right, what MJ said. Just ask! We can even fake an emergency and have you called out.”

“Thanks, guys,” Peter replies genuinely. “I appreciate it.”

And he does, is the thing. It just makes him feel a hundred times shittier that he can’t bring himself to tell them. It’s not even their business, really, he reassures himself. But, on the other hand, they wouldn’t have to worry. Or, Ned wouldn’t. MJ knows—she always knows. They head to class, Ned and MJ splitting off towards English while Peter heads for Calculus. 

Peter makes it until lunch, where he dramatically collapses into a chair beside MJ and, embarrassed and annoyed, asks for some Advil. He pops two and washes them down with water, watching as Ned comes back from getting his lunch.

“There was some girl, a freshman I think, up there getting her lunch and she started arguing that it’s stupid she has to take a fruit if she won’t eat it and that it makes more sense to leave it for someone who will eat it,” Ned relays the second he sits down. 

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Peter replies as he pulls the lid off his applesauce. His stomach is still queasy, but people have always been on him about the importance of eating when you feel horrible. “Kind of wasteful, really. They only make you do it because it’s required for them to hit all the food groups.”

The conversation tumbles into talk about assignments, upcoming tests, and, inevitably, questions about Spider-Man or Tony. 

“I still can’t believe you just, like, go to SI whenever you want and just use the labs—you use Tony Stark’s personal lab,” Ned exclaims. “It’s crazy.”

Peter chuckles and grins. “It’s kind of my lab, too. I have my own workbench and all. I have a whole space to make my web fluid, too.”

“So, when are we going to be invited?” MJ asks. “Since you live there half the time and all.”

“I don’t—I don’t live there,” Peter splutters. “I only go there when May works late or I need fixing up for Spider-Man or—”

“Peter, that’s half your life,” Ned interrupts. “MJ’s kind of right. When do we get to—”

“Shut up,” Peter laughs.  “Look, I don’t know. Mr. Stark’s a busy man.”

“Bet you’re going over there tonight,” MJ replies. She grins smugly when Peter flushes bright red.

“I hate you guys,” Peter complains. 

“Nah, you love us,” MJ says. “Not our fault you’re so predictable.”

Though lunch and the Advil brought relief, Peter is quickly back to feeling shitty again. By the time the final bell of the day rings, his entire body aches so horribly he thinks he might collapse. His chest is overly sore and he almost can’t pick between whether he should keep binding or not (he shouldn’t; it’s been eight hours).

The bus ride home is worse than the one to school was. Peter does cry this time, hood pulled tight over his head and earbuds snug in his ears. His intestines have tied themselves in knots. Nothing feels okay and it’s all just on the tipping side of too much. Peter has been hurt worse, but somehow, this feels like a kind of emotional and physical torture tied into one and topped with an ugly, garish bow.

When Peter gets home he collapses onto his bed and contemplates spending the rest of the night there. His duty to Spider-Man and promise to drop by to see Tony override his exhaustion. He pulls himself out of bed and suits up for patrol (sans binder—because his pain is worse than his gender dysphoria right now—but with layered sports bras and the compression of the suit). 

It goes to shit instantly, because the universe has had it out for Peter Parker since his birth. He nearly gets shot by a bank robber within the first hour of patrol and gets slammed into a wall so many times by the same guy trying to steal a car that he should be in jail for that as well. He helps a teenager with directions towards the subway station and a little girl catch her dog who’s run off down the street.

The next person he meets is a mercenary. Peter’s come face-to-face with them before—Deadpool is surprisingly sweet and always nice to him—but this one is out for blood of every kind. Peter’s energy has been steadily waning ever since he woke up, and a few Advil can only boost you so far. By the time the criminal is webbed up tightly to the wall, Peter’s sustained a gash to the thigh which is steadily leaking blood. 

Guilty as he feels about it, Peter makes the decision that patrol is over for the night. He sprays webbing over the wound and swings his way to Stark Industries. 

—

“Welcome, Peter,” FRIDAY says, voice ringing out as Peter drags himself through a window into the tower’s second living room—the one for Starks only. Climbing the tower is never fun, but it becomes significantly less enjoyable when it hurts like hell to put weight on one of your legs. “Would you like me to alert Boss to your presence?”

“Yes, please, FRIDAY,” Peter gets out through gritted teeth. He drags himself over to the couch and collapses onto it, fully drained of the last bit of adrenalized-energy he has. His fingers scramble at the edge of his mask as he attempts to pull it off, clumsy with pain. 

Tony walks into the room not five minutes later and by then Peter is teetering on the edge of passing out. His breaths are shallow, chest aching if he takes too deep of one. Tears are dried tacky on his cheeks and he’s just so fucking—embarassed. He’s a superhero. He shouldn’t be knocked down because of a slight knife wound and his period. 

Tony takes one look at him and says, “Oh, kid,” before Peter starts sobbing. 

Peter is helped to the bathroom—freakishly lavish and sparkling clean—where he strips out of his suit and switches into the change of clothes (soft sweatpants and one of Tony’s old shirts) that Tony brings him. They set about his wound next, Tony cleaning it and wrapping it in gauze while Peter sits on the closed toilet. He refused a doctor—not willing to suffer the embarrassment of being seen by one without his binder, even Dr. Cho—and Tony deemed the wound not deep enough to be in need of stitches. 

By the time they finish, Peter is a little more alert but still feels like his muscles are throbbing and the lingering embarrassment and shame haven’t gone away. Just as Tony tosses the first aid kit back below the sink, Peter’s stomach growls. He doesn’t have the gall to even be embarrassed about it; he hasn’t eaten since lunch and it’s now well into the evening. 

“Suit, gone. Wound, patched. Food, next up on the list,” Tony says, flashing Peter a reassuring grin. Peter grins back, much weaker and lacking…anything. He sways back and forth slightly, head feeling as though it’s too heavy to hold up. “Hey, hey, hey.”

Tony catches him just before he can fall. His face is scrunched up in worry and he presses the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead. He frowns and says, “You’re burning up. What else happened, just the leg wound or something else?”

Peter shrugs weakly, unwilling still to talk about it. He doesn’t want to tell Tony he’s on his period, even if it would be nice to get some medicine and maybe a heating pad or hot water bottle. 

“Want to take anything?” Tony pulls open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. “Let’s see, Tylenol, Advil, Midol—”

“Midol,” Peter interrupts. “Please.”

Tony tosses the packet to him without question, and Peter quickly downs the medicine. The idea that he even needs to take “for menstrual relief” pills is something that feels disgusting, but the pain-free breeze that they bring negates it ever so slightly. He hands the packet back to Tony and slumps against the toilet’s tank. 

“Leftover pizza sound alright?” Tony prompts when Peter doesn’t say anything. His face is softened with the gentle concern Peter has only ever seen directed at three people: himself, Morgan, and Pepper. It’s moments like this where Peter wants to cry the most. Somewhere between superhero mentor and genius guide, Tony also became something like a—dad.

“Yeah,” Peter replies. “And we can watch Star Wars?”

“Always, kid,” Tony replies. “Always.”

Peter gets bundled up on the coach with a number of soft, fuzzy blankets and a hot water bottle pressed against his abdomen. They eat cold pizza while A New Hope drones on quietly in the background. Peter still feels like shit, but he’s a little more relaxed about it now, safe and warm in the penthouse with Tony—and a myriad of others, such as the doctors—to help if need be.

—

Peter wakes up squirming and crying in pain, his stomach aching. He’s shivering too, and he registers the pain of all these before anything else. The room is dark now; the TV and lights are off. Peter can just make out the faint print of the time—3:37—from the clock sitting on the kitchen island. He also realizes that Tony is still here, asleep at the opposite end of the couch. 

He wants to call out to him, say that he feels a little like he’s dying and is really actually scared he might, even though this happens every time and he always ends up okay at the end of the week. A cramp kicks in and Peter’s leg jerks out, jostling the pillow by Tony’s head. 

Tony shoots up like a firecracker. Ever the light sleeper—Peter, meanwhile, can and has slept through fire alarms. 

“Kid? What’s wrong?” Tony asks worriedly when Peter only stares at him like a deer in headlights. Another wave of pain hits and Peter’s face screws up in a wince.

“My stomach hurts,” Peter admits lowly after a long moment of tense silence. The next thing he knows he’s being rushed downstairs, a blanket still tangled in his legs as Tony carries him like he’s a little kid. It would freak Peter out, suddenly being picked up and transported, if he didn’t know Tony’s been witness to him saying that a gunshot wound isn’t “that big a deal.” Peter rests his head against Tony’s shoulder and lets himself get ushered to the med bay. 

“You’re freezing,” Tony mutters as he walks down the hallway and pushes through the final door to medical. The lights here are blinding and Peter hides his face with a groan. “Burning up with fever before you fell asleep and now you’re colder than Cap when he got broken out of that ice cube.”

“Spidersicle,” Peter murmurs with a grin. It’s a dumb joke that’s been made a hundred times, but Tony laughs at it anyway. 

Over the next hour, Peter is poked and prodded so many times that he almost punches a nurse in the face. Well, not really, and Dr. Cho’s assistant is probably very nice, but if she doesn’t stop staring, Peter swears he’s going to. The room he’s in is bare too—bed, window, chair. Not even a TV, nothing to distract himself with besides his own thoughts.

“I would recommend birth control,” Dr. Cho says to Tony. “There’s nothing medically wrong with him; his menstrual cycle is simply far more intense. Unfortunately, it’s just like that for some people.”

Tony glances over at Peter, who buries his head in his hands and wishes the ground would swallow him up right now. “It’s  up to you, kid.”

“And the birth control—” Peter tries not to look repulsed but he’s not sure he succeeds by the way Tony cuckles “—would help?”

“It would regulate your menstrual cycle and reduce the blood flow and pain, yes,” Dr. Cho says. 

“Then…yeah. I guess. Better than this, right?” Peter replies, gesturing to himself laid up in the hospital-esque bed. 

Dr. Cho smiles at him reassuringly before she walks out of the room. Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. 

“God, I love that woman. Would probably not be doing so hot without her.”

“Yeah, Dr. Cho’s pretty great,” Peter responds. He slumps back against his pillows with a groan. “This sucks. I hate hospitals.”

“Yeah, me too, kid. Not too many great memories here,” Tony says with a sigh. “But you’re getting help, and that’s always a positive.”

“Something like that,” Peter responds with a weak smile. “But I’m also really bored—I mean, there’s not even a TV in here! Most hospitals have that, so patients who are just lying around—like me—can have something to do.”

Tony chuckles at that and Peter continues on. “I’m hungry, too. Can I have something to eat? My stomach’s still queasy, so maybe like soup? Man, I could go for some soup right now.”

“Yes, you can get soup,” Tony responds, shaking his head. “An hour ago I thought you were dying and now you’re back to talking a mile a minute.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty resilient, I guess,” Peter says with a grin. “I always bounce back. Maybe that should be my thing, instead of ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.’”

“Let’s cool it with the superhero talk. Right now, kid, you’re just Peter. No world saving, no ‘helping the little guys,’ okay? You are the little guy, and the little guy needs to rest.”

“...I really want that soup, Mr. Stark.”

Another laugh and shake of his head and Mr. Stark places an order to someone within the building to bring soup to infirmary room 13A. 

“There. Your soup’s on the way. Happy now?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, voice rawer with emotion than he anticipated. “I’m happy now.”

[a-sad-mage]

I had a real weird ass dream last night, and I have to share

I ive been playing Borderlands 3 lately, and it's taken over every fiber of by being because I had a dream involving the main villains of the story,

Troy and Tyreen Calypso

Strangely fitting for me all things considered, but BACk to the dream-

Anywayz i was part of the CoV, and was like their Beastmaster or some shit(since my first playthrough was as the Beastmaster lol)

And I was just, sitting across from the Twins when they started doubling over in pain? More so Tyreen then Troy and I'm alike

"Tf is wrong with you two?"

And Tyreen is like "Cramps, bitch"

And I'm like, "okay you i get but Troy???"

"My bitch sister is making me feel her pain by pushing it on me!"

"Ohhh, well, chill chill, want some drugs to help with that?" I say and pull out a bottle of Midol(a menstrual relief pill I actually take in the real world)

And their both like "the fuck is that?"

And i explain, " it's Midol, and I take it to deal with my cramps!"

And they both just stared at me with this blank look for a minute before jumping the table to grab it from me and that is when i wake up.

[mors-pulchritudo]

Ship Bias :3

EEEEEKKK I LOVE THIS (all of these are for Calli bc. She’s the only muse on this blog lol) These are my top five for my favorite girl!! (Platonic and romantic)

1. Calliope x Dr. Ratio (romantic) — This one is my number one for a few reasons. Mainly because she’s tied to him because of super cool lore I can’t spoil yet, but also they’re a perfect match in my head. <3

2. Calliope x Aventurine (…what are they??) — Not romantic, sort of platonic, what are they doing?? Their dynamic is funny to me. It started off a bit rocky, but at least they’re on good terms.

3. Calliope x Stelle (platonic) — Girlfriends but in a platonic way, y’know?? Like I’d give you my left kidney and/or one of my eyes but don’t touch my brownie type of girlfriends.

4. Calliope x March 7th (platonic) — Sort of an older/younger sister dynamic I’d. Maybe sort of mother/daughter?? Calli’s just protective of March, basically.

5. Calliope x Boothill (romantic…??) — Hey, she’s a freak. She’s been around for a while, let her be.

Honorable mentions!! <3

Calliope x Ovis (@feathers-and-song) (Platonic) — The besties ever. Don’t separate them, it’ll kill one of them. Don’t know which one, let’s just not find out.

Calliope x Kai (@feathers-and-song) (it’s worse than what you think) — Can these two…do something?? Anything?? Are they lovers? No. Are they friends? I don’t know, but I have two M&Ms, a midol pill, and a dream.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 9/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

“Ruth told me you requested an emergency appointment. Did something happen?”

Dana wrings her hands in her lap, blinking rapidly against her dry, weary eyes. As per usual, Michelle waits until she is ready to speak. 

“Yes. I mean…not really. I don’t know,” she says haltingly, then runs her hands over her unmade face. 

“Would you like to tell me about it?” 

Dana sighs, shifting in her seat and deciding where to begin.

“My daughter said something to me that—it’s hard to explain, but it threw me off. And then I heard this song—I think it’s the song from my dream, the one about the man. I think it’s the song that was playing when I was with him. And I just feel so…I feel so lost.”

Her throat tightens and she drops her head, breathing deeply to stave off tears. 

“What was it that your daughter said?” Michelle asks, flipping through her notes. “Abigail, right?”

“Yes, Abby,” Dana confirms. “She said something about her other mother. Her mother from before. She asked me if her other mother was going to come back.”

Michelle’s eyebrows lift, and her mouth falls open slightly. 

“And how do you interpret that?” she asks after a beat. 

“I don’t know,” Dana says, exasperated. “Maybe she means me, before my accident. Or maybe there was another woman in her life I don’t know about or don’t remember. Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know, but it’s just one more missing piece.” 

Michelle nods, considering her. 

“Have you started your new prescription, Dana?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Dana answers with a sigh. “I started it the evening after our last appointment.”

“And have you been dreaming?”

“No, actually. Not the last couple nights. Not even after I heard the song.”

“I think we should adjust your medication again. I’m going to send over a prescription right now. Can you pick it up on your way out?”

Dana narrows her eyes, confused. 

“I’ve only been taking the new dose for two days. That seems a bit soon to change it again,” she observes, and Michelle crosses her hands neatly in her lap. 

“I understand that you’re a doctor, Dana, but memory care isn’t your specialty. These drugs are fast-acting, and based on your clear distress, I think an adjustment is necessary,” she says sternly. 

“Of course, I didn’t mean to overstep,” Dana replies. 

“Let’s set up another appointment in a few days, okay? This kind of setback isn’t atypical, and I don’t want you to worry. Let’s just keep a close eye on it so we can get you back to normal soon, all right?”

“Okay,” Dana agrees as she stands, though the idea of normal feels so foreign that it’s hard to imagine. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” Michelle says as she walks her to the door. 

Dana is passing through the waiting area when Michelle stops her.

“Oh, Dana,” she calls out. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the pharmacy here carries all kinds of basic necessities. Tylenol, Midol, Loratadine. They even have children’s vitamins, if you need anything like that at home.”

A little chill tickles Dana’s spine and she shivers involuntarily. 

“Thanks,” she says, then heads to the pharmacy. 

That night, she barely sleeps. She does not dream. 

-

She watches two blue jays swooping through the yard. They take from the feeder, then dive down to the ground, swapping places over and over like a choreographed dance. They seem to be working as a team, yet also completely independently of one another. Eat and swoop. Eat and swoop. 

“Dana?”

“Hm?” she looks over to see Cal watching her with a perplexed expression. 

“I said thanks for picking up vitamins for the kids,” he repeats, and she nods with a thin smile. “You okay, mija?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admits, tightening her grip on her coffee mug. 

Cal crosses the kitchen with a little smirk, standing right beside her as he fills his mug. 

“I can probably help you out with that,” he whispers, quiet enough so the kids won’t hear him, then bumps her hip with his own. 

She forces a smile, and when Cal holds out his open palm to dispense her Numerol, she takes it from him, as well as three quick kisses. 

“Today will be a better day, okay?” he says hopefully, and she nods once.

She bids farewell to Cal and Peter, then walks Abby to the bus. Abby prattles on about sea urchins and The Little Mermaid, and it’s only when they are at the stop and she can hear the rumble and screech of the bus approaching from down the block that she has a chance to ask. 

“Hey, Sweetpea, do you remember when you talked about your other mommy? From before?” she says casually. 

“Ummmmm, maybe,” Abby says, walking circles around the stop sign post. 

“What do you remember about her?” Dana asks. 

“She was big!” Abby says emphatically. “And she had a black dress and her face was purple.”

“Purple?” Dana repeats.

“Yep, purple skin and white hair, and she hated King Triton and Ariel,” the child says animatedly. 

Dana heaves a sigh that is part relief, part irritation.The bus stops in front of them and the door swings open. 

“Have a good day, Sweetpea. Watch out for any nefarious eels,” she says to the child, kissing her cheek before she steers her toward the bus. 

“What’s a neffyrus?!” Abby says dubiously, then boards the bus and waves from behind the window. 

Dana watches it pull away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. When it’s rounded the corner out of sight, she takes out the little white pill Cal had given her and studies it. 

She remembers something her father told her once, when she was struggling to reconcile what she knew and what she felt. 

“Don’t discount your gut, Starbuck. Sometimes it’s the most well-calibrated tool in the toolbox.”

She returns the pill to her pocket and heads to work. 

-

“You should have seen the look on his face, Dana,” Tiffany says, smiling devilishly. “I could hear him from outside the room being an absolute dick to Destiny, demanding to see the doctor. Imagine his surprise when my black ass walks in. Saving lives is great, but I think that may have been even better, honestly.”

“I can only imagine,” Dana replies. “I had a patient once in med school who refused to be seen by me. He kept saying he wanted to see ‘a real doctor,’ but he was more than happy to be treated by one of my male classmates. Some of them would truly rather die, I suppose.”

“And good riddance to ‘em,” Tiffany adds. 

They return to their work, logging patient notes between bites of mushy pasta salad from the cafeteria. Dana reaches into her pocket for a pen and feels the compact edges of the pill brush against her fingertips. She’s been carrying it around all day, examining it as though she’ll suddenly notice something out of place or find the answer to a question she hasn’t figured out how to ask. She rolls it between her thumb and forefinger, pondering. 

“What is with this tox screen?” Tiffany grumbles, flipping through pages with frustration. “No wonder they take so long to turn anything around down there, running all this shit I didn’t ask for.”

A thought begins to take shape, gathering volume like a snowball tumbling downhill. It would be a misuse of resources, something worthy of discipline were she to be found out. And yet, she finds herself writing the script in her head, forming responses and rebuttals. 

“Have you ever sent something through the lab off the books?” she asks offhandedly, her eyes on her computer screen. 

There’s a long pause, and she can feel Tiffany looking at her. 

“Not personally, no, though I can’t imagine it would be difficult to do. Why do you ask?”

Dana flashes her eyes up to her coworker. She wants to trust her, feels like she has no choice but I’m to, and at the same time she isn’t entirely sure that she can rely on her own instincts right now. 

“I think the pharmacy made a mistake with my medication,” Dana says, fabricating the lie as it leaves her lips. “They won’t admit to it, so the only way to know for sure is to have it analyzed.”

“You should be able to just run that through,” Tiffany says nonchalantly. “I don’t think you need to be all covert about it, double-oh-seven.”

Dana laughs along, but her belly twists. 

“I use the in-house pharmacy,” she explains. “I just—I don’t want to piss them off. It’s so convenient to be able to pick things up at work.”

“Dr. Robbie is kind of a prick,” Tiffany agrees. “I could see him holding a grudge.”

Dana breathes a little sigh of relief. 

“How would I go about that, then? Running it through the lab off the books?” 

“Well, you could put it in with another sample, but that runs the risk that the result will be tied to your patient and get them into a whole big mess, depending on what it is. I do know a tech down there that seems to be sweet on me. Maybe I could ask him for a favor,” Tiffany suggests. 

“That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble. Is there something I can do in return, pick up a shift or take a difficult patient?” Dana asks, trying not to sound too eager about the whole thing. 

“Nah, it’s no big deal. It might be kinda fun to see if I still got it,” Tiffany replies as she stands from her desk and pops her hip out dramatically. 

Dana smiles, dropping the pill into a plastic baggie and handing it over. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” she says sincerely, meeting Tiffany’s eye. 

Alone in the office, she feels a pit form in her stomach, accompanied by a sense of dread. She finds herself praying that the results come back and indicate that the pill is exactly what it’s supposed to be: fifteen milligrams of Numerol. But she’s been praying since the day she woke up in the hospital that things would get better, that her life would start making sense. And if the past predicts the future, this too is a prayer that will go unanswered. 

-

“Dr. Rose, I have a patient for you in bed three.”

Dana checks her watch, calculating how much time she has before she’ll be home too late to get Abby off the bus. 

“Do you have the chart?” she asks the nurse, then flips through the details quickly as she makes her way down the hall. 67 year old male, presenting with arrhythmia and shortness of breath. 

When she pulls the curtain back, she is hit with the funk of stale cigarettes. An elderly man is sitting up in the bed, blankets draped across his lap and a blue hospital gown covering his chest and shoulders. He smiles at her, and the familiarity in it makes her immediately uncomfortable for reasons she can’t articulate. 

“Mr. Kennedy,” she says, reading off his chart. “My name is Dr. Rose. I understand that your heartbeat is irregular and you’re having a hard time breathing.”

“Yes,” he says eagerly, touching his chest. “Just the years catching up to me, I suppose.”

He has hooded, watery blue eyes and deep-set wrinkles framing his mouth. The kinds of wrinkles you earn by puckering your lips around the filter of a cigarette hundreds or thousands of times. 

“Let’s have a listen,” Dana says, keeping her tone as business-like as possible to discourage him from being overly friendly with her. 

She presses the stethoscope to his chest and looks at her watch as she measures his heart rate, then motions for him to lean forward and holds the stethoscope against his back as she listens to his lungs. His heart rate is normal and healthy for a man of his age, but his lungs sound rhonchi and wheezy. Nicotine comes off him in waves, stinging her eyes, and she moves away to sanitize her hands and her stethoscope to remove the smell. 

“Do you smoke, Mr. Kennedy?” she asks flatly, and he chuffs a little laugh that devolves into a coughing fit. 

“A bit, yes,” he finally rasps out. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but I recommend quitting,” she says, leaning against the counter furthest from his bed. “If you’re not able to quit, you should at least consider cutting back. You’re taking years off your life each time you open a new pack.”

“Ah,” the old man says with a contrite bob of his head. “You sound like my son. He’s always telling me to quit. It’s hard when you’re an old man. I don’t have many pleasures left in life.”

“You should listen to him,” Dana says as she makes notes in his chart. “I’m going to order albuterol to help alleviate the inflammation in your airways. It’s a breathing treatment we can administer here at the hospital, but we’ll also send you home with enough for the next week. I’m also going to refer you to cardiology. Your heart sounds fine right now, but they may want to set you up with a monitor so they can track changes over time. Do you have any questions?”

“Sure, do you know any single women who might be interested in a gentleman of my regard?” he says cheekily, and she intentionally does not reward him with eye contact. 

“I think you should focus on your health, Mr. Kennedy,” she says blandly. 

“I’m a lonely man, Dana.”

Her hearing cuts out for just a split second, a brief ring slowly replaced by the hustle and bustle and mechanical beeps of the hospital floor. She slowly lifts her head and finds him watching her curiously. 

“Excuse me?” she says, feeling disoriented. 

“Dana, right? It says so right there on your badge,” he points out, and she touches her hospital ID reflexively. 

“Dr. Rose, please,” she corrects him, and he holds up his hands in deference. 

“My apologies, Dr. Rose. Thank you for your time,” the man says, and she escapes from his cigarette soaked room with an unnecessary level of urgency. 

_

Get Abby from the bus. Pick up Peter from daycare. Snacks. Playtime. Start dinner. Welcome Cal home from work. Bathtime. Bedtime. Pretend to read a book while her mind races in a hundred different directions. Tell Cal she has a headache, maybe tomorrow. Lie awake and think. Think. THINK.

The song. The man. The green countertops. The old smoker. “I’m a lonely man, Dana.” The pills. The pills. THE PILLS. Try to sleep. Fail. No dreams, no nothing. It’s like a black hole swallowed her mind, her memories. Her life. 

Wake up. Wake Peter. Shower, get ready for work. Make the children breakfast. Drink coffee. Take Numerol from Cal. Wash it down the sink. Goodbye Cal, goodbye Peter. Walk Abby to the bus. Pretend to be mermaids. Feel like dying. 

Drive to work. Play the song over and over and over. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home. Take the east entrance, just to see. Nearly have a panic attack. Keep smelling the smoker around every corner. Keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Keep hoping it’s not as bad as it seems. 

-

Tiffany rushes into the office, closing the door behind her and marching straight to Dana’s desk, where she drops a small stack of papers on the desktop with an irate expression. 

“You wanna tell me what the fuck this is about?” Tiffany asks angrily, one hand on her hip. 

Sleep deprived and on edge, Dana blinks at her stupidly and then begins to try and decipher the papers on her desk. Lab results. Inconclusive. Unknown substance. 

“Is this about my medication?” she asks, flipping through the pages. 

“You sure that was your medication you gave me, Dana?” Tiffany questions doubtfully. “Cause that pill sure as shit did not come from the St. Agnes pharmacy.”

“I don’t understand,” Dana says, shaking her head. “What was it?”

Tiffany considers her, and her expression falls a bit. 

“You really don’t know?” she asks skeptically. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve dragged you into something strange, Tiffany. But no, I really don’t know what it is, or where it came from. That’s what I was hoping to find out.”

Tiffany rolls the chair over from her desk and sits close beside Dana. She leafs through the pages, pointing at key fields as she speaks in a low tone. 

“The first test he ran was totally inconclusive. It doesn’t match any medication we have in the system, even nationally. Now this man must really think he was gonna get somewhere with this lab result because he called in his buddy who does some back alley, unofficial freaky shit. And that friend got a hit on some secret government database for this chemical composition.”

“What is it?” Dana asks, her heart racing. She’s been putting this in her body every day for months. 

“Something called—” Tiffany flips two pages and points to a summary. “Galophazine. It’s not FDA approved, that’s for damn sure.”

“What does it treat? What are the effects?” 

“That wasn’t very clear,” Tiffany says, sitting back. “The friend could only deduce, based on the places it was referenced, that it has something to do with memory recall.”

Dana feels a flood of relief, and presses her hand to her chest to feel her own pounding heart begin to normalize. 

“That’s good. That’s what it was prescribed for, to enhance memory recall. What I don’t understand is why my doctor would lie about the name of the medication.”

“I thought you said it was a pharmacy error,” Tiffany says, but then moves past it before Dana has a chance to respond. “But I don’t think this is meant to enhance memory recall. Whatever the friend saw, he came to the conclusion that this drug, Galophazine, is used to suppress long term memory recall. They were testing it out on war vets and people with childhood trauma.”

The earth beneath her feet is suddenly less stable, the air in her lungs thin. She feels lightheaded. She feels sick. If she was lost before, she’s now untethered. Detached. There is no home base to return to. Adrift. Adrift. Adrift. 

“Dana?” Tiffany asks, and Dana realizes that Tiffany is touching her, shaking her arm gently. “Are you okay?”

“I—I think—” 

She swallows against a bone dry throat, scans the room with untrusting eyes, considers the woman next to her. A stranger, perhaps. She has no way of knowing for sure. 

“I don’t know.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[saleintothe90s]

482. Seventeen Magazine, March 1996

(see also: 1994, 1995)

Two things that are sightly upsetting: 1. I barely remember looking through this issue when I was 12. 2. I had to pay $30 for this issue off eBay.

Unfortunately, the Tendrecils line from Lancome is discontinued. Doesn't stop me from misreading it as "tendrils" though.

Does Kate know what magazine she's reading. This was Seventeen in 1995/1996, not 'Teen. 'Teen was the girly magazine back then. I don't know about Y/M, never read that one.

Those Hush Puppies the girl in blue is wearing.

South Coast Today [archive]

A similar green pair with laces seemed to be everywhere in my magazines for a brief time in 1996. I never saw anybody wearing 'em though. Never saw them at Kinney. I don't see 'em on eBay either, Joel sold 6,000 pairs at his store in 1995, wherearethey. 1

'Y'all know Cover Girl still makes this?!

Remember this beautiful "great" packaging Maybelline had. If I had money to throw around to collect old makeup, this would definitely be in the collection.

The fuzzy trim dress was a classic prom dress (or, at least the teen magazines made it seem that way) for the mid to late 90s.

Anna's dress is #1. I love the short sequin Hawaiian print dress. That is 1996.

There's those black and white dresses again! The Chanteuse girls will kick all of our butts.

I saw a lot more of these pastel dresses in my 1997 issues, which sadly yes, I'm trying to find on eBay right now. No luck.

If I was allowed to have makeup back then, you better believe I would have worn this look at school the next day.

I honestly had no clue that self tanner was a thing yet, or maybe just a thing that was sold at like, Saks in the glass case.

Slick straight hair. That was the thing. I had hair down to my waist back then so suffice to say I was not sporting this look

I used to get my Sanrio stuff from the My Doll and Toy Shoppe in downtown Hampton, Virginia. If you said the name of the store quick, it almost sounded like "MIDOL toy shop".

Every time I would see this ad for Kaepa shoes, naive 12 year old me thought "oh my god is that girl going to burn her school down?"

I had that lava lamp keychain and the 8 ball! I used to get them from either Claire's or Spencers. I had a Cracker Jack keychain too around this time that will just randomly show up in my dreams.

Did people really have scanners to scan in their handwriting back then? I imagine they were a small fortune back then. I tried doing some research on this software, but nothing came up.

Mickey was still stuck in 1995.

Oh, these were SO GOOD in the waining days of the low fat craze.

I remember when the Backstreet Boys got real big when I was in high school, I thought back to the ad and wondered "wait, haven't they been around for a while?" In 1996, they didn't even have an album in the U.S. yet.

"our internet address is.."

Some of these look more like pageant dresses.

I adore all the short dresses in this issue.

Is this a freshman dance? They look like freshmen.

Sharon Stone is a not-g0ing-to-prom icon.

Man, what happened to Finesse? It's like once 2000 hit, it became bottom shelf stuff.

There's always one dress that makes me sad in the prom issues, and I think it's this one. It looks so ... mature.

School Zone time, real pics of real kids from a school in Las Vegas:

The shiny, silky shirts!

These are the only two things I remember from this issue when I was 12: MaryBeth's amazing outfit--I wanted it so bad--and Jennaia's cat shirt.

A baby Tobey Maguire.

Baby Eliza Dushku. Did anybody else other than me think it was totally the norm for a guy to want to wear a bright tuxedo like this to prom?

I wish my scanner app on my phone got a better picture of this amazing Betsey Johnson dress Kathleen Robertson is wearing.

ok, a lot going on here on page 230.

-When I was attending Mary Baldwin College, there was this really cheezy store downtown that sold mostly cutesy poo gag gifts. Very cringe store. I'm sure if that store existed in 1996, they would have sold PMS Crunch.

-We're still in the waining days of the low fat craze here, so here are some "healthy" chips. Garden of Eatin' is still around! I think Guiltless Gourmet went out of business?

-I want to see photos and or footage of the Creamette Pasta Party at Tavern on the Green. All I I found was a blip on the New York Times:

On Saturday, about 17,000 carbo-loaders at the annual pre-marathon pasta party at Tavern on the Green will dig into five dishes created by New Yorkers, one from each borough. The dishes were the winners in a contest sponsored by Creamette pasta. The judges included as many weathermen (Storm Field and Mr. G) and sportswriters (David Kaplan of The Daily News) as food experts (Patrick Clark, Bob Lape and Robin Leach).

The meals, which will be served from 4:30 to 8:30 P.M., are free to runners in the New York City Marathon, which will be held on Sunday. The dishes are: baked ziti and vegetables by Martha Katzeff of the Bronx, rigatoni with beef and cheese by Mike Boyd of Brooklyn, spinach-rotini toss by Barbara Shields of Staten Island, creamy macaroni and basil salad by Karin Mackin of Queens and sweet nutmeg kugel by Diane Girer of Manhattan. All the recipes are by runners. 2

Remember when these Y-Necklaces were popular for about a minute?

1.Parnes, Francine . “Old Dog Trots Out in Trendy Places.” New Bedford Standard-Times, December 25, 1995. https://www.southcoasttoday.com/story/news/1995/12/26/old-dog-trots-out-in/50652285007/. 2.Fabricant, Florence. “Food Notes.” The New York Times, November 8, 1995, sec. Home & Garden. https://www.nytimes.com/1995/11/08/garden/food-notes-021709.html.

[karmic-vibes]

If I Can Dream

23 - Out There In the Dark, There’s a Beckoning Candle

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr / lazyjunebug on twitter

cw: mentions of period, being uncomfortable in body, general puberty angst

Year: 2001

“Um… papa? Dad?” Bobby started.

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, timidly making her way over to the couch where her parents were sitting. Eddie reached for the remote and muted the show they were watching so full attention could be on Bobby.

“What’s up, pumpkin?” Eddie asked.

“So, I just went to the bathroom and there was blood…”

“What do you mean? Like did you shit out blood, was there blood in your pee? Like what’re we talking?”

“Eddie!” Steve hissed.

“What? They’re valid questions!”

“Be a little more sensitive, Christ. She’s thirteen—don’t you think it’s more likely it’s just her period?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s more logical…”

“What’s a period?” Bobby asked.

“I… you… do you not know what a period is?” Steve asked.

“Do you know what a period is?” Eddie raised a brow. “Sweetie, did they not teach you any of this in health?” She shook her head and pouted. “Okay,” Eddie sighed, “I’m not gonna go too much in depth, but long story short, you bleed once a month for like a week.”

“For how long?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long am I gonna be bleeding once a month for?”

“Oh, sweetie… roughly until you’re fifty.”

“You’re joking.”

“Afraid not,” Eddie mumbled.

“So do you still bleed? O-Or get your period, I mean.”

“No, thank god. I got a hysterectomy when you were born.”

“Oh… can I get one?”

“No,” Eddie chuckled. “You’re still too young. Maybe when you’re older.”

“You were only twenty-two when you had me… isn’t that still pretty young?

“Yeah, but I had you. Most doctors don’t like doing stuff like that unless you already have a kid. Or unless the husband gives the okay. And it was dad’s idea, so it worked out.”

“Huh… that’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not... Bobbs, why don’t you go take a nice warm bath. I’m gonna run to the store and get some stuff for you.”

“Stuff… what do you mean stuff? Why do I need stuff?”

“Dear lord, we need to find you a new school. I’ll be back.”

That night, Eddie and Steve pampered their daughter more than they ever had before. Steve prepared her bath and cooked her favorite meal, while Eddie got anything and everything she could’ve needed, from pads, to Midol, to a heating pad. Bobby was insistent that none of the spoiling was necessary, but that didn’t stop the boys.

More than anything, they wanted to show their daughter how she deserved to be treated. They wanted her to know from a young age how special she was and to never settle for less, even with ‘taboo’ subjects.

A few months passed and Bobby was slowly starting to realize why her dads spoiled her so much every month. She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in her body. Between her period, random patches of acne, and not being as gifted as the other girls, she was miserable.

One day, Eddie noticed that she was wearing exclusively larger clothes. Bobby was gathering her belongings for school—as she headed for the front door, Eddie latched onto her bicep, pulling her back. She let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and met her father’s gaze.

“Yes, father?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?” she lied.

“Bobby, I know you like the back of my hand. Something’s wrong.”

“Nothings wrong.”

“Really? Because you’re wearing clothes that are like two sizes too big. Your face is caked in foundation. It’s just… if this is what you like to wear and stuff, that’s fine, but you just don’t seem like you.”

“Papa, I’m fine.”

“Bee… when I was your age–”

“It doesn’t matter what you felt at my age. Of course you were hiding everything!”

“So you are hiding,” he smugly smirked. “Bobby, what’s going on? Hmm?”

“For the last time, I’m fine! Let it be, pops. I gotta go, I’m gonna be late.”

“You don’t want a ride?”

“No, Sandy’s coming to pick me up.”

“Alright… have a good day… I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Later that night, when the boys were cleaning up after dinner, Eddie tried bringing up the morning’s incident with his beloved husband.

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Have you noticed something off with Bee?”

“She’s just a teenager, Eds. She’s moody, she’s insecure, and she’s just trying to fit in. It’s already hard enough on her that she has two dads, one of which is famous, and… it’s hard for her. I’m sure you remember what it’s like being her age.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a fair comparison, Steve. Kinda had other things going on.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. I-I literally don’t know how to relate to her. While other girls were trying to make their chests look bigger—I was binding mine down. Everyone was looking at boys to figure out who to date—I was getting gender envy from most of them. It sucked Steve, sure, but I… I dunno, I wasn’t worrying about the same stuff most people were.”

“I know, honey… so, did you get gender envy from me?” Steve smirked.

“Stevie, I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to be you or fuck you. Turns out it was the latter.”

“In all seriousness,” Steve laughed. “Should we talk to Robin or Joyce or someone?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Are you guys talking about me?” Bobby frowned. She had walked into the kitchen with an empty water glass, hoping to get a refill.

“Oh, honey… we’re just worried. That’s all,” Steve said.

“For the last time, I’m fine!” she cried.

“Bobby, we love you and we just want you to be happy. It kills us to see you become this basket case.”

“Dad, since I’ve been a kid, people have made fun of me. I’ve been getting called a ‘freak of nature’ since I was what, five? I just… I just don’t fit in. My body doesn’t look like everyone else’s, my face always breaks out… it sucks.”

“Oh, sweet pea.” Both boys pulled her into a tight hug. Steve sighed, “I’m sorry your father and I’s marriage is making school hard for you. People are mean.”

“Yeah, they are,” She sniffed.

“It gets better, though,” Steve smiled.

“Yeah, bug, it does.”

“Oh, what do you two know? I mean, dad, you were popular in high school, and papa, you were popular by default because you were dating dad.”

“Honey, I was dubbed a freak, even by dad. And I was convinced he was going to leave me when I told him I was trans. Your teen years are gonna be rough, I’m not going to sugar coat that. You’re figuring out who you are, who you like, what you wanna do with your life. But, so is everyone else, and everyone has different ways of projecting that. Some people will try the fake it till you make it approach with their confidence. Some bounce from persona to persona until they find what they like. Then, some people—like you, my beautiful bug—become basket cases and shut out everyone until they realize who they are.”

“I’m not a basket case,” she pouted.

“But you are, love bug, and we’re worried about you,” Steve said with soft eyes. “How can we help you? Because we miss our bubbly girl.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, dad… you’ve never been through what I have.”

“What about papa? He may be trans, but he still dealt with some of the girly stuff.”

“Really?”

“I mean, sorta,” Eddie shrugged. “Like, I got my period—obviously, or you wouldn’t be here. I had to deal with my boobs growing, body changing, and of course all the fucking torment from all the other girls.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was constantly made fun of for the clothes I wore, how ratty my hair was, and how small my boobs were.”

“So we’re all late bloomers, huh?” Bobby tiredly chuckled.

“I mean, I was actually kinda ‘gifted’, but I bound myself down everyday. The only time I didn’t was our first date.” He motioned to Steve and smiled.

“Oh, yeah… huh, I loved that dress.”

“I’m glad someone liked it,” Eddie scoffed. “Because lord did it give me terrible dysphoria.”

“I know, but I hated when you bound your chest.”

“Why? Missed staring at them?” Eddie teased.

“No, no! I mean… it hurt you,” he frowned. “You have scars left over from it being too tight for so many years. My heart broke the first time I unwrapped you.”

“I know,” he sighed, “but, Bee, it’s all the same shit. You’re gonna feel different, people are gonna project their problems onto you, and you’re gonna feel awkward in your skin for a while. Unfortunately, there really isn’t a way around it.”

“I wish there was,” She whispered.

“I know, bug.” Eddie pulled her in for a hug, gently rubbing her back. His cheek rested atop her head and the two swayed back and forth.

“I’m glad you’re my dad…”

“And I’m glad you’re mine, bug. I wouldn’t want anyone else. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Eddie smiled contently, still holding his daughter close. “Y’know, I never wanted kids, and was super nervous when I got pregnant, but as soon as I saw you, I was in love. Now, I can’t picture a day away from you.”

“Good thing you’ve never been without me, then,” she giggled.

“Huh? Sweetie, I was gone for like three months when I went out on tour.”

“Oh, yeah… I totally forgot about that.”

“I haven’t gone back on the road because I couldn’t, and still can’t, stand being away from you. You are far more important than some money or some extra gigs.”

“I love you, papa.”

“I love you more, bug. Don’t be afraid to come to us with anything, okay? We’ll always do everything we can to help you. And if there’s nothing we can do, we’ll find someone to help.”

“I know, papa.”

“Alright…” They both pulled out of the hug—Eddie rubbed her arm in reassurance. “So, have you finished your homework?”

[awooga-llama]

Oneshot

Theme/When you tell him you’re pregnant (part 1)

Triggers/Mentions of vomit, fainting, use of real names (Clay, Nick, etc.), fluff(?), and insecurity.

Featuring/Dream

More members of the DSMP coming later (writing for George, Wilbur, Jack, Sapnap, 5upp and Fundy) I know 5upp isn’t a part of the SMP but I love this boy so… AFAB! Reader (might do a similar thing but for males later)

You sat in the bathroom, the stick in your hands showing two pink lines. It had been at least a week since the last time you and Clay messed around, you two had taken the safety measures or at least you thought you guys did. Turns out the condom broke and the pill you actually took was your allergy pill that had gotten mixed in with your birth control sometime when you were unpacking from your trip that happened two weeks before. You had gone to see your family then. When you arrived home Clay was waiting and things got heated. 

You knew immediately when getting out of bed this morning that something wasn’t right and then you went and got sick in the bathroom, not waking up your usually light sleeper of a boyfriend. You were scared of what he’d think and now wasn’t exactly the right time to tell him anyways, he was recording the last manhunt video with the boys. You could hear Clay’s laughter bouncing off the walls but instead of smiling like you wanted to, you began crying because that's what your hormones decided was the right thing to do. After puking some more, you eventually passed out from exhaustion on the tile floor of your shared bathroom, pregnancy test in hand still.

Hours passed and Clay finally finished up recording, feeling the urge to relieve himself. He walked into the bathroom and found you laying on the floor, he was instantly worried. He picked you up and carried you to your guy's bed, quickly rushing to get you some water. He didn't realise you dropped the test by the toilet.  Clay was used to you fainting because it would happen a lot on the first day of your period so that’s why you didn’t go to the hospital. Once he had the water on the bedside table, a cooling pad placed on your lower abdomen, and some Midol next to the water he went back to the bathroom. 

Clay was zipping up when his giant foot bumped the test, sliding it into an open space. He bent over and picked it up, taking him a full five minutes to realise what it was. If it weren’t for you sleeping in the room next door he would’ve screamed, not in panic or rage, but in pure joy. He wanted to pick you up and twirl you around till your heads got real dizzy, he wanted to run downstairs out of the house and shout from the top of his lungs “I GONNA BE A DAD” while you yelled at him to get out of the road. But he couldn’t do any of those things, he wanted you to be the one to tell him so instead, he washed his hands, stuck the test in his pocket, walked to the living room plopping down on the sofa and called Nick. Clay invited him over for dinner, not telling Nick the news yet, hoping you and him could do it together. During the waiting time, he talked everything out with Patches, baby names, nursery ideas, clothing style, and what the kid would possibly look like hoping it would get your good looks and his epic gaming skills, maybe he could teach them to become a better speedrunner than himself.

You awoke in bed with a mild headache but nothing more. You glanced down to see a cooling pad on your abdomen. Your brain immediately told you that Clay did this and that brought a smile to your face. No noises were heard that indicated Clay was still streaming and he wasn't in bed next to you meaning he was either out finally doing the grocery shopping for once, in his streaming room editing, or downstairs rewatching his favourite episodes from the office. Just laying in bed wasn't going to answer your question meaning you would have to get up. The silence was calming but you didn't want to be alone now because you'd just remember you were carrying a child and they're probably super cold due to the cold pack that so previously occupied your abdomen.

Slipping on your favourite hoodie and a pair of slippers you began your journey down the stairs, Gods were you always this slow when moving or was this a new thing? As you neared the bottom you could hear Clay talking to what sounded like Nick. You hid behind a nearby wall to spy on them.

Clay had an apron tied around his waist, hair was messy, there was red sauce all over his face mixed with sweat. It would've been hot if it was anything else but pasta sauce really? 

"Stop touching stuff Nick! You're going to ruin it, do you see what you've done already?" He motioned one hand to his face and then to the can of pasta sauce by the microwave. 

"Sorry Clay, cooking is normally easier. Nobody told me metal can't go in the microwave." Nick sat behind the island reaching for the garlic and a knife. I intervened and grabbed the knife before anyone could lose some fingers. 

"No way mister." I laughed and made my way around the counter to slice up the herb myself. When finished, Clay scooped up the diced pieces and put them in the sauce that was on the stove, stirred it a few seconds then carried it to the table setting the hot pans in the centre. We served ourselves, Clay had a couple scoops and so did Nick, I also put a couple scoops, but they were heaping scoops that filled my plate. We ate slowly and the boys talked and told jokes. When I thought they weren't looking I stuffed food into my mouth quickly, barely chewing any of it before swallowing. Nick must've noticed because he said this next.

"Jesus (Y/N) what are you doing eating for two?" I felt tears prick in the corners of my (Y/E/C) orbs, swallowing the bite I had, breathed calmly and replied.

"Now that you mention, yeah, yeah I am eating for two. Now if you'll excuse me I'll be eating in my office where I don't get judged." I didn't mean to get snappy but my mouth had no filter. Before I could go anywhere Clay wrapped his arms around my waist making me sit on his lap almost spilling my plate. 

"Well, since now he knows, can we discuss baby plans? Patches was a great listener earlier but not very helpful when it came to choosing things." We all smiled and laughed, enjoying the rest of our evening.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda X Reader - 10 Things I hate about you - Part One

Summary:  Pietro Maximoff is handsome and popular, but he can't date before his twin sister. The problem is that no one can get close to his sister, Wanda Maximoff. To resolve the situation, a girl interested in Pietro bribes a colleague with a mysterious past to go out with Wanda and, who knows, try to win her over. Or The one directly inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You.

Words:  6.553K  /// Read on AO3 too || Part Two

Warnings: PG, fluff, language; goth wanda is back thank god.

Notes: If English is your native language and I used slang that doesn't make sense at all, forgive me. It is really hard to translate many dialects from Portuguese to English. Anyways enjoy your reading!

You rode your skateboard to school today. Your mother was angry with you and took the keys to your motorcycle while yelling that you were difficult to raise, so you grabbed your backpack and skateboard while slamming the door on your way out.

It didn't take long to get to school, though. 

You absolutely hate this place. Sometimes you get the impression that you are surrounded by completely mental people.

You walked across the parking lot and got off your skateboard, quickly waving to your friend Carol Danvers, who was smoking leaning against the wall of the school building. You would have to talk to them later, as you had a meeting scheduled with the school principal.

Shrugging off the students as you entered the building, you ignored the stares you received and headed toward Ms. Harkness' office.

You entered without knocking because the door was already open, since she was talking to another student, and when the stranger got up she almost tripped over you on her way out. The principal raised her eyes from her notebook to you, and smiled wryly.

- Well, well, Miss Y/L/N. - she said. - I see these encounters of ours are becoming recurrent.

- I like to be around beautiful women, Miss Harkness. - You stated with a charming smile and crossed arms. The woman laughed lightly as she returned her gaze to her notebook.

- Let me see what happened here. - She mumbled to herself, probably trying to find the notes. - Wow, top nudity exhibit in the cafeteria.

You scratched your head impatiently. 

- They were melons, Miss Harkness. - You clarified. - I was making a little joke.

Harkness let out a wry chuckle as she stood up.

- How about you keep them under your blouse, huh? - She scoffed, pointing slightly at the height of your breasts and giving you a wink. You frowned. - Out!

You startled slightly, and Mrs. Harkness giggled, returning to her seat.

You blinked in confusion and turned away, mumbling wryly that she was an excellent professional before you left.

//-//

Carol was waiting for you outside the room, a few feet ahead in the hallway against her own lockers, and you greet her with a kiss on the cheek quickly.

- How did it go today? Did she say anything interesting? - Carol asked with humor in her voice. You leaned your back against the closet, letting out a chuckle.

- No way. - You replied. - She just told me to keep my breasts under my blouse.

Carol laughs lightly, while you check your cell phone. And then she touches your arm lightly. When you raise your eyes to her, she signals the corridor.

- New faces. - She nods, and you notice that it's the same girl who bumped into you in the Harkness room. Now she is accompanied by Bruce Banner, who was clearly showing her around.

- Wow, people keep choosing to come to this place. - You mock, making your friend laugh a little.Carol then checks the clock on her wrist and signals that she needs to get to her history class.  You say goodbye to her, but get distracted by your cell phone again, and then the bell rings, and you have to run to get to the literature room on the other side of the building.

//-//

You stumble into the room, and all the students turn to look at you.

- What have I missed? - you ask, trying to normalize your breathing after running through the halls.

- The oppressive patriarchal values that determine our education. - replied a girl you didn't know.

- Nice. - You grumble with a slight laugh, as you hurry to sit in the back of the room.

- You must love detention, don't you, Miss Y/L/N? This is your third delay this week. - commented the teacher as soon as you sat down. Several giggles were heard, but you didn't pay much attention. You threw your bag on the chair and tried to pretend that you were interested in whatever Professor Fury was teaching.

- Professor Fury, any chance you could ask Wanda to take her Midol before coming to class? - scoffed Pepper Potts, one of the most popular and insufferable girls at this school. You rolled your eyes at the teasing, and leaned back as the rest of the class giggled.

- One of these days Mrs. Maximoff is going to punch you in the nose, and I'm not going to do anything to stop her. - Fury replied seriously, wiping the ironic smile off Potts' face. - And Wanda, I want to thank you for your point of view. I know how hard it must have been to overcome all those years of upper middle-class suburban oppression. It must be hard. - He sneered and then started walking toward the girl who was probably Wanda. - But the next time you protest about demanding better food, or whatever it is that white kids protest about, ask them why they don't buy books written by black people!

You let out a little laugh, and Professor Fury looked at you seriously.

- Do you find something funny, Miss? 

You shrugged, straightening your posture.

- Sorry to interrupt your speech, Mr. Fury. - You say. - But you're blaming Wanda for something she has no control over. Wouldn't it be better to suggest books written by black women, instead of separating the fights?

Professor Fury blinks in irritation at you, while Wanda looks in your direction, looking surprised.

- Out. Principal office. - says the professor, and you blink in surprise. - Both of you, by the way! You pissed me off!

You grumble, and grab your backpack and leave the room, with Wanda following behind. But you don't speak to her, and when you leave the room, you go to opposite sides of the hallway, since you had no intention of seeing the principal at all.

//-//

You ended up skipping the last two classes of the day while sneaking a smoke with Carol behind the bleachers of the soccer field. 

And then you accepted the ride home that she offered you.

- See you tomorrow, troublemaker. - She said good-bye, and you just nodded as you walked toward the front door.

Your mother was at home, sitting at her computer in the living room, and you thought maybe you could sneak past her, but as soon as you closed the door she turned around with her arms crossed.

- The school called. - She said as she stood up, and you let out an impatient sigh as you threw your backpack on the floor by the door. - Are you trying to get suspended?

- Oh yeah, that's my dream. - You scoff, walking toward the kitchen.

- You're going to be grounded.

- I'm already grounded. - You retort softly, and your mother walks over to the counter. 

- You think I'm kidding? - She exclaims angrily, and then she's heading down the hall, and you're curious what she's going to do, so you follow her through the house to the garage. You look impassive as she glances around, but then she grabs a hammer and screwdriver from the cabinet and heads for her motorcycle. Your whole body tenses up, but before you can do anything, your mother is breaking your bike.

- You've gone crazy! - You shout as you run toward her, but she turns threateningly toward you with the objects pointed in your direction

- No more fighting! - she shouts. - You're not going anywhere on this damn motorcycle, do you hear me? You are grounded until college.

And then she throws the tools on the floor, and leaves the garage. You take a deep breath, trying not to break everything in front of you, and turn to your motorcycle. Some parts were broken, but you could fix them. The problem would be having the money to do it.

//-//

Tuesday started with biology. And you were really pissed off about the whole thing with your mom and your motorcycle. The professor asked the groups to dissect frogs, and the damn scalpel he handed out wasn't cutting anything. So you grabbed your knife hidden in your boot, and angrily pierced the animal. 

- You've lost your mind, put that away! - ordered Carol sitting next to you as she looked around to see if the teacher had seen. You let out an angry sigh and put the item away.

You were bored, and you smoked when you were bored. So you turned the valve on the experimental flame on the bench while putting a cigarette in your mouth, and walked over to light it.

- Girl, what's the matter with you today? - Carol asked impatiently, closing the valve and taking the cigarette out of your mouth.

You mumbled without answering, and she let out a dry laugh before going back to writing. Your gaze wandered around the room and you thought that the new girl and Bruce Banner were looking at you from the table in front of you, but they looked away quickly, so you got distracted again.

//-//

The next class was better because it kept your hands busy. Mechanics with Professor Howard Stark was interesting as he allowed the students to experiment as much as they wanted. 

At this moment you were welding a car part while trying not to burn your fingers when you heard a female voice next to you.

- Hi, how are you? - the girl said, and as you turned you realized that it was the new student. You frowned confused, you don't talk to anyone. You thought you should have an aggressive posture, because the girl's voice trembled a little, and then she quickly said good-bye and left the room. You shook your head and went back to concentrating on the lesson.

- What the hell was that all about? - Carol asked from beside you, and you shrugged.

- I told you there are only crazy people in this school. - You remarked with amusement.

- But we go here. - She retorted with a smile.

- Exactly.

Carol laughed and turned her attention back to her own activity.

//-//

In Gym class, the teacher took all the students to the outdoor field, where the rugby team was practicing. He was more concerned about the girls' performance, so he let the rest of the class do as they pleased. Then you and Carol sat down on one of the benches, while you shared a cigarette.

And you had about ten minutes of peace before Pepper Potts and one of her friends came to talk to you.

- Hey, what's up? - asked the blonde, and you looked at her with irony.

- Are you lost? - You replied aggressively, but she didn't seem intimidated.

- See that girl over there? - She said, pointing quickly toward the field. You followed her direction, and it was the same girl from literature class. - That's Wanda Maximoff. I want you to go out with her.

You laughed, shaking your head, and then took a drag on your cigarette.

- As if, preppy. - You denied it as you exchanged a look with Carol, who was grinning in disbelief.

But Pepper was not joking.

- Look, I can't go out with her hot brother until she dates. - She clarifies. - Their father is kind of crazy, he made a rule...

- Touching. Really. I'm moved. - You mock without patience. - But that's not my problem.

- Would it be your problem if you were paid a nice fee?

You let out a dry laugh, looking at her in surprise.

- Are you going to pay me to go out with someone? - you ask, and Potts has a smile on her face as she nods in agreement. You laugh again. - How much?

- Twenty dollars.

You raise your eyebrows, really considering this for a second. And then you look toward the field, and watch as Wanda fouls a girl to the ground, and you swallow dryly. This girl was going to eat you alive.

- Okay, how about 30 bucks? - Potts next suggests when she sees the foul. 

You thought about the parts of your motorcycle that you would have to buy. And you licked your lips before you spoke.

- Let's take a good look at this. - You start. - If I take her to the movies, it will be fifteen dollars. And if we buy popcorn, it's fifty dollars. I like to buy candy for the girls, so it would be about seventy-five.

- This is not a negotiation. - Potts retorts angrily. - Take it or leave it, mutt.

You let out a humorless laugh. 

- But I think it is, Potts. - You retort, smoking your cigarette again. - Or I'll go over there now and tell Wanda your whole touching little tale.

Potts blinks in irritation, and lets out a wry laugh. But then she relaxes her posture.

- Eighty dollars. - she says. You smile, throwing the cigarette on the floor and putting it out with your foot. 

- Deal, Hollywood. - You tell her, and raise your hand in her direction. Potts rolls her eyes, but takes the money from her pocket and hands it to you.

She and her friend then leave, and you settle into your seat.

- You're crazy. - Carol declares afterwards.

- Yes, I know. - You say, brushing your hair out of your eyes with your hands. - But I need new parts. It'll be harmless, it's just a date.

- I hope you're right. - She comments with a laugh, turning her attention back to the field. And then practice ends, and you exchange a look with Carol before getting up and walking toward the players' benches.

You assume your most charming pose as you approach Wanda.

- Hey, pretty girl. - You greet her with a smile as she drinks water from a bottle. She frowns in surprise, and has a wry smile on her face. - What's up?

- I'm sweating like a pig, how are you? - She answers wryly, and you smile awkwardly.

- Wow, that sounds attractive. - You reply in the same tone, watching her put the bottle of water in her backpack on the bench.

- Oh, yes. My goal in life is to look attractive all the time. - She scoffs, frowning. - But I guess it works, since I got your attention. The world makes sense again.

She starts walking toward the exit of the camp, and you are a bit taken aback by the irony, but hurry to keep up with her.

- I'll pick you up on Friday, then. - You tell her, and Wanda lets out a laugh.

- Sure, Friday. - She wryly continues walking.

- Hey, it's the night I take you to places you've never seen.

- To a convenience store on Broadway? - She replies with irony. - Girl, do you even know my name?

You laugh.

- Wanda. - You answer, but she doesn't seem impressed. - And I know more than you know.

- I doubt it. I doubt it very much. - She said ironically and you stopped following her, biting your lip as you watched her walk off the field.

//-//

Your first attempt to get a date with Wanda had not gone well at all, but you are optimistic. And then, on Saturday of that same week, while you and Carol were at the laundromat on the corner of your houses, she nodded slightly outside through the window.

- Isn't that the car of the girl you're being paid to date? - She mocked, and you sighed.

- Don't talk like that. - you said as you put the coins in the washing machine. - It makes me sound like a psychopath.

She laughed without looking at you, kneeling on the waiting couch as she looked out the window.

- I think I should look for a new rejection. - You grumble, handing Carol some coins. - Take care of my clothes while I go talk to her, please.

Carol nods in agreement as you leave the establishment. Crossing the street, you look in the direction of Wanda's car. It is nice, and you are watching the tires as she arrives.

- Are you following me? - She asks with a mixture of aggressiveness and surprise. 

- What? Of course not! - You deny it, but with the suspicious look on her face, you try to add. - I was in the laundry room, smarty-pants. I saw your car, and wanted to say hello.

She lets out a sigh, and shrugs her shoulders, heading for the door. You hurry to stand in front of her, a charming smile on your lips.

- I notice that you don't talk much. - You remark, and Wanda frowns, crossing her arms.

- It depends on the subject. - She says. - Talking about the tires on my car doesn't cause me a verbal frenzy.

- You're not afraid of me, are you? - you ask, and she looks at you incredulously.

- Why would I be afraid of you?

- Most people are. - You retort, and Wanda rolls her eyes with irony.

- Well, I don't.

You smile and move a little closer.

- Not afraid, but I bet you've imagined me naked, haven't you? - You tease and give a little wink. Wanda keeps her face almost angry.

- Wow, is it that obvious? - She retorts. - I want you so bad, baby.

She mocks last before bending down slightly and opening the car door, pushing you with the metal.

You let out an impatient sigh as you step back, and she gets into the car and prepares to leave. You stand with your arms folded trying to think how exactly you are going to make this work.

And then Pepper Potts parks her car right behind Wanda's, preventing her from leaving, while the blonde steps out of the vehicle with a smiling, arrogant posture.

- My God, is it idiots' day today? - Wanda complains from inside the car. When Pepper passes by her window, she shouts: - Do you mind girl?

- Not even a little, bitch. - Potts retorts without looking at her as she walks away. 

But then Wanda is backing the car up, and the next moment Pepper's red Cadillac has a big bump mark on the side. You laugh in surprise, not believing that she had actually hit the car.

- My God, you are completely crazy! - Potts shouts as she observes the impact. 

- Oops. - You hear Wanda scoff.

You laughed again, before going back to the laundry room. 

//-//

It was Monday again, and you were trying to have a quiet day. But while you were putting your books away in your locker, Potts approached you.

- When I pay for something, I expect results. - She says, and you close the closet to brace yourself against it.

- I'm trying.

- Watching that lunatic destroy my car doesn't count as a date. - She retorts with mild irritation. - If you don't go out with her, I won't get Pietro. Then get something soon, okay?

That girl's audacity pissed you off. 

- I just raised the price. - You tell her, and she looks at you in disbelief.

- Excuse me?

- One hundred and fifty dollars a date. - You say. - In advance.

- Forget it. - She said angrily, turning away.

- Then forget about her brother.

Potts lets out a grumble and then turns to you again, hurrying to get the money.

- Does this kid have a gold dick by any chance? - You scoff, and Potts gives you the middle finger, making you laugh.

- You better get the date, sister. - She says, and you just smile before heading off in the direction of the mechanics' classroom.

//-//

You were trying to find the correct melting point for one of the tools when you were approached by the same girl as the last time you had mechanics. 

- I know what you are trying to do with Wanda Maximoff. - She announces, and you let out a wry chuckle as you continue your attention to the tools in front of you.

- Really? And what are you going to do about it?

- Help you.

You blink in surprise as you raise a large metal bar at your eye level to identify its features.

- Why? - you ask, and it is not the girl who speaks next.

- The situation is that my friend Monica, is in love with Pietro Maximoff. - A male voice speaks, and then you look quickly to identify Bruce Banner.

- God, this kid must really have a gold cock. - You mumble with irony as you place the iron bar on the table, and take off your protective gloves.

- Believe me when I tell you that Monica's love is pure, she wants to date him. - Banner explains as you walk to another table in the room, looking for your notes. - Unlike Pepper Potts, who only wants to use him as a trophy.

- Look, I'm only in this for the money. I don't give a shit who Potts is fucking. - You respond without patience, and Monica seems to get irritated with you, but Banner calms her down.

You make some notes regarding the lesson and walk over to the table to analyze the pictures of the tools as you organize them. Monica and Banner follow you.

- Listen, Y/N, we are the ones who planned this story so that Monica and Pietro could date. - Banner says. - Potts is just the go-between.

You laugh with surprise.

- And you are going to help me win Wanda over?

- That's right. - They both say in unison. You turn your attention back to the materials in front of you.

- We will investigate what she likes. - Banner says. - You need our help.

Bruce smiled amiably, and you laughed at the posture he assumed.

- Look, we'll start here. - He began by pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. - On Friday, Stephen Strange is having a party. It's the perfect opportunity.

- Perfect for what? - you ask, looking at him.

- For you to invite Wanda. - He clarifies, and you sigh impatiently, already tired of this conversation.

- I'll think about it. - You say finally and walk to the other side of the room, and this time, they don't follow you.

//-//

It was Wednesday, and you and your friends went to a bar to play a bit of pool shortly after school. Your mother had no idea you were here, but she was working, so she wouldn't know.

You got a text message from Bruce, wanting to meet you along with Monica, and you laughed when you sent the location. They really weren't the kind of people who hang around this place.

You were upstairs, drinking some beer when you saw them come in, and nodding slightly to Carol, you went downstairs and walked over to them.

- So, what do you have for me? - you asked, leaning against a wall.

- Before we get started, I have a question. - says Bruce. - Is it true that you are on probation?

You laugh in surprise.

- What?

- Bruce, shut up. - said Monica, tapping her colleague on the shoulder. And then she turned to you. - First thing, Wanda hates smokers.

- Okay, I hate them too.

You mock, but Monica and Bruce look serious, so you sigh, and take out of your pocket your cigarette case, handing it to the girl.

- There is another problem, Pietro told me that Wanda likes pretty girls. 

They look at you for a moment and you frown.

- Are you saying that I'm not pretty? - you ask, straightening your posture.

- You are beautiful! Monica, she's so beautiful, what are you saying? - hurried Bruce almost in terror. You wanted to laugh.

Monica nods quickly in agreement, and you lean back against the wall.

- Look, I made a list. - She hastens to say, pulling a piece of paper from her shirt pocket. - Wanda's tastes are: Sokovian food, feminist poetry, punk and alternative music. And there is a list of the CDs she had in her room.

She says, handing the paper to you. You let out a sigh.

- So should I buy some soup, a book, and ear plugs for some really noisy concert?

They both shrug, smiling slightly.

- Have you ever been to the Skrull Club, west side of town? - Banner asks.

You chuckle.

- It's a nice place, but not really my style.

- Well, it will have to be. - says Monica. - Her favorite group is playing there tomorrow night.

You run your fingers through your hair, sighing.

- Come on, Y/N, it's only for one night. - says Banner. - We're sure she'll be there, Mon found the tickets.

- She also has a black lingerie set. - Added Monica and you frown with confusion.

- Why is this relevant? - You asked, and Monica looked away, looking embarrassed. You laughed lightly, but didn't push it. Then you looked at both of them. - Okay, I'll drop by.

Bruce and Monica both let out excited exclamations and then waved goodbye. You laughed and shook your head, wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

//-//

The Skrull Club was generally frequented by the punk crowd in town, many women from extremist feminist movements hung out here. But in general it was a pretty diverse crowd of rockers, punks, goths and allies. And the drink was cheap.

You received a few curious glances as you walked through the dimly lit corridors of the nightclub, but it was more because these clubs were generally frequented by the same people, and you’re a familiar face.

The place was very crowded, and you had to dodge a lot of people until you reached the main dance floor, trying to find Wanda.

You smiled when you finally saw her, in the first row, dancing with a girl who was also from your school. You thought she looked pretty, in her black dress and red jacket, plus a knee-length black stocking and dark boots on her feet. She might have looked intimidating, but she was still very pretty.

You don't quite understand why your heart races at the image of her dancing and smiling, so you think it best to get a drink, and turn toward the bar.

You sit there, trying to decide how you are going to approach her, but then Wanda is coming toward the bar, and you disguise yourself by looking the other way.

- You don't give up, do you? - She says as soon as she sees you. And walks over to where you are sitting. - If you're planning on asking me out, you can just give up!

- Do you mind? I'm trying to hear the music. - You hit back without looking at her.

-You're not surrounded by your typical cloud of smoke. -She comments after a moment, and you take a sip of the drink you ordered before answering.

- Yes, I quit. They say it's bad for your health. - You say it with a slight irony.

- Do you think so? - Wanda looks slightly surprised, and you give her a short smile before standing up.

- These guys aren't the Kree's, but they play well. - You comment on her favorite band before heading off toward the dance floor. Wanda hurries to follow you.

- Do you know who the Kree's are? - she asks in surprise.

- Why, you don't know? - You reply with irony.

She doesn't answer, looking mildly impressed. You smile briefly.

- I was watching you dance. - You comment as the band is finishing the song. - I don't think I've ever seen you so sexy.

And then the song ends exactly with your line, and the whole club hears you. Several people giggle, and you feel your cheeks heat up, but Wanda laughs too, and that relaxes you.

- Come to Stephen Strange's party with me. - You ask her. And she tilts her head slightly to the side, still smiling.

- You never give up, do you?

And then another song starts, and Wanda is coming back to the front of the stage.

- Is that a yes? - you shout at her.

- No!

- Was that a no?

It takes a second, but she shouts back.

- No!

You grin.

- See you at 9:30! - You shout to her before she disappears into the crowd. 

You're smiling all the way home.

//-//

You were early. But you were so anxious about it that you left the house as quickly as possible. 

And then you arrived at Wanda's door, but as soon as you went to knock, she opened it.

- What are you doing here? - she asked in surprise.

- 9:30. - You answer. - Yeah, well, I'm early.

- Whatever, I'm driving. - She says and then you look into the house and see Pietro Maximoff with a kangaroo baby carrier outfit occupied with a doll and frown.

- May I ask what that is? - You remark, and Wanda just rolls her eyes at the scene, then turns to you.

- My father is a little neurotic about this whole pregnancy thing. - She answers and walks outside. You both wait for Pietro.

- At least he doesn't use a real baby. - You joke and Wanda smiles. But then Pietro leaves the house, looking slightly annoyed, and you hurry to Wanda's car.

It doesn't take long to get to the party.

The place was packed. Probably the whole school was here. And as soon as Wanda found a parking place, Pietro got out and disappeared into the crowd.

You decided to accompany Wanda as she entered the house. You went toward the second floor, and you lost sight of Wanda when a girl jumped on you, completely drunk and trying to kiss you.

- Wow, slow down there. - You said, helping her sit up. You found several empty and sealed bottles of water in one of the liquor containers around the house and handed one to her. - I want you to drink it all, okay?

The girl whimpered in confusion, but you waited. She seemed better, but you handed her another bottle just to be sure.

- Hey Peggy, I found you! - said a skinny boy you didn't know, walking up to you. He frowned, slightly startled, when he noticed you.

- Are you a friend of hers? - You asked him with distrust, and he nodded, looking mildly frightened.

- Yes, he is. This is Steve. - mumbled the girl sitting up, looking like she had a headache. - Thanks for the water, by the way.

- No problem. - You say. - Are you feeling well enough to be alone?

She nods slightly as she speaks:

- Yes, yes. Steve will take care of me now. Thanks again.

And then you patted Steve on the arm, and left the two of them, walking back through the crowd.

It took you many minutes to find Wanda again, because the party is so crowded. And when you reached her, she was pouring a glass of drink into her mouth.

- Hey, I've been looking all over for you. - You announce mildly annoyed. - What the hell are you doing?

- Getting drunk! - she answers ironically. - Isn't that what people are supposed to do at a party?

- I don't know, you do whatever you want to do. - You retort, and Wanda raises her eyebrows.

- Very funny. You're the only one who says that. - She says as she turns away. - See you later.

Wanda leaves walking through the party, and you see her grab another drink glass on the way.

You think you heard someone yell fight while you were walking through the party, and then the crowd moved, but you didn't go toward the people. 

You are very angry, and impatient, wanting to be spending this evening with Wanda, but she doesn't seem interested. 

And then you were walking back the way you came, and you ran into the same couple as before, only now they were kissing. You laughed lightly, the boy looked shy. You decided to stay out of their way, and went downstairs, only to run into Wanda again.

- Hey, why don't you let me have this one. - You spoke up as you noticed what must have been one of the many glasses of booze she had taken, and you raised your arm to pick it up, but Wanda was quicker, moving the glass away.

- No! This one is mine! - she grumbled, clearly drunk, trying to push you away. But you managed to take her glass, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

As you put the glass on a small table, she walked away again, and before you could follow, Pepper was at your side.

- Girl, how did you manage to do that? - she asked, looking excited. You frowned.

- What are you talking about?

- You made a freak act like a human being. - She commented with irony, but you weren't even paying attention anymore. Your gaze raced across the room after Wanda, and then someone turned on the radio in the next room and the crowd screamed attracting your attention.

You exclaimed in surprise when you noticed Wanda dancing on a table, without the jacket she was wearing earlier. Pepper ran in the same direction, joining in the shouts of celebration from the crowd around the table. 

Walking towards the table you were a mixture of irritation, disbelief and embarrassment. Wanda was completely drunk, dancing sensually to the music, while people whistled and watched intently. She had her eyes closed, not even seeming to notice her surroundings.

And then she made a badly calculated move, and hit her head on the chandelier on the table. You were quick enough to catch her when she fell.

- Okay, that was enough. - You grumbled, helping her to her feet. - Are you okay?

- I'm fine! - she replied, but she could barely walk. You kept her from falling while grabbing the jacket she had thrown to the ground.

- Yeah, you're not fine. - You said. - Let's get out of here.

- I just need to lie down. - She mumbled, letting you hold her around the waist as you led her through the crowd.

- If you lie down, you'll sleep. - You say. - You can't sleep after hitting your head.

Wanda giggled.

- So many words. - She complained, and you thought it best to sit her down somewhere.

You reached the outside, as crowded as the house, but you managed to find a space in the garden for her to sit, and helped her to the bench. Wanda put her hand on her head where she had hit it.

- Hey, I need to talk to you. - Called Monica, walking up to you suddenly.

- I'm kinda busy. - You retorted, looking at Wanda.

- Five minutes, it's important.

You sighed, and took one last look at Wanda before walking away with Monica.

- Look, the deal is off, okay? - she said, and you blinked in confusion. - Pietro never wanted to be with me. He just wanted to have sex with Pepper.

You really didn't have the energy for that right now.

- Monica, where did all this come from now, huh? Weren't you two sneaking around together?

- I thought I was having a good time, but I saw them both at the party. - She explained, and you sighed impatiently.

- Hey, you like this boy don't you? - you asked, and she looked away, nodding. - And he's worth all this stuff you're doing?

- I thought so but...

- Yes or no?  - She swallowed hard, and you assumed a serious posture. - Listen, Pepper Potts is not half as good as you, and you never let anyone make you think that you don't deserve something. Okay? 

Monica nodded, looking surprised. You turned your face toward Wanda quickly.

- Look, I have to go. - You said as you turned and helped Wanda to her feet.

On the way out you made sure to grab one of the bottles of water you found in the barrels.

You let her rest her arm on your shoulder to keep from falling, while your arm went around her waist. You dragged her across the street, and you ended up climbing a small hill in the mansion area that ended at a playground.

- Why are you doing this? - she grumbled.

- I said, you might have a concussion. - You retorted. Wanda broke free of you and started trying to walk ahead. You kept your attention to catch her in case she fell.

- You don't even care if I don't wake up.

You let out a chuckle, stopping her from falling next.

- That's not true.

- Why not?

- Because then I'd have to date girls who like me. - You respond with humor.

- If you could find one. - She retorts, and you have a smile on your lips when you answer.

- Oh, see. Who needs affection when I get hate?

- I just need to sit for a while. - She says, closing her eyes for a moment, and you help her sit down on one of the swings behind you. She falls off balance a second after you put her there, but you are quick to help her stay seated.

- Jesus. - You sigh as you stop her from falling, and then sit down on the swing beside her while Wanda laughs lightly. - So, why do you let yourself be affected?

- By whom? - she asks.

- Potts.

Wanda looks away, shaking her head.

- I hate her.

You let out a tired sigh.

- Well, you have chosen the perfect revenge. Intravenous tequila. - You joke, making her laugh.

- It's what they say.... - She begins to speak while you are looking away, and with the momentary silence you stare back, startled to find her asleep. You get up hastily, touching her face.

- Hey, Wanda! Wake up! Come on, open your eyes! - You called out, patting her face lightly. 

Wanda blinked, opening her eyes, and you let out a sigh of relief. And then you took your hands away from her face and stood up, while she continued to look at you.

- I like your eyes. - She says with a shy smile. And you smile too, but then she throws up on your shoes the next second and the moment is broken. You laugh incredulously, but pat her on the back.

- Time to go home, punk. - You comment softly.

It takes a moment for Wanda to calm down, and you hand her the bottle of water you got. Then you walk to her car, and she hands you the keys.

Just as you are about to arrive at her house many minutes after, she speaks again:

- I should do that. - She comments still sounding drunk. 

- Do what?

- That. - She says, pointing to the radio. A rock song was playing.

- Start a band?

- No, install radios in cars. - She retorted with irony, and you laughed lightly. - Starting a band of course. My dad would love it.

You then stop the car in front of her house. 

- You don't seem to be the type to ask your father's permission to do things. - You comment as you take out the keys.

Wanda blinks in surprise.

- So now you know me?

- I'm trying. 

- People only know that I scare them.

- Yeah, I know the feeling. - You comment with a wry smile. Wanda looks at you with an intensity that makes your stomach turn. - So, your father looks tough.

- No, he just wants me to be someone I'm not. - She says, shaking her head slightly.

- Who?

- Pietro. - She answers with a frown. You let out an understanding sigh.

- No offense, I know everyone likes your brother and all, but he's a pretty shallow guy. - You say and Wanda looks at you in surprise, but then she has a little smile on her face.

- You know... you're not as obnoxious as I thought. - She says, making you laugh slightly. And then she looks at you like that again, and brings your faces together, closing her eyes. You swallow dryly, ignoring your nervousness, and look at the steering wheel.

- I think we should do this another time. - You say, and Wanda looks at you in disbelief, as you twiddle your fingers nervously. She frowns and looks ahead, then opens the car door and gets out.

You sit there for several minutes, hoping that Wanda won't be even more irritated with you than she usually is.

[xlovelyyoongix]

morning | myg

♥ summary: when mother nature comes at an unexpected time.

♥ pairing: yoongi x f. reader (newly established relationship)

♥ word count: 852 (drabble)

♥ warnings: mention of sex, blood, period pain, and sweet, adorable Yoongi taking care of his s/o during her time of the month. 

♥ a/n: a huge thanks to @excusemin​ for looking over this for me! I had this idea for a while now so I’m glad to finally be able to make it available to read. Enjoy! 

Sleeping beside you with his arms wrapped around your waist, cradling you into his chest, was the best sleep Yoongi had in years. He could undoubtedly attest it to the sweet scent of your hair, the plushy softness of your skin, and the passionate sex that happened the night before. If you, spending the night was all Yoongi needed to get tranquil rest, he'd ask you to move your things into his apartment in a heartbeat.

Yoongi's throat vibrates a yawn, pulling you tighter into his chest to rest his chin atop your head. "Are you awake yet?" He slips your hair over your shoulder, hoping to get a peek at your peaceful face, only to find your sleeping expression in torment. "Babe?" Your brows furrowed together, nose scrunched from agony, and lips curled into a twisted frown as if your body was enduring pain. "Hey, wake up." Yoongi lightly shakes at your shoulder, assuming your dismayed state could be nothing more than a bad dream.

Upon his movements, Yoongi's leg brushes across a wet spot on the mattress. Curious, he pulls away the comforters unveiling red stains on the bed and a pool of blood on the back of your shorts, making it clear to him what was happening. "Baby," He whispers soundly again, running his hand up and down the curve of your back, hoping that would help soothe your discomfort. "Are you okay?"

When Yoongi placed a comforting kiss on your shoulder, your lashes began to flutter open, observing your surroundings to uncover you had spent the night at your boyfriend's house for the first time last night. "Hm?" You hummed soundly, but only to be met with sharp cramps spiking throughout your uterus. "Ow..." You whimper, hands wrapping around your waist to comfort yourself.

"__, I think you're on your period."

Your eyes immediately shoot open at the grim words. Pulling yourself up on the mattress, you peer between your legs at the red pools of blood that stained Yoongi's white bed sheets. Your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach at the sight. "Oh my gosh, Yoongi-" You panic, turning to him with a frantic expression. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't think my period would come early. I-" If you could die from embarrassment right now, you absolutely would.

Yoongi produces an assuring smile, onyx eyes glowing with care and infatuation. "Please, don't worry,__. You're a woman, and things like this are natural." His husky morning voice soothing your anxieties.

Even still, you were embarrassed. The very first time you spent the night at your boyfriend's house, of course, you had to get your period and stain his perfectly white sheets. "B-but your bed-"

"The sheets can be washed." Yoongi interrupts your worrying. "What matters right now is getting you taken care of." He wastes no time pulling out his phone, opening up an app to scroll through the shopping list. "This is an express delivery service. I think they have everything you'll need."

Yoongi passes you the mobile, and you begin scrolling through the app and click on the feminine items section. "Oh, wow." You're amazed by the large variety of products they have that cater to women on their monthly cycle. You quickly select your preferred brand of pads and Midol for pain relief before handing Yoongi back his phone.

"Is this everything you need?" He questions before clicking the buy option. You nod, reaching over the bedside to obtain your purse, which caused Yoongi's brows to crinkle curiously. "What are you doing?"

You stop in your tracks, attempting to fathom what you've done wrong. "Ah... getting my wallet." You pull out the pink designed purse to obtain your debit card.

Yoongi chuckles at your innocent actions. "No need. I already paid." He could see the curve of your lip open in an attempt to protest, but before you can get the chance to speak, Yoongi beats you to it. "Please, just let me do this for you."

You were going to fight him on it. Surely, you were capable of purchasing your own feminine products. However, you knew it was a battle you would lose, and with the iron leaving your body, you didn't have the strength for a petty fight. "Okay. Thank you, Yoongi."

"You're welcome, __" Yoongi was happy you decided not to protest. It made him feel like a proud man, being able to take care of his woman during her time of need. Even though the two of you just started dating, it was his way of showing you, he was in it for the long run. "The delivery should be arriving soon. In the meantime, let's get you in a warm shower and some food in your stomach."

Even with the cramps spiking throughout your lower abdomen, your cheeks glow a blushing pink as your heart begins to skip a beat in your chest. You weren't used to anyone being this chivalrous towards you, especially while on your period. Even though the two of you just started dating, you prayed it would be a relationship that would last. "Lead the way, my love."

[starlight-writes-stuff]

hi again omg! im getting into the feral boys and i was hoping you could do some headcanons for them with a reader that has their period (but could you make it gender neutral if possible?) - ⚙️ anon

⚙️ anon ! hi ! i can absolutely do this , im sorry it took a long time . i genuinely ended up LOVING these , and i hope you do too ! 

AYO LOOK AT THESE : reader who gets a period , mentions of cramps , usage of tylenol / painkillers of that sort , very very very fluffy feral boys content . i luv them .

reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

dream : 

would be incredibly worried :(

and unbelievably empathetic

he’s such a good fkn person in general ugh

“i don't know how it feels but i would imagine its … not good”

he would just want to keep you comfortable

“stay in bed, baby, i’ll bring [whatever] to you”

would go on pad/tampon runs for you

and wouldn’t be a pussy about it

“what size ? how heavy is your flow ?”

would call you while he was in the aisle to double check

and would get more than one box

“i know it fluctuates”

while he was out he would pick up some little gifts for you

just things to keep you comfortable

a blanket because “it looked soft”

some of your favorite chocolate

“did you know that chocolate produces endorphins ? which can help with cramps ?”

a little teddy bear

and would pick up some junk food for you

he’d move his stream to comfort you all night

“can i hold you ? will you still be comfortable ?”

would end up laying your head in his lap and running his hands through your hair

he’d do small , soothing actions until you fell asleep

and would be so still while you napped on him

clay would die if he woke you up

you’re his number one priority , and you need your rest

george :

sweet gogs would be . so concerned .

“... are you alright , my love ?”

would get pouty because you were irritated 

but would understand

he tries his best to help you in anyway possible

brings you water and tylenol

and would make you a snack to go with it

“you have to take it with food so your body can process it , darling .”

purchases a heating pack to keep at his house

and genuinely just tries to keep you as comfortable as possible

picks you up bridal style

to transfer you from couch to bed

and would be SO upset when you whimpered in pain

“did i hurt you , baby ? are you okay ?”

you’d try to explain that it wasn’t him at all

just your body working against you

but would insist on nursing you 

going as far to lift your water cup to your lips for you

“wanna make sure you’re taken care of , sweet thing .”

would bring you desserts and comfort foods

and would eat half

gogy would try to get you to nap

“your body is working so hard ! you need rest !”

and would be elATED when you fell asleep tucked against him

he’d run a hand up and down your back while you slept

trying to comfort you even in unconsciousness

sapnap :

trying his best

bless his little heart

would be incredibly concerned but very scared

not necessarily of you

but of you

wouldn't want to make you mad in any way , shape , or form

is worried that you’ll rip him to shreds

but is also v soft for you

doesn’t like seeing his s/o in pain :(

so he’d be very careful with you

won't give up his cuddles tho

would jump 10 feet into the air when you said “ow!” after he wrapped an arm around your lower tummy

apologizes incessantly

feels bad for the next week

would make you tea and warm drinks to help

and would diy a heat pack out of rice and a sock 😭

nick would NOT want to leave you alone

so he’d try to cook

and would do pretty well !!

would make you mac and cheese from the box

but it was so good

and would feed you oreos

he’d make you both milkshakes, too

karl : 

nurse karl™ is on the case

he would be the BEST at taking care of you

would have an entire period kit at his place

and would carry tampons/pads in a bag in his backpack just in case

karl knows you inside and out 

and has taken notes on what to do while you're on your cycle

stocks up on all your comfort foods the week before

makes sure you have plenty of supplies

he would make a movie lineup for the two of you to watch together

all cheesy rom coms and disney flicks

he’d sing all the songs to you

would make jokes about being your prince charming

karl would try to make you smile in any way he could

he would make you a comfy spot on the couch

with lots of pillows and blankets

“is it okay if i hold you ?”

would be s o gentle

barely touching you

“baby , i'm not made of glass”

“but i don't want to hurt you !”

would end up spooning

and karl would smother you with kisses

“gotta kiss it better >:(“

he’d keep you clothed in his big hoodies and sweatpants

and would make sure that you always had a warm towel when you got out of the shower

karl would run all the errands you usually did

and would bring flowers back from the store

quackity :

loml big q

god he would be so so so tender with u

he would go completley soft

because seeing you in pain just rips his heart to shreds

has the whole phantom pain thing

because yall are so fkn close w each other

wouldn’t leave you alone like ,,, ever

is so worried that you’re going to lose too much blood

you’ve tried to explain that your body regulates it to an extent

but he doesn’t care

he’d call your mom to ask for tips

and would follow all of them to a t , PLUS everything that he’d picked up on already

would make sure to keep you hydrated

gets gatorade “because you need electrolytes !”

he’d run you warm showers

and get you clean , soft clothes

would give you back and neck rubs to help with your muscles

alex would lay in bed with you all day 

he’d love when you napped on his chest

would set timers on his phone for giving you ibuprofen

“every six hours , my love .”

alex would 100% get midol and be so proud that he found it

finally makes a trip to the store on like ,,,,,, day 3/4

would take a picture the pads/tampons you use so he gets the correct ones

and would buy multiple boxes so you’d never run out

is incredibly comforting

does small tasks for you

brushes your hair and tries his best to braid it back

would make you foods that are high in iron

“you need it , baby , it’s for your blood”

but would follow it up with hot chocolates for the both of you

he’d sing softly to you until you fell asleep in his arms

and would press little kisses to your head

[kaijusplotch]

Far From Home (self insert/Tech the bad batch fic part 1)

The storm was raging with all the strength that the summer heat that day had given. Driving at night was not Lynn’s favorite thing, but such was the work of a paleontologist who gets too into her work. She frowned and tried not to jump when the flashes of lightning lit up the road she was on. Of all the days she got lost in time on a dig site.

“Dammit...Good going, Lynn,” she grumbled to herself. At least her truck was able to handle the heavy rain on the road. A strange blue flash; less intense than lightning, and far more vibrant blue, caught her attention.

“What the fu-SHIT!” Lynn screamed, slamming on the breaks as a sudden flash of lightning illuminated a figure in the road. She swerved the truck to the side of the road, missing the figure in bright white clothing.

Lynn’s heart was pounding wildly as she threw the truck to park and stared at the mirrors. The figure was wandering and staggering in the road. She glared and practically kicked open the door to her truck before getting out.

“What the FUCK are you doing?! You could have gotten killed!” She screamed into the storm at the figure. She was getting soaked but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness; illuminated only by flashing lightning, she got a better look at the figure.

What she first thought was fabric or a suit was armor of some kind; metal painted white with red and dark gray markings. There was a light, or something glowing, near the individual’s face. They were wearing a rather distinctive helmet, and something familiar sparked in Lynn’s mind.

“Is there a fucking con going on? Hey! You’re going to get killed dammit!” She rushed forward into the road to grab the man in the road.

“What…? Where?”

Lynn grabbed his arms and pulled the man back; surprised at how tall he was, taller than her by over six inches. Yet he was built like a swimmer, lean strong muscle where she could feel between the plates of armor. A flash of growing light around the corner of the road; the rain pouring down, and crashing thunder did nothing to hide the sound of a diesel engine.

“Get out of the road!” she screamed pulling the man back and off the road, landing on her back with the man in cosplay on top of her.

The tractor trailer blew past with a roar of it’s engine and Lynn clutched to the man on top of her, her heart racing.

“Shit...oh...oh fuck,” Lynn prayed carefully rolling the stranger off of her and looking down at him in the flashing lightning. “Hey...hey wake up. C’mon man.” She wrangled her phone from her pocket and shook the flashlight app on.

In the steady light of her phone, the costume was well made but the helmet had sustained damage to the right side. The man’s eyes were closed behind well made goggles, making Lynn’s heart leap to her throat as she checked for a pulse. She let go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding as she found a strong pulse. Running her hands carefully on the underside of the helmet, her fingers touched the seal that ran just under the rim.

“This is some damn good costume work,” she muttered. Her fingers caught a pair of buttons and the seal hissed as it was released. Pulling the helmet off was a little difficult but not complicated. Lynn carefully put her hand behind the man’s head and rested it on the muddy ground.

He had a severe widow’s peak of brown-red hair that was spot on for the costume. His face was lean with sharp cheekbones. The stranger’s skin was a rich brown; not too dissimilar to the shrubland soil in the badlands. Lynn squinted in the rain and the light of her flashlight wondering how the fuck the man got his skin so smooth; that was for another time; though as he groaned and a small trail of blood from his left temple

“Shit...Hey….hey c’mon man wake up.” Lynn gently patted his cheek before reaching up to touch his temple, her hand coming away sticky and warm.

“Nnnng…’Hunter?” Warm brown eyes fluttered open and Lynn carefully put her hand on his shoulder.

“Easy...you got a bad knock to the head. Can you stand?”

“Y-yes,” the man said, his accent bright even through obvious pain, with a British sound. “I believe I can with assistance.”

Lynn carefully gripped his arm and threw her free arm around his shoulders. “One, two, three!” Leveraging her weight back as the cosplayer moved forward they both got back to their feet. “All right. My truck’s right over there. I have a small med pack to patch you up before I get you to a hospital.”

“No! No Hospitals!” The man’s eyes were wide behind the goggles, turning his head toward Lynn and spraying her with water and a bit of blood.

“Okay...okay, no hospital.” Lynn conceded. She wasn’t one to argue with someone’s phobias. “I’ve got a first aid kid in my truck.”

The stranger nodded and walked with her through the rain to the beat up pickup on the shoulder of the road. It would be a pain in the ass and she would get soaked but Lynn would deal with it later.

She opened the passenger door and pushed her dig kit to the middle of the seat. “Here, sit down and relax. I’ll get my bag.” She hurried to the bed and opened the cap door before grabbing the red and white first aid kit. Rushing back to the cab she put the bag on his lap. “Okay. Hang on, this is going to sting a little.”

She got a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol and cleaned the wound on his scalp. She grimaced in sympathy as he hissed. “Sorry. At least it’s not deep…” Lynn continued to clean the wound and got a bit of neosporin out and a bandage.

“No bacta?”

Lynn laughed a bit. “Going really into character huh? Can’t say I don’t wish we had bacta, it would probably be a lot quicker and less scaring.” She bit her lip as she carefully moved some of his hair out of the wound. “Neosporin should help keep it clean though with the butterfly bandages.” She carefully leaned forward, smiling at the man and looking him over for any other injuries.

“I don’t understand…where am I?” He reached up to touch his head.

“South Dakota, just outside of the badlands,” Lynn popped the internal bubble of an ice pack and shook it before wrapping it in the towel she kept in the bag. “Here it’ll help the swelling. You get dumped out here by your buddies from a Con?” she asked as she grabbed a small bottle of pills and a water bottle from her cooler. “You don’t have any allergies to medicine do you? All I have is Excedrin and midol.”

“No, no allergies. South Dakota? Where is my datapad? I must have hit my head harder than you thought.” The man reached down at his hip and grabbed a strangely shaped tablet case from his hip.

“Don’t know how well your tablet will work. Had to kind of throw you back with me so you didn’t get turned into a roadkill pancake.” Lynn rolled her eyes and closed the door to the truck before running to the other side.

She was soaked to the bone and the chill from the wind was enough to make her crank the heat in her old truck. She glanced over at the man, eyes trailing to the tablet in his hands. The glow of the screen and the strange-yet-familiar alphabet trailing across it made her chest constrict nervously as the storm continued to shake the sky. “What….kind of app do you have on that thing? That looks like Aurebesh.” she laughed nervously.

“That’s because it is.”

Lynn bit her lip and tried to keep herself focused on the reality of the situation, not the strange possibility that was building in her mind. “Do you have a place to go? I mean you’re pretty much out in the middle of nowhere…”

“I’m afraid not. Until I am able to exactly pinpoint where this planet is, I’m without any ability to contact and inform my squad.” The man looked up at her and Lynn swallowed hard.

“What the fuck is going on…?” she asked, staring at him. “You’re Tech? You’re REALLY Tech from Clone Force 99? The Bad Batch?”

The stranger met Lynn’s shocked look with one of nervous apprehension. “You know who I am, who my squad is?” His hands gripped the sides of the tablet and he leaned away from her just slightly.

“This...I have to have been hit by something. The truck hit me right? I’m dead and this is all some kind of death dream? Oh my fucking god.” Lynn leaned her head against the steering wheel, her eyes wide as she stared at the dashboard.

“No,” Tech said, his voice softer. “We are both very much alive. I’m only alive because of you. Thank you.”

Lynn felt his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him, focusing on the fact that his hand was warm through his glove and her shirt. His eyes, even through the yellow tinted goggles, were wide and flicking across her face as if he didn’t want to keep eye contact.

“You’re lucky I’m not an asshole. otherwise you would have been pasted on the front of that semi.” She laughed bitterly and gently put her hand on top of his. “Let’s...get home; my home. We can figure everything else out once we’re dry.”

“And what should I call you? You know who I am,” Tech said dryly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Lynn. You can call me Lynn.” She smiled, putting the truck into gear.

[deans-baby-momma]

Past Haunts- A Revisit

A/N: Let’s take a look inside the Winchester/Quentin household and see how everyone is getting along. Also look for the 2nd author’s note after this story. 

It's been six months today. Six months since my daughter and I were getting ready for work and school when a simple knock on the front door changed everything. Changed it all, for the better.

To be able to watch from the sidelines as Whitney got to finally know the man who was her father; to finally experience having a male figure in her life was indescribable. 

Those two were like two peas in a pod, though. Similar likes, the same dislikes, an identical warped sense of humor. Once Dean had gotten over- no, that isn't the right wording-since Dean had come to terms with Sam being locked in a cage in Hell, he had jumped right into being a parent, a daddy. And he was killing it!

I hadn't expected to find him in the kitchen every morning, cooking breakfast for us before sending us both off with a kiss and I definitely never dreamed of coming home to a clean house, mowed lawn and that pesky back porch light repaired but during the first whole week of loving with us,  Dean had picked up the slack. I was amazed and very grateful.

Dean and I have slept in the same bed every night since his return but have yet to put a label on what we are. Although, Whitney happily tells anyone and everyone that her parents are together, I'm just unsure. And yes, we've had sex but then again what woman in her right mind could look at him, cuddle up to him and NOT want to have sex with him?

He had gotten a job at a local garage after the first month of being 'home' and had quickly impressed the boss with his knowledge of older vehicles. It seemed as though the mechanics nowadays depended on the little computers installed in the newer models to alert them to whatever was wrong, so when older vehicles came across their rack, these young boys were stumped.

During the week after Thanksgiving, the city of Fairfax Indiana got its first snowfall. Everything looked so clean and fresh with the white blanket covering all the blemishes and eyesores around town. And that's the day we found out Dean Winchester doesn't like the cold.

"It's just-" Dean grumbled as he drank his coffee at the head of the table. "-so ridiculous. You have to wear extra layers, watch out for other idiots on the road. Watch where you step. And it's just so cold." He finishes his groaning with a full body shiver.

"Dad you sound like a whiny brat," Whitney banters as she eats her eggs and bacon. "It's wonderful! Everything looks so bright and shiny."

"I need sun and warmth, missy," Dean shoots back with a wink. He suddenly sits up straight and looks at me. "Babe, how many days of school until our little girl is on holiday?"

Whitney hmphs at being called a little girl, even though she knows Dean only does it to get a rise out of her. The smirk on his face tells me that is exactly the response he expected.

"Uh, nine. I think."

"Eight and a half," Whitney corrects me, standing up to take her plate to the sink. "And the half day is going to be mostly watching movies and not much else."

I look at Dean to see his mind whirling. I could tell he was trying to work something out in his head. I raise an eyebrow in question but only get a smile in response. I shake my head at his antics and stand up to go finish getting ready for work.

Christmas in Florida is distinctly opposite of Christmas in the North. For one, there is no snow for the lights to mirror. The lights are pretty but seem so dull without the reflection. And instead of coats and gloves and hats, people are in swimsuits and shorts, tank tops and flip-flops. A total 180 from what I'm used to in mid-December. I ponder the difference between the two as I lounge on the long beach chair beside Dean's as we watch Whitney frolic in the cool water.

Dean hasn't fully embraced the warmer temperatures as he is still in jeans and his usually two-shirt ensemble.  The only thing missing is the heavy work boots he usually dons; his feet are bare. The sunglasses on his face does little to hide the freckles that have made an appearance the darker his skin tans. I've laid in bed recently, counting the cute little misshapen dots. He is all smiles and happy. I love him so much!

When Dean had first suggested taking a trip down south for Christmas break I was astonished, Whitney was ecstatic. In her 13 year existence, this is the first full-fledged vacation we have ever taken so she was excited and enthusiastic about the chance to take a trip. And when she found out the destination, I didn't think she would survive the 17-hour trip without spending the whole time exploding with glee. Whitney and I spent my whole payday on a new wardrobe for the both of us, getting weird and bizarre looks from other shoppers as we tried to find t-shirts and shorts, bathing suits and sunscreen; during December in Indiana those items were few and far between. I also took a secret trip to the courthouse, getting the paperwork to officially make Whitney a Winchester. All it needs is information and signatures from both parents. I plan to surprise Dean with them Christmas morning.

So far, this vacation has been fantastic. We have spent time as a family doing little things, like walking along the beach at sunset searching for seashells, playing mini-golf, spending the day in our hotel room watching old movies and cartoons when the weather took a turn for the worse. It has been a dream come true, something I had never in a million years thought would ever happen. 

Spending time with him and our daughter in what I dubbed as the most magical place on Earth. So what if we're not at Disney World, to me this is the most fascinating time and place; a week spent with my daughter and her father, the love of my life. Life couldn't get any better than this.

I am shaken from my daydreams as I hear Dean growl and begin throwing fictitious daggers with his eyes in the direction of the pool. I turn my head to see a group of teenage boys all surrounding Whitney, who is all smiles at the attention. 

"Calm down honey," I cajole. "We knew this would eventually happen. We can't expect her to be a nun."

"Those boys are too old for her," he defends. "They see an innocent, young girl like her and there's only one thing on their mind." He goes to get up and I reach over to place my hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Give it a minute," I tell him. "I've taught Whitney to take care of herself."

As Dean and I sit there I keep our daughter in my peripheral, just in case one of us needs to step in. Suddenly, Whitney yells out "Jerk!" and slaps the boy who looks to be the protagonist of the crew. I smile as I watch her climb out of the pool and walk toward us. She sits at my feet and wraps her towel around her shoulders.

"You okay darlin'?" her dad asks, his eyes still trained on the gang of boys. They just don't know how many different ways Dean Winchester could murder them and make them all disappear.

"Y-yea," she answers but I can tell she's lying. "They just said some things that weren't nice."

Dean finally turned his eyes toward his daughter, the dangerous glint replaced by concern.  "Baby girl, I can go have a talk with them, if you-"

"No Dean!" she says, standing up. "I don't need my father taking up for me. I'm not a baby!" As Whitney storms out of the pool area, Dean looks at me, at a loss.

"What did I do?"

I stand up and wrap the sarong around my bikini-clad body. "Just let me go talk to her, okay?" I have an idea what is going on and I know having her dad there I'd never get Whitney to open up. I lean down and kiss him and head in the direction our daughter had stomped off.

In the room, Whitney has thrown herself across her bed and is crying into the pillow.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I ask gently because if my suspicions were true, anything could cause her to fly off the handle.

"I don't know," she whines. "I was feeling okay and then all of a sudden, it's like my energy zapped. So I was just floating in the pool, hoping the ache would go away and then those boys came up and started talking to me. And I liked it," she explains as she sits up on the bed. "But then Kyle said something about me being pure and innocent when I told them how old I was and I just lost it. And then I jumped down Dad's throat and he probably hates me now!" She begins crying again and I join her on the bed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and she places her head on my shoulder.

 "Oh baby," I console. "I think it's becoming that time. You're getting ready to start your first period."

She jerks her head up and looks at me. "Really?"

"Yea, we need to go get you some pads and Midol. You're going to start bleeding anytime."

"God, did I just ruin our first vacation?"

"No!" I claim. "You didn't ruin vacation at all, baby. Now, let's get cleaned up and run down the street to the store."

"Moooom! I can't leave the room! What if it starts before we get back?" I chuckle at her wide-eyed expression.

"Okay, okay." I reach over and grab my phone texting Dean to come up to the room. I roll my eyes as I remember the discussion he and I had almost 2 years ago. Never in a million years did I think I would actually be asking this of him but I can't leave my baby.

The look on his face was comical as I whispered my request. He looked terrified and afflicted at the thought of having to buy feminine products. I take screenshots of exactly what he needs to buy and send him on his way, but not before he insists that I remember promising him he would never have to do this particular task.

The rest of the vacation goes off without a hitch. Whitney does begin her first period and requests to spend the rest of our time in Florida in the hotel room, only going out to eat. Dean and I trust her enough to leave her in the room while we go out, exploring not only the beach but the little town we are in. 

Christmas morning comes and Whitney wakes us up with squeals of delight at the massive amount of presents placed under the decorated fake palm tree in our room.

Dean and I sit on the sofa, drinking coffee and enjoying the look of awe on our daughter's face as she opens her presents. Once finished, she winks at her dad and goes to her bag where she pulls a box from inside. Handing it to him, Whitney steps back as Dean slides off to the floor, getting on one knee.

My hand slaps over my mouth as he clears his throat. I have no idea what he says because my inner voice is chanting 'Oh my god! This can't be happening!' Finally my ears take over and I hear him ask, "Becks, will you marry me?" I nod through the tears and watch as he slips the ring onto my finger. He climbs back onto the couch and wraps his arms around me, only moving one around Whitney when she dog-piles on top of us in excitement.

None of us know though, that when we return to Indiana  the past is going to come back to haunt us, in the form of Sam Winchester back from Hell.

A/N2: Another announcement! Another story! Remember how I promised a sequel to this story? A look into the years these two spent apart? Well I began it and then life happened (along with a stroke) so I just now am finishing it up. Look for Wounded Hearts to begin in March!!! I’m excited to share it with you. I will keep those of you that were on the PH taglist unless you tell me different. Love to you all. 

@vickiq9761 @81mysteriouslyme @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @hoboal87 @squirrelnotsam @spnbaby-67 @sandlee44 @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78 @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @larajadeschmidt13 @tftumblin @blacktithe7 @lilulo-12 @adoptdontshoppets @cpag7 @markofdean79 @supraveng @deanwanddamons @mogaruke @death-unbecomes-you @vicariouslythruspn @atc74 @delightfullykrispypeach​ @sea040561​

[lettersofwrittencollective]

Ok first of all, I LOVE YOU, YOU ARE AMAZING AND EMBODY ALL GOOD THINGS IN THIS GODFORSAKEN WORLD

Second of all, I'm sitting in my bed, miserably eating crackers cause its Satan Waterfall time while craving the love abd affection of my favorite fictional boi. So... Will you...🥺👉🏻👈🏻 fulfill those dreams of mine??🥺👉🏻👈🏻📓📓

Okay but thank you?!?!? Here I am just like😭 I do not deserve your kind words at all... You are so sweet and so kind and I am but a small gremliney bean Now... no beta no editing just as is... (I also am on nexplanon which has thankfully kept me from dealing with any severe form of shark week so apologies if I got some of the feelings wrong) 

 Groaning, you tried to get comfortable on the bed. Shark Week was the absolute worst normally and today was no exception. You wanted to get out of bed but stretching your body out was out of the question. Any real movement was out of the question. 

 So currently, you were curled up on your bed watching re-runs of your favorite TV show holding onto a pillow, close to your chest, as you waited for your boyfriend to get back from the store. 

 You heard the door opening and a few minutes later, Stuart was in the room with you. "

I've got your favorite chocolates, your favorite chips, cookies and strawberries," he tells you as he pulls each item out, laying it down on the bed. He then opens up a second back and and pulls out a couple of boxes of tampons and a couple of boxes of pads, "I couldn't remember which one you used and I know that you've got one that you prefer but I wasn't sure.. So I just grabbed a few of them." 

 He also showed you a bottle of midol, some heat packs, and a new pair of fuzzy socks. He puts them back in the bag before he slips into the bed next to you and pulls you next to him. 

 "You doing alright?" he asks you as he pulls you into his arms. His hand begins to rub soothing circles to your lower back, the soothing warmth making you feel sleepy. 

 "Better now," you tell him as you adjust so that you're fully curled up in his arms

“I’m sorry you’re feeling like this Baby,” he mutters as he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He continues to rub soothing circles into your back as the two of you watch your favorite TV Show. 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @husbro donated $110, and requested ‘wincest, a/b/o.’ Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

First time Dean gets his heat when they’re working together again, Sam doesn’t--at first--have any idea what’s going on.

He’d been with a woman, for two years; before that, he didn’t really date anyone, girl or hal, at least not long enough to get to know their cycles. It’s not much of an excuse, with Dean, who got his first heat when Sam was eleven and followed pretty much the same pattern, twice a year, every year.

They’re in Florida, and it’s only March but it’s already getting hot there, humid and sticky and gross in the sun or shade. A ghost hunt just finished, and a decent collection of bruises between them, and they take a day off to stock up the car again, to regroup. The motel, at least, has working air conditioner, and Sam’s stripped to a t-shirt and boxers at the table, biting his nails and lazily looking for a case, and Dean--still hasn’t gotten out of bed. Ten in the morning, and yeah, maybe they don��t get the opportunity much to sleep in, but still. Sam squints at the lump in the bed. Throws the motel notepad somewhere near a rounded curve of hip, and says, “Seriously?”

A grunt. “I’m tired,” comes Dean’s voice, scratchy from below the pile of blankets. He doesn’t even know how Dean can stand the covers--even with the a/c set to 70, he can feel sweat gathering below his hairline. “Go away.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Are you sick or something?”

A shift, and the blanket tugs down enough for Dean to give him a look, his hair rumpled and his eyes bleary. “Or something,” he mutters, and fitfully pushes the blankets down to his waist. He’s got his usual grey camisole on, the USMC logo nearly illegible over the chest, but his skin’s flushed pink at his shoulders and cheeks and throat, and he actually does look a little--Sam frowns. Dean rubs his eye, smearing the raccoon-stain of the eyeliner he never washes off right, and then squints at Sam. “Could you--coffee? Food?”

“Was that a request?” Sam says, raising his eyebrows, and he doesn’t exactly want to be an errand boy but--Dean’s nodding, vaguely miserable, and Sam sighs, and stands up, and points. “You have to get the next one.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Dean says, and flops back into the pillow.

*

Closest thing to them is a Pilot, and even if it’s less than two blocks Sam takes the car. Too hot to walk. He wishes he owned a single pair of shorts. The truck stop’s not too busy, and Sam wanders up and down the aisles in the c-store, just stretching his legs, not in a hurry for once. A t-shirt with three wolves on it--Dean might actually wear that. Keychains, license plate holders. Oil in gallon jugs, and Sam thinks that might actually be a decent price, and makes a note to tell Dean, in case the Impala needs a change. Around the other aisle there’s the usual light drugs, caffeine pills and aspirin and Pepto and everything else a trucker needs to get through a haul, and Sam’s got a bottle of Tylenol in hand when his eye glances over the familiar tubes with their dainty purple labels that say Kool Kream, and he pauses, and realizes--oh. Fuck.

Kool Kream, and he’d always made fun of the name, but when they were kids Dean used it semi-religiously. His heats were about average, as far as Sam knew, but he would overheat sometimes, and chafe, and Dad would bring it home for him without even making rumbly pronouncements about the extra cost. A few times, when Dad wasn’t home, Sam would get sent out too, and he’d put it on the counter with beef jerky and a Coke like somehow that’d mask what he was buying, and he knew he was blushing to the top of his head, but the cashiers usually didn’t say anything. Weird kind of practice, for buying Midol and tampons for Jessica.

He gets two cups of coffee, and two ice cream bars, and a bag of the slightly suspect deli-case sandwiches, and two tubes of the cream, and the cashier just smiles at him and wishes him a nice day. He doesn’t know how he missed it. Dean always used to get super tired, the day or two before his heat, and then it was--embarrassing, sure, but also made Sam feel kind of... tender. Dean was a pain in the ass, a lot of the time, and made it his life’s mission to annoy Sam, a lot of the time, but for that week Sam always felt...

Shower’s going, with the door barely cracked, when Sam comes into the room. Dean’s bed is a complete wreck, and Sam leans over it to tug the blankets into some kind of order, just to make it more comfortable in case Dean wanted to crawl back in, and--yeah. Smells like... sweat, a little, but more like the tang of slick, and Sam’s mouth waters and he has to swallow it back. Dean’s favorite kind of porn is still heat-sex, and even if Sam tells him he doesn’t want to hear it Sam’s watched it, too, and unfortunately real life isn’t the sex-crazed, impossible-to-deny, irresistible ravishment of that genre--but, fuck, if Sam hasn’t jerked off to the idea, more than just about anything else.

Shower sputters off, and he calls out, “Coffee’s here,” just so Dean knows that Sam is too.

The bathroom door immediately swings further open and Dean sticks his head out, wet hair pushed back from his forehead. “Thank god,” he says, and makes a grabby hand.

Sam rolls his eyes, comes over. Coffee, and a sausage sandwich that Dean makes excited noises at, and then Sam offers up the tube of cream. Dean blinks at it, then at Sam. “I just thought,” Sam starts, and shrugs. “If you still use it.”

Dean licks his lips. He’s pink all over, his shoulder curving out from around the door, and his throat, and his cheeks, and his ears where his hair’s tucked back. He’s washed his face and there’s hardly any eyeliner left, but his lashes are still thick, damp and dark. “You remembered,” he says, soft. He takes it, too, and leans over to put his coffee and sandwich on the bathroom sink. He pauses there, towel caught around his waist, and looks at the tube in his hand.

His bare chest is pink, too, flat but soft, and Sam swallows. “Anything else you need?” he says.

Pause, and Dean lifts one shoulder, still looking at the tube. “Don’t suppose they had dildos in stock at the Pilot, huh?” he says, crass, but his heart’s not in it.

Sam huffs. He leans his shoulder against the door frame, hands in his pockets. “Thought you used a toothbrush holder,” he says--wondering, careful, if Dean would remember--that time, in Eugene, when Sam had walked in, and Dean had had the covers tugged up to his chest but his knees wide and his hand working under the sheets, and he’d gasped and said god, Sam, knock, and--

Dean bites his lip. Looks up, and Sam sees that he does remember, and Dean doesn’t move but his eyes are massively dark, his pupils wide, and he says, level, “Not if I can get something better,” and Sam tugs his hand out of his pocket and touches Dean’s jaw--soft, incredibly hot--and Dean’s lips part and then Sam steps forward and ducks the however-many-inches down and kisses him, hard and all at once, and Dean shoves at his chest and says, mumbly between their mouths, “How fucking long have you been waiting to do that, you dick?” and then loops his arm around Sam’s neck and kisses back.

“So long,” Sam breathes, “so fucking long--” and Dean moans, grabs at him. The towel falls immediately and Sam drops his hands, grabs him under the ass, hauls him in. Jesus, jesus, he’s so soft and so built, his hips that heart-shaped curve that Sam dreamed about for ten years, his ass full and sweet, his shoulders strong and his hands grabbing, grasping, pulling at Sam’s shirt, wanting just as much as Sam has always wanted. “Dean--”

“You are killing me,” Dean says, tugging back, breathing hot up into his face. He’s red-cheeked, his mouth wet. “Sammy, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know,” Sam says, even if he doesn’t--and he ducks and kisses Dean again, and then ducks another inch and grabs him under the thighs, picks him up in an easy haul--just what he’s always pictured--porno scenarios slipping through his mind--and, yeah, Dean gasps, squirms against him, his clit hard and rubbing against Sam’s stomach, through his t-shirt. He dumps Dean on the closest bed--Sam’s--follows him down, getting his hips between Dean’s spread-wide thighs, pushing his dick up against Dean’s clit. Overwhelming--all this skin, soft and hot, and Dean’s face most of all, watching Sam with laser focus, his hands sliding into Sam’s hair.

“You got a condom?” Dean says, dark, offering, and Sam grimaces--not the kind that’ll hold a knot, not with Dean’s body pumping out hormones like it is now. Dean throws his head back against the mattress, groans, and Sam shakes his head--”It’s okay,” he says--”it’s okay, let me just--I’ll--” and he slides his hand down Dean’s side and gives his clit a few pumping strokes, makes Dean squirm, and then slides two fingers down the soft smooth stretch from the root of the clit down to his asshole, where it is--god--soft, and wet, and open, and Sam says hotly, “Were you fingering yourself? In the shower?” and Dean says, on a groan, “What do you think, Sherlock?” and Sam kisses his throat and shoves his fingers in, fast and to the knuckles, all at once. Dean flinches, moans loud. Fuck, fuck--hot inside, so hot, and squishily wet from how much Dean’s giving up. Tight at the entrance and softer inside, and Sam can imagine--how he’ll get in there--”How do you like it?” he says, against Dean’s throat, and Dean shoves his hips down against Sam’s hand and gulps air, so that Sam has to lift his head up, look at him. “C’mon, c’mon. Tell me. Like this, on your back?”

“Sam,” Dean groans, and Sam starts really working his fingers, shoving in and out, pressing and curling to try to find that rough patch, the holy grail, and Sam says, “I’d do it however you want--however, you just gotta tell me. That good?”

Dean reaches down between them, grabs Sam’s wrist. “You know it’s good,” he says, curling his hips. “Shit, shit--”

Slick all over Sam’s fingers, slipping down his knuckles. Dean’s going to be a mess. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he mumbles, and kisses Dean, and Dean squeezes his wrist hard and humps his hips up and comes rippling, shockingly fast, his ass clenching around the space where a knot should be, where Sam should give it to him. Where he will. He’s throbbing, in his jeans, and he kisses Dean’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, breathes in his smell. Fuck.

Dean’s thighs fall open, slowly, and Sam drags his fingers out with a gush. They feel almost bruised, from the pressure inside, but he doesn’t care. He sucks them clean and gets that tang, sharp and almost vile, intense, and Dean opens his eyes then and drags in a breath, shaky. “Jesus, you’re a freak,” he says, but--admiring.

Sam smiles at him. He’s covered in sweat and his balls feel like they’re going to explode and he hasn’t even had his coffee, yet. “You haven’t seen anything,” he says, soft as a promise, and Dean grins, happier than Sam’s seen him in months, and pulls him in for a kiss.