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sparkle-heart-anon · 3 years

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Les idées d’amour (Racetrack Higgins x Girly!Reader)

Request: Racetrack x girly reader where she makes him take. Bubble bath, do face masks, watch titanic, and let her do his makeup bx she’s sick. Sorry if this is specific hahah

A/N: Okay, so I hope I wrote what you wanted. I did get a little bit off topic, but I think it combines together well, and is overall pretty cute!

Word count: 4,609

Love is not one grand sweeping gesture filled with romance and lights and perfection. Love is the culmination of the perfectly imperfect little moments, fragmented together to create a beautiful picture.

No one saw that better than Racetrack Higgins. Every day with you was filled with little moments of love, seen in every action.

“Anthony Higgins!” you gasped, seeing him in the doorframe, bruised and bleeding, his shirt torn and his eye swelling shut. “What on earth did you do?”

Through the pain, he gave you a sheepish grin, which quickly dissolved into a wince, before he headed inside the apartment the two of you shared.

He moved to sink down onto the couch, but before he could, you grabbed his hand to stop him. It was then you noticed the bleeding on his knuckles.

“What did you do?” you asked again, you’re voice slightly less stern this time.

“Relax, Y/N,” he said, leaning in to give you a little kiss. “I did what needed to be done.”

You lightly touched his shoulder and noticed how much he winced. You sighed, then said “I’m drawing you a bath.”

“What?”

He walked after you to the bathroom slowly, groaning in pain with every step.

“Seriously, Y/N, I’m fine. I’ll just lay down for a little bit and wake up fine.”

You maybe have been shorter than Race, and you may have been wearing the least intimidating outfit on the planet, but Race knew when he saw that look in your eye, he stood no chance of winning. “You’re taking a bath and you’re going to tell me what happened.”

He sat down on the closed toilet in the bathroom while you started running the bathwater. He watched as you rummaged through the cabinet before finding a bright pink bath bomb and some strawberry scented bubble bath. You poured in the bubble bath and dropped the bath bomb in the water before turning back to Race.

“Strip,” you told him.

“My, my, my, if you wanted me that bad, Y/N, you could have just told me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Racetrack Higgins strip and get in that bath.”

“Okay,” he sighed, before tugging his shirt off his torso. But before you could get a look -- either at his chiseled chest or the bruises that littered it, you heard a beeping coming from the kitchen.

“Shit, the cookies!” you exclaimed, running to go get them from the oven. When you returned with a washcloth to help with Race’s cuts, you saw him leaning deep down into the bath, the bubbles going up to his neck, his knees peeking out of the water.

“How are you feeling?” you asked him, kneeling down at the side of the tub and dipping the washcloth in the water.

“You should get in with me,” he smiled lopsidedly, reaching out of the water to the hem of your pink sweatshirt, motioning for you to take it off.

“Answer the questions and I’ll think about it,” you told him, bringing the cloth to the biggest cut on his forehead, filled with gravel. His eyes screwed shut in pain.

“Not great.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Face, I guess. Chest too. But I think my lips might be broken.”

“Your lips are broken?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he laughed, before pulling you into a kiss. “Okay well, I don’t think they’re broken, but they hurt.”

“You’re black and blue and still this cheeky,” you laughed.

“You love it.”

You had finished getting the gravel from the cut on his forehead, and were now moving to his eye.

“Y/N, seriously, I’m fine. It was just a little fight.”

“Over what?” you asked, pushing back a golden lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Did someone say that the Red Sox were better than the Yankees? Because they are.”

“No,” he playfully rolled his eyes. But then his tone dropped to be something more somber. “Some people were talking shit, and I just couldn’t stand for it.”

“What were they saying?”

You could see him pause, and he tried to look anywhere but at you.

“Race?”

“I don’t wanna say,” he whispered. Rarely was he ever this serious.

“Were they talking about your parents?” He shook his head. “About the guys?” He shook his head again. “About what you’re gonna do after --”

He cut you off, almost silently. “They were talking about you.”

Neither of you said anything for a long beat. “Me?” At this point you had moved down to working on the bruises on his chest, but you paused and looked him in his eyes. “What were they saying.”

You could see him grow more uncomfortable, not from the pain of his injuries, but from the pain in his words. In the words of the others.

“Disgusting things, Y/N, like awful things.”

“Like what?” your voice grew softer.

“They said what they’d do to you if they got the chance. Commenting on your skirts and your hair and everything. And it was so gross. And I had to do something!”

You watched him ball his fists again and rise in anger.

“Hey,” you whispered, placing your hand on his shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m yours.”

He gave you a long look. “That’s never what I was worried about. Of course I trust you. But you choosing them was not what they were talking about. More like you didn’t have a choice in the matter.” You could see the hurt and the anger deep in the lines of his eyes.

“Oh,” you said, suddenly wishing that you hadn’t worn that white skirt while you two were out yesterday. I need to cover up more, you thought, ashamed. “Do you want me to dress less feminine -- like more conservative and everything?”

“What?” he was taken aback. “Not unless you want to. That’s why I had to fight them. To put them in their place.” He held your hand in his, and you paused.

“I love you, Race.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

You finished washing out his wounds, and wondered what to do next. “You should join me in the bath,” he said.

“There’s no room,” you laughed, placing a blob of bubbles on his nose.

He smirked. “We could make room. Pleeease?”

“Only because you defended my honor,” you laughed.

He watched you with bright red cheeks, completely entranced as you pulled off your pink sweatshirt, and discarded your skirt.

“What are you staring at, Higgins?” you smiled.

“Only the most beautiful creature on this planet.”

You rolled your eyes, but blushed anyway before sinking down next to him in the bath.

“Where did you get this bubble bath?” he asked, lifting a blob of bubbles in his hand. “I really like it.”

“Lush I think.”

“We should go get some more.”

“Whatever you say,” you giggled and rested your head on his chest. “Just no more fights.”

Racetrack Higgins was not someone who spent undue time on his skin. He had always had pretty much flawless skin, much to your dismay, as you seemed to always break out.

But now, the tables had turned, and while for once your skin decided to be clear, Race had a huge angry pimple right in the middle of his forehead, along with trails of acne on his cheeks.

“I don’t know how this happened?” he asked looking in the mirror, you standing next to him.

“I told you,” you said, singsong, “you need a skin care routine beyond washing your face with a bar of soap.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well I can’t show up like this to the party tomorrow.”

“Worried you’ll ruin your dashingly handsome image?” you laughed.

“Yes!” he said, turning to look at you.

“Let me see your face,” you finally said. He leaned down, and you examined the acne on his face. “Wash your face with my fancy face wash, the one in the blue tin. Then meet me in the living room. Oh! And use the white tube next to the pink lotion, that’ll help clear it up.”

While Race tried to figure that out, you rummaged around, finally pulling out the charcoal face masks you had, and the little silicone brush to brush it on. You had it ready when Race emerged from the bathroom, his face red and some of his pimples bleeding a touch. Except, of course that one stubborn on in the center of his forehead.

“Facemasks?” he asked with an amusing smile, sitting down next to you on the couch.

“You need it for your acne,” you laughed, motioning towards his face. You handed Race the charcoal face masks so he could first skeptically examine the ingredients.

“It’s not going to turn me purple or anything right?” he asked.

“Really?”

“I’m just saying if I’m going with the martian look, I at least want to know ahead of time.”

“Give me that,” you said, taking the bottle from him and squeezing some of the facemask cream onto the brush. You began to brush it onto his face. “And green is the Martian chic now -- not purple.”

“So what planet is purple?” he asked, but you shushed him.

“You’re going to mess it up!” you cried, trying to feign a serious look on your face. “Stop moving.”

Racetrack Higgins is someone who talks a lot. And if he isn’t talking, he needs to be doing something. But with you, hovering over his face, imploring him to sit still and stop talking was torture.

“I need to do something,” he finally broke this silence.

“You need to sit still,” you said, moving from his cheeks to his forehead.

He just smiled (cracking the facemask) before leaning in and kissing you. He threaded his fingers through your hair, and you eagerly kissed back. But when you pulled away after a moment, you saw that half of his face mask had come off onto your own face.

“Race!” you laughed, touching the black goo on your face. “You messed up your facemask! How are we ever going to get rid of your acne now?”

“I’d rather have acne than not being able to kiss you.”

“It’s twenty minutes.”

“That’s a lifetime for a fruit fly! Meaning that’s like impossible for me. Like, I seriously might die if I can’t kiss you for twenty minutes.”

“You’re not gonna die in twenty minutes, drama queen,” you laughed.

“I might.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you want the face mask or not?”

He thought for a minute. “Fine. But I need one more kiss for the long wait I’ll have to struggle to endure.”

A laugh ripped from your chest, and you agreed, moving up towards him to get as close as you could, not caring if his face mask got onto yours.

He kissed you as though he truly thought his life depended on it, holding you by the small of your back so that your chest was pressed to his.

“You know,” he whispered in your ear, touching the hem of your skirt, “we could just forget the face masks.”

No matter how tempted you may have been, you laughed. “You look like an off brand phantom of the opera with half a face mask. We can do that later.”

He pretended to pout for a moment, and you gave him one more small kiss, before moving to finish putting on the facemask.

When you were done with his, he tried to help you put on yours. The key word in that sentence was “tried”.

“You complained to me about sitting still?” he laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“I realized you’re right about not being able to last twenty minutes without a kiss.”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “Nope. Sorry. Closed for business until the facemask is off. So like, thirty years.”

“Race,” you pouted, cracking your face mask in the process, which caused both of you to laugh.

“These are completely unfair standards,” he told you, pretending to act all serious. “I think I’m gonna need to talk to my lawyer. Negotiate these terms.”

“You suck,” you laughed, playfully punching his arm. But as a rebuttal, he pulled you into a hug, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, trying not to get anything in your hair.

You laid down together on the couch, and Race flipped through the channels trying to find something to watch. Eventually, you settled on some crappy Christmas movie.

“It’s like October,” he pretended to complain.

“So, pretty much Christmas season,” you told him, leaning up to look at his face. He took that as a chance to lean in and kiss you.

“It’s not really. And this is a really cheesy movie.”

“But that’s what makes it so good!”

He just laughed it off and pressed play.

And within a few minutes, you had pretty much passed out, forgetting about the face masks and the acne. Now, it became Race’s duty to prevent you from rolling over and getting facemask on the couch or on your shirt or on his shirt.

You rolled around a lot in your sleep, so this was not very easy.

The timer you had set for the facemasks went off, causing a loud beeping to fill the room. You jumped up, not sure where you were and what you were doing. You went to rub your eyes, and before Race could stop you, you realized, pulling your hand away which was now covered with black charcoal.

“Damn it,” you cursed, noticing it would probably stain your nail polish.

“At least my acne will be gone,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips.

You sat at your makeup table, trying to figure out if you should match your pink outfit with pink eyeshadow, or if you should do a complementary color, like green.

“Pink or green eyeshadow, Race? What do you think?” you called to him in the other room. He was getting ready for work.

“Uhhh. . . What color are you wearing?”

“Pink dress.”

“Pink eyeshadow I think,” he said, finally walking into the bedroom, his toothbrush in his mouth.

“Thanks,” you smiled, grabbing the palette.

By the time Race had walked out of the bathroom, you had moved on to eyeliner. Slowly, you were tracing it along your lash line, before swooping out to make the wing. When you had finished one eye, you noticed Race was standing there, completely still, almost transfixed on you.

“You okay?” you asked, turning to look at him with a lopsided smile.

He paused for a moment, thinking, before turning to smile and shake his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Quickly, he walked out of the room, and you could see the blush on his cheeks.

With your makeup only half done, you got up out of your seat and walked to the door frame, looking at Race, who was now at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” you smiled lopsidedly, “what was that about?”

“Um,” he paused for a moment, and you could see him studying your face. “Can you teach me how to do that?” He motioned to your face.

“Makeup?”

“The eyeliner. . .Sorry, it’s stupid, I know. And really weird.”

“No it’s not,” you smiled, and kissed his cheek. “It’s kinda hard to do, but I’d love to teach you. Besides,” you dropped your voice a little bit, “it would look really hot on you.”

A small smile appeared on his face. “You don’t think it’s weird or anything?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

He paused and looked at his shoes. “I don’t know. I mean, I tried to do something like that in college, and I got a lot of shit from the guys in my frat, so. . .”

“Anthony Higgins, there is nothing you could do that I would think you’re weird for doing,” you smiled, kissing him lightly. “Except, of course, putting your milk before your cereal.”

He laughed, and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I think it would be your duty to break up with me at that point.”

“I agree.” You placed your hand on his cheek and pulled him into a kiss, which he eagerly deepened.

“Can we do the eyeliner now?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sure. Let me just finish my own first.”

You walked to your vanity, with Race in tow. Slowly and steadily, you brushed the eyeliner across your eye, and tried not to laugh as Race sat on the bed, watching you intensely.

When you were done, you got out of your chair, and motioned for Race to sit down.

“Just eyeliner?” you asked. “Because I think highlighter would also look really good.”

He thought it over for a second. “Highlighter’s the sparkly stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Just eyeliner for today, if that’s okay.”

“Whatever you want,” you smiled, kissing the crown of his head, and ruffling his golden hair. “But for this you need to sit really, really still, understand?”

“I promise,” he said, raising his left hand.

“Usually, you raise your right hand for promises, but I’ll accept it.” You took out the eyeliner, and knelt down. “Close your eyes.” He scrunched them close. “Lightly, babe. Close them lightly.”

This time, he followed your instructions, and slowly you began drawing on his lash line.

“It tickles,” he smiled.

“Stop smiling,” you scolded. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

“It’s hard.”

You finished off his first eye with a sharp wing, and then moved to the other. It wasn’t perfect. It was weird trying to do eyeliner on someone else, but when he opened his eyes, it looked pretty good. And he looked hot.

“I don’t think you can wear eyeliner from now on,” you said, feigning a serious voice. Instantly his face dropped, but before the apologies could start tumbling out of his mouth, you moved to sit on his lap. “You look too hot. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you.”

He relaxed and kissed you, threading his fingers through your hair.

“You’re sure you don’t find it weird?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not,” you whispered into his ear. “But I think you’re gonna be late for work if we take any longer. And if we do anything else, we might mess up your eyeliner.”

“I wouldn’t want that, you worked so hard on it.” He paused and looked in your eyes, a small smile etched into his face. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

“I love you too, hottie.”

Watch how someone treats you when you’re sick, your mother always told you when you were younger. That shows how much they love you.

Waking up with a pounding headache and the feeling like you were going to puke, that thought didn’t really cross your mind. In fact, the only thought that crossed your mind before you puked all over the sheets was I feel like shit.

You hardly had time to react, before bounding out of bed, racing to the bathroom, puking in the toilet.

You must have woken Race, who was there within a few minutes, holding your hair back, and rubbing your back. When you finally stopped vomiting, you felt completely and utterly gross.

“Fuck,” you cursed quietly.

“Don’t feel well?” Race asked quietly, bringing his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up Y/N.” He looked at your hair. Despite his best efforts, vomit was in it. “Here, let me draw you a bath.”

You were feeling pretty much out of it and could hardly think clearly, but gave him a half hearted nod of your head, before sinking down to sit down on the cool linoleum.

Race turned on the water, and added some bubble bath, like you had done for him. Once it had filled up, he helped you up and helped you strip before you sank into the water.

“I feel awful,” you murmured, moving to rest your cheek on the cool tiles, providing some much needed relief.

“I’m sorry love,” he said, moving to sit just outside of the tub so your faces were close together. “Is there anything I can get you.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You’ve done so much, thank you.”

“Let me at least get the vomit out of your hair,” he smiled, motioning to a strand of your hair.

“Yeah, okay,” you whispered, shutting your eyes.

Race was so sweet, washing your hair with the bright pink shampoo you always used that smelled like coconuts. As he was doing that, you were about to fall asleep, your eyes closing. You felt him run his hands gently across your forehead, in part checking your temperature and in part trying to soothe you.

When he had finished rinsing your hair for you, he spoke softly, not wanting to break your half sleep. “Do you wanna stay in the bath or go to bed?”

Your head felt like it was swimming, and you hardly felt like you could stand. But the water, despite being hardly lukewarm, felt like it was burning against your already on fire skin.

“Bed,” you whispered.

“Okay.” He grabbed a fluffy towel, and helped you out of the bath, steading you. He wrapped the towel around your shoulders, and led you over to the bed. “Do you want a nightgown?”

“Sure.” You shut your eyes and thanked that the sheets felt cool. He found one of your white nightgowns and helped you get dressed.

“I’ll grab you some tylenol,” he kissed your forehead. “Try to go to sleep and get some rest. I’ll let your work know too.”

You closed your eyes, and moments that felt like an eternity later, Race returned with some tylenol. You took it, before trying to fall asleep.

Race sat down next to you, and as you were falling asleep, loosely braided your damp hair. He hated seeing you like this -- so sick. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

He called in sick to work, too, so he could be there for you. You fell asleep within a few minutes of the tylenol kicking in, and hopefully it would bring down your fever.

He decided to make some soup for you, and even though he wasn’t the best chef, he luckily didn’t burn anything. (If you were not feeling sick, you probably would have pointed out that you can’t exactly burn a liquid.)

You woke up a few hours later, feeling a bit better that your fever was down, but still nauseated. Race was reading a book next to you, and his face broke into a smile when he saw you. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“Bit better.” You grabbed his hand and held it, squeezing it tight. “But you shouldn’t be around me. You’ll get sick.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he smiled. “I made soup if you want it.”

“I’d love some,” you said, scooting up on the bed to sit up. While Race was grabbing and microwaving the soup, you turned on the TV in the room, and started looking for a movie to watch. As he was walking through the door, you settled on Titanic.

“Titanic?” he teased. “Really?”

“Is that okay?”

“It’s great,” he handed you your bowl of soup. “Just a bit cliché. But it’ll be cute.”

You watched the movie together, curling into his chest.

“The soup’s lovely, babe.”

“Glad you liked it. I slaved over the hot stove for hours,” he laughed.

“Hours?” You looked at the clock. You had slept for two hours, three tops.

“Okay, maybe it came from a can, but I cooked chicken to add to it.”

“Well, I love it. And I appreciate all your hard work.”

One of the worst things you had found about being sick was how restless you got. You couldn’t do anything -- you didn’t feel well enough to do anything. But you needed to do something.

Race had seen you sick before, from the sniffles to when you had to get your appendix out a few years ago. And he knew, for some godforsaken reason, you gained so much motivation to do stuff when you had so little energy to do anything.

“Do you want to do face masks?” he asks, smiling.

“Sure.”

He got up from the bed, and rummaged around, this time grabbing some sheet masks. He always joked that you looked like a zombie with them. You thought he looked like a ghost.

You helped him put on his sheet mask, and once again he could hardly sit still. Every two seconds he had to touch it, laughing at the goo that oozed out of it.

“Shush,” you joked. “I’m trying to stare at Kate Winslet’s tits.” It was then he realized that you guys were at that part of the movie. Instantly, you could see his face turn a bright red. “You act like you’ve never seen boobs before,” you laughed, turning to kiss his cheek, forgetting about the face mask.

“I just, I mean I don’t wanna. . . Like. . .” he was getting impossibly flustered, and you thought it was cute.

“Relax, you can draw me like one of your french girls later, when I’m feeling better. Although I don’t think I’ll have The Heart of the Ocean to wear.”

He just shook his head and laughed, wrapping his shoulder around you. The timer for the face mask beeped, and you were able to preoccupy yourself by rubbing in the lotion-y stuff. But within a few minutes, Race could tell you were getting restless again.

“Can you paint my nails?” he asked.

You noticed what he was doing, and thought it was the sweetest thing ever. “Sure. What color?”

He thought it over. “What colors do you have?”

“Hmmm,” you looked over to the shelf the nail polishes were placed on. “Gold, black, deep blue, light blue, light pink, hot pink, sparkly pink.”

“Can you paint all my nails black, except do sparkly pink for my middle finger? Give it some flair?”

“Sounds cool.” You got up out of bed and grabbed the colors. He handed you his hand, placing it, and you held it, extending his (very sexy looking) fingers. As the movie continued, you slowly painted his nails, trying not to get excess polish on his skin.

“You have unfairly nice nails,” you laughed. “Like I’d kill for these nails.”

“Great,” he said absentmindedly, and you could hear his voice crack.

“Are you crying?” you asked, looking up to see tears welling in his eyes. Jack was holding on to the door, and you both knew how it would get.

“It’s just so sad. I mean, there’s room for both of them on there. Or they could switch places. . . Or. . . Just, promise me you’ll never let me drown in the Atlantic Ocean, okay?”

“I promise, love,” you kissed his cheek. “I’ll only let you drown in the Pacifc.”

“Not funny,” he pouted, giving you puppy dog eyes.

“I promise I won’t let you drown.”

He ruffled your hair with the hand that was dry, and you scolded him, worrying that he would mess up his nails. They looked so good, and it would be a shame to have to redo them.

“Thanks for making this sick day better,” you said softly as the end credits rolled to the movie.

“Of course.”

The next day, Race woke up just as sick as you were. Which, yeah, kinda sucked, but it meant that you guys could spend the day together again, watching all the cheesy movies you wanted.

You were so lucky to have Race, although he would never stop thinking about how lucky he was to have you.

#newsies imagine #newsies #newsies headcanons #newsies x reader #newsies x fem!reader #newsies x reader fluff #race #racetrack #racetrack higgins #Anthony higgins #Anthony #racetrack Anthony higgins #race x reader #racetrack Higgins x reader

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kayrogers · 5 years

Text

animal ][ s. rogers

so take it easy on me, i’m afraid you’re never satisfied

Paring: steve rogers x agent!reader

Inspo: animal by neon trees

Word Count: 3000+

Warning(s): SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you pack it), and foul language cause dear lord

Part: part one | part two | part ??

A/N: i stayed up till 3 AM writing this and i’m not sure if i should be proud or ashamed

The two of you arrived in Mykonos that same night, Steve thoroughly impressed with the house you commandeered. It was a gorgeous white penthouse with royal blue accents that overlooked the sea. You opened it up with a key that had always been located under a potted plant on the front stoop and welcomed him inside. “Wow...” He had wide eyes with a stupefied grin, the soldier still not used to any sort of luxury. “Don’t get too excited you haven’t even seen the balcony.” You smirked and pointed towards the glass doors across the foyer while stepping down a hallway to throw your bag in a room. “Who are your ‘contacts’?” He asked out loud and you chuckled from the bedroom. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You bit your lip and pulled a white silk robe from the closet. It only came down to about mid-thigh with a deep neckline, and on your body it hugged every curve it was supposed to. The idea of him seeing you in the thing was exhilarating, but part of you wasn’t sure if it’d be smart to make that first move. You had been out of the game for so long and Steve was not any normal man. But then again, he had come to Mykonos, hadn’t he? You muttered a ‘fuck it’ and threw the thing on, only wearing a baby blue lace bralette and matching panties underneath. You made the platter, but now it would be up get a taste of the sampling. You walked back out and headed towards the open kitchen to see him still admiring the view on the balcony. “I know you can’t get drunk, but I’m having champagne. You want some?” You called out to him and he shouted back a ‘sure thing’ without looking back. You poured two glasses and headed towards the balcony, nearly being taken aback by the view as well. You had seen all the world, but even views like this could make you freeze at times. “Captain,” you greeted with a smile and handed him the glass of champagne while taking a sip of your own. He took the champagne and didn’t even register your outfit at first.

But when he did?

That ocean view was a thing of the past. You practically glowed in the white garment and his eyes couldn’t help but explore every inch of you. Sure, the both of you had seen each other in various states of undress but that was under highly different circumstances. Usually post-mission stitches and the such, or quick changes of disguise. But just seeing you on your own in an outfit like that? Steve felt guilty in partaking the view. He nearly swallowed his champagne, a blush on his cheeks. “Beautiful...” the word slipped from his lips but you were too occupied by the sea to notice. “Isn’t it? I can never get over this view-“ “I’m not talking about the water, Doll.” He responded in a soft tone which made your head whip back to him. You both had small smiles on your face and you took a gulp of your drink. “There’s pjs in your room too, I think.” You winked at him and Steve nodded with a chuckle. “Oh? I get a robe too? Might be a little short for me.” You scoffed but were quick to respond to his joke. “Are you saying that’s a bad thing? Mr. Rogers you are doing yourself, and me, a disservice by hiding that tush.” He laughed and stepped off the balcony to go to his room. You gripped the railing on the balcony the second he left with a giddy smile before downing the rest of your champagne like a shot. You then headed back to the kitchen to refill your glass, looking out on the luxurious living room with a sip. This place was practically right out of a magazine and you knew you’d be sending your contact some ‘thank you’ flowers. Upon checking the fridge you found a small fruit platter and decided to take it out, placing the thing on the coffee table in the living room before picking a corner of the couch to nestle in. And almost as if on cue, the super soldier walked in. Your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of him. Steve stepped out in a set of white silk pajamas, but while he wore the pants, he only chose to throw on the robe instead of shirt and left the thing wide open. Under the dim lighting of the penthouse and moonlight pulsing through the windows, his statuesque body and face were dangerously alluring. “The uh shirt didn’t fit.” He awkwardly got out with a lopsided smirk that could be read as nothing but innocently gorgeous. “Come get some fruit, Freak.” You joked and he rolled his eyes but sat down on the couch with you, popping a grape into his mouth. He comfortably stretched out his arms and legs before looking at you with narrowed eyes. “Speaking of your mysterious ‘contact’ that obviously left us fruit... I really don’t know as much about you as I should, do I?” He said and you paused halfway through biting a pineapple chunk. “I guess not... it’s not your fault though, I work for SHIELD, we’re kinda taught to conceal. But if you’re looking for information, I suppose you can do that as long as there’s some give and take. 20 Questions?” You shrugged, but inwardly found yourself shocked at your words. If anyone else so casually would have asked you about yourself you would have fled for the hills. But Steve was genuine in his curiosity in a way that made you feel safe. “Alrighty then,” he chuckled before rubbing his hands together and looking at you with a raised eyebrow, “where’d you grow up?” It was a basic question but the first one you calculatedly avoided in your first night with Steve Rogers back in New York. “Yeah? Alrighty, I grew up in Edgewater, New Jersey actually. Right across the water, Brooklyn Boy.” You laughed as his nose twitched up in disgust. “My Best Girl is from Jersey? I think I might have to re-evaluate our friendship.” He teased making you snort while also being unable to hide the grin that nickname brought you. “Wow! Jerk!” You playfully slapped his arm and nudged a little closer from the couch corner. “Hmm. I know you always talk about Peggy Carter, in the past, but did you guys ever...” You made a face and with your suggestive tone he rolled his eyes. “No. We never even kissed. But she was something else, trust me,” he had this nostalgic look on his features that could soften the heart of a stone man. “Never kissed?! Wait- have you ever kissed anyone-“ “Slow down there, Speedo! It’s my turn now. What about you? First kiss stories?” His arm now rested along the back of the couch on your side and he moved closer upon picking up another grape. “Ugh fine. But yeah, I got one. It’s not glamorous though, trust me... I was fifteen, riddled with acne and probably one of the biggest geeks in my high school. Which you will tell no one! But being a geek made my only options for romance other geeks. Me and this kid Norman Specks made out in the light booth during our school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. He had the biggest braces, it was so gross!” You admitted, drinking your champagne at various points while Steve could not feel any more endeared to you. It had to be one of the most honest confessions you ever told him up to that point and it only made him more attracted to you. The badass SHIELD agent who was also a theater nerd in high school. He laughed at the end of your story and you scrunched up your nose at him. “Don’t laugh at me! I bet yours was worse! Little pre-glowup, 5’4” Skinny Steve,” you shot back at him which made his face turn into a cocky expression that did something to you in a way you couldn’t perceive. “Actually, my first kiss was after the serum. Sure, I was 21, but this was a dame! She made out with me out of nowhere, but it was a pleasant surprise in the moment.” He recalled with a perfect smile. “My turn. Who’s your ‘contact’ for this place?” Your cheeks turned red at his question, but you were never one to back down. “You honestly wanna know? It’s a girl I hooked up with about two years ago when I was on a mission here. Turns out her family is super rich and she offers me the place whenever I’m around.” Now it was Steve’s turn to blush as his mind visualized the scenario. He saw you on top of a gorgeous Greek girl, both of your lips conjoined in a heated make-out session. But with a blink the image was gone as a worrisome blood rush headed below his stomach. “Yes, I like boys and girls. It’s nearly 2014, Mr. Rogers. Get with the times,” you joked, remembering how interested he was in the PRIDE celebration NYC now held every year. “But it’s my turn, and now I’m curious. Have you done anything since the ice? If you were 21 at your first kiss, I can’t imagine you had time to do much after considering the war and Peggy.” He shook his head with a smile and stole your champagne to take a big gulp. He couldn’t believe how observant you had to be to connect those dots, hell he admired it in a way. No wonder you were such a successful agent. “I have not actually. Too busy trying to understand the iPhone to be doing anything else.” He lightheartedly answered and you boldly moved closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his built torso. “No way! Well if you ever do get around to it, I know that lucky girl will be more than satisfied,” You suggestively quipped and his eyes shot down to your own. And that was when something switched, his precious blue eyes darkened and his voice became low and smooth like whiskey. “How about you? Any recent lovers?” He questioned, vision never leaving your own. “Not since I met you.” The words came out before you could even consider the meaning. “Why not?” His face moves closer to yours, warm breath fanning across your face. “Let’s just say, I’ve been craving something else. Someone else...” you let a finger trail up his torso, drawn to him like a magnet and forgetting your little game. You watched his eyes dip up and down your face, pausing on your lips. Your heart felt like it was about to beat of its chest, the close proximity making your mind and body lose all composure. “And who might that be-“ You cut off his question by grabbing his robe and crashing your lips onto his own. His lips are full and taste of fruit and champagne, and 70 years spent under the ice clearly did nothing to stop his ability. The both of you moved in a rushed rhythm, lips fitting together like puzzle pieces and yet sloppily conjoining in a manner that showed exactly how needy you both were. His warm hands cupped your face and separated the two of you for less than a second but it was enough for him to look you over and bring you back to him once more, this time meeting in more passion than the first. You moved your legs to straddle his waist and one of his hands slipped down your back, bringing your body even closer to him. Your hips instinctively grind against his own which let a moan slip from his lips in a manner that immediately makes you wet. His length is hard underneath the silk and he moves his hand from your cheek to your hair, lightly tugging on it with another moan. He broke away from the kiss again, meeting your face with flushed features, “[Y/n]... you’re okay with this, right?” Your chest warms at his words, oh what a gentleman. “More than okay,” you respond before dipping your lips down to his neck, missing how his eyes immediately closed in pleasure. You sucked at the skin, feeling his hand tighten on your waist as you reached a spot just below his collarbone. Without a second thought, you attacked the area, intending to leave your mark on the man you waited so long for. Though you could still feel his nervous rigidity as he refused himself from moving his hands any lower. You pulled away to reveal a purpling spot on his neck. “Steve...” your voice was breathy and your robe hung off one shoulder from your previously hunched over form which revealed your lacy bralette without even meaning to, “touch me wherever you want, Captain.” You felt his length twitch through the silk garments you both wore and he nodded, eyes dipping down to your nearly exposed chest while his hands slipped away the rest of your robe to only reveal the blue lingerie underneath. Your nipples were hard through the fabric and you watched his vision pinpoint on them. He reached up and grasped one of your breast’s in his hand while the other brought your face back down to his. He palmed your breast in his hand, squeezing and pushing in ways that made more heat spread below your stomach. “You’re...” your lips met in sloppy kisses, tongues swirling around in perfect conjunction, “beautiful...” Steve said through kisses and then slowed moved his hand down to your ass. It tightened around your soft form and guided your grinding against him, the both of you moaning into each other’s kisses and barely taking in oxygen. His hard erection against your clothed pussy nearly sent you over the edge, knowing that you were so close to him. You pulled away from him, standing up and taking off your bra, “take off your clothes.” You ordered and he did as you requested, tossing off the robe and pants to leave him in black boxers while you revealed yourself to him completely. You watched him slowly look you up and down like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His brows then furrowed for a second, eyes clouding in thought until he got up and picked you up Bridal style as if you weighed less than a feather. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you let him carry you to his bedroom, nearly soaked by now in anticipation. He carefully placed you on the bed and climbed on top of you, slipping a hand down to your wet core and pushing a finger inside of you. A loud moan broke from your lips and you instantly dragged his head back down to you, but instead of meeting your lips he moved down to your neck. He fingers you while kissing and sucking all over your neck, leaving a hickey on a particular spot below your jawline which made you pull on his hair especially tight. It was like you were intimate with an Adonis, his sculpted body rolling and grinding against yours in shear perfection. He stuck another finger inside of you, thrusting in and out to the rhythm of your now constant sharp intakes of breath. You cried out when he pushed in especially deep and you dragged a hand down his abdomen to his boxers, sticking your hand inside and pumping his length against the cloth. “I want you,” he told you, eyes hooded and voice deep as he pulled his hand out of you too take off his boxers. His large length shot out and hit his stomach, pre-cum already dripping and glistening down his throbbing cock. You nodded up at him and open your legs up even more, he moves down while pumping his dick in his hands. Steve slides over you and slowly starts pushing into you, your hands tightly grabbing the sheets below you as he begins filling you up. You’re practically yelling at this point, the name Steve being heard by any who could be awake at such a late hour. Once he is fully inside of you, he leans down and takes your head in his hands, meeting your eyes and beginning to thrusts in and out of you. His eyes close in pleasure though and your hands reach up his back, scratching down the skin as his thrusts get faster. He whines your name into your ear causing your whole body to tingle underneath him. This goes on until you both orgasm, Steve progressively getting faster and faster while pumping in and out of you until you completely dissolve under his form, yells turning into screams of pleasure. And not after long, you feel him twitch inside of you, an almost inhuman sound leaving his lips when he cums inside of you. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and plopping down next to you, leaving your body in an exhaustive high you’d never felt before. And sure, it was only missionary and you were by far an experienced girl, but it was Steve. Steve fucking Rogers. And that changed everything. His kisses felt like soft sparks of lighting and his hands were fire against your skin. You wouldn’t trade anything in the world for that. You cuddled up to his tired body, head resting on his chest to feel his rapid yet slowing heartbeat. “Was your first time everything you imagined?” You got out in a breathy manner which made him chuckle. “Doll, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” His arm wrapped around you and the two of you fell asleep, breaths intermingling in the tropical air like you were in your own little world.

And this was only the beginning.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america #capatain america imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine

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animationnut · 7 years

Text

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 24

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls.

Chapter List

To: Grunkle Ford (Highsixer)

From: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

Subject: Natural remedies

Just a curious question for you. Do you know of any natural remedies for acne? I tried the Internet for some answers but I don’t really know where to start. Plus I don’t know who’s trying to mess with me. I could try drugstore products but again, don’t know where to start.

Any input you have would be great. Thanks!

“I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

Mabel, who was sitting on the edge of the white porcelain sink, gave her head a sharp shake. “Sorry. I think I heard you wrong. I could have sworn you said you didn’t want to go to school.”

“I can’t go out in public like this!” cried Dipper, unable to tear his gaze away from the oval-shaped mirror. “Everyone will stare!”

“I think they already stare. You wear a winter hat and we’re in California where the sun almost always shines.”

“When they look at Wendy’s ushanka, it’s with curiosity. But when they catch a load of Mount Everest on my face it’s going to be with disgust!”

On Dipper’s chin, smack in the middle, was a bright red pimple. It stood out against his pale skin and there was a collection of blackheads surrounding it. Dipper poked at the acne gingerly, flinching as it throbbed beneath his touch.

“I think touching it is just going to make it worse,” remarked Mabel.

Dipper hastily lowered his hand. “Ugh, this sucks.” He grabbed a washcloth from the cupboard behind him and soaked it with cold water from the tap. He pressed it against his pimple and slouched against the wall. “I have to make this go away by tomorrow.”

“You’re not the first teenager to have acne, bro,” Mabel pointed out.

“I’m already self-conscious enough, this isn’t helping matters,” said Dipper miserably. “I’m just going to be paranoid that every time someone looks at me all they’ll see is this dumb pimple.”

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” soothed Mabel. “We’ll do what we can to get rid of it. You’re also not the first teenager to worry over acne. It’s the plague of puberty.”

“Definitely not the part I looked forward to,” muttered Dipper. “How come I’m the first one to have to deal with this?”

Mabel grinned. “I got the braces. It’s only fair you get the pimples.”

“Fair point,” conceded Dipper. He dug through his shorts pocket and removed his phone. “I’m going to do some investigating.”

“Is it okay if I take Waddles for a walk?” asked Mabel.

Dipper waved her away. “Oh yeah. I’ll be fine. Just having a fit. I’ll get over it…hopefully.”

Mabel patted him on the shoulder. “Seriously, try not to worry about it. Society’s standards of beauty is way overrated. I’ll be back shortly to see what cure for acne you’ve discovered.”

She skipped out of the bathroom, calling out for her pig. Dipper took her place on the counter, legs kicking idly as he searched through the numerous Internet results for some home remedy solutions.

“Wait, toothpaste? Is that a thing?”

…

After circulating through her neighbourhood for twenty minutes, Waddles happily trotting by her side and sniffing every single tree and bush as he tended to do, Mabel began the trek for home. Sweat caused her bright pink tank top stick to her body, matching sweater tied securely around her waist. When she was a block away from home her phone started to trill and she fished it from her pocket. She swiped her finger across the screen to accept the incoming video call and beamed when Stan’s face filled with rectangular screen.

“Hey, Grunkle Stan!” she greeted cheerfully.

“Hey, kiddo.” He noticed the blurs of green shrubbery in the background and asked, “Out painting the town red?”

“Nah, just taking Waddles for a walk.”

Stan shook his head in mock-disappointment. “You kids are pretty boring without the supernatural surrounding you.”

“Our secret is out,” joked Mabel. “What sorts of trouble are you causing?”

“Well, I accidentally broke a statue in an abandoned temple, and I guess it was sacred or something, for the locals freaked out. We got chased out of the village, but I managed to smuggle a rare jewel with us, which is the only reason why Ford isn’t giving me the silent treatment.”

“Wow, I was sort of joking, but I really should have known better,” said Mabel in amusement. “Can I see the jewel?”

“Sure. Gimme a sec.”

Mabel reached her front door as Stan started rummaging for the artefact. She stepped into the air-conditioned hallway and unclipped the leash, allowing Waddles to scamper off. She glanced back the screen to see a weird, spiky amber-coloured gem cradled in Stan’s hand.

“Cool!” she exclaimed. “What is it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Where’s your brother? He’d probably get a kick out of this.”

“He’s probably in the bathroom, hold on.”

“Whoa, you can’t just burst in on him! There are some things I want to go through life not seeing.”

“No, ew, he’s been trying to get rid of a pimple,” laughed Mabel.

“Ah. The teenage years. How I hated them.”

Mabel discovered the bathroom door open but the lights were off. She turned on her heel and shuffled into the bedroom, where she found Dipper typing away at his computer. “Yo, Dipping-Dots, Grunkle Stan has something to show you!”

Dipper turned his head, eyes widening at the sight of his great-uncle on Mabel’s phone. “Wait, not when I have junk on my face!” he yelped, jumping up and accidentally tripping over the chair leg, crashing to the floor.

Mabel jogged over and peeked down at her brother, who groaned and shoved his chair to the side, the wheels making tracks in the carpet. She squinted. “Is that toothpaste?”

“Toothpaste is supposed to go in your mouth, not on your face,” quipped Stan.

Dipper flushed and stood, the bright blue glob of mint-scented toothpaste covering his pimple. “It’s a home remedy,” he defended. “The general consensus online seems to be that it works. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“You try popping it?”

“I am not popping this thing,” exclaimed Dipper. “That’s disgusting. Besides, I’m trying to reduce my chances of leaving a scar.”

“Too bad I’m not there. I was the ruler of popping pimples.”

Mabel pulled a face. “Super gross, yet not surprising.”

“What was it you wanted to show me?” asked Dipper.

Stan showed Dipper his discovery and the thirteen-year-old fawned over it for a moment. On Stan’s end of the video call there was the sound of footsteps falling on wood and Ford’s voice spoke, “Stanley, I’ve told you not to play with the gem. There won’t be much to study if you break it.”

“I’m showin’ it to the runts, Poindexter.”

Ford squeezed next to Stan on the screen and smiled. “Hello, kids.” His gaze landed on the patch of blue on Dipper’s face and he asked in bemusement,

“What’s on your chin, Dipper?”

“Toothpaste,” he answered, cheeks flushing slightly. “Beneath the toothpaste is a pimple that may or may not consume my face at a later date.”

“He was hoping you might have a solution for him,” said Mabel. “This was his attempt while he waited.”

“Did you contact me?” asked Ford, brow furrowing. He patted his pocket, quickly realizing that his phone was not where it usually was. “Blast. I must have forgotten it here when I went out in port. I’m sorry, my boy.”

“Hypocrite,” scoffed Stan. “You’re always on me about bringing my phone everywhere.”

“That’s because you forget yours ten times more than me,” returned Ford. Placing his attention back on Dipper, he said carefully, “I’m not sure if toothpaste is the best remedy for acne.”

Dipper groaned. “I thought it sounded really weird.”

“No, no, it’s certainly a tactic that people use,” assured Ford. “But the ingredients in toothpaste will dry out your skin, which could sometimes make it worse. In my youth I tended to use a honey and cinnamon mask. It’s not necessarily proven that it works, but I certainly saw improvements. Raw honey has more medicinal benefits than commercial honey.”

“There’s about a thousand and one health shops in California, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” said Mabel cheerfully.

“Did you ever try and experiment with acne solutions?” asked Dipper curiously.

“I did. Once.”

“Ended horribly,” said Stan with a cackle. “His entire face broke out into hives and boils. It lasted for almost two months. It was disgusting.”

Ford glared. “Though I could have cracked the perfect acne treatment skin cream, I decided that perhaps such an endeavour would be best left for professional dermatologists. There are drugstore creams and masks you can use, but it will most likely require trial and error to find one that works best for you.”

“I guess I could do that,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll start with the honey things for now. I really want to bring this pimple down before school tomorrow.”

“Kid, you’re not the first to have a bright red spot in the center of your face,” said Stan.

Mabel threw her hands in the air. “That’s what I said!”

“I know, I know. I just…feel self-conscious, and we all know I have enough of that.”

“I’m afraid nothing of puberty is fun. It’s okay if acne makes you feel uncomfortable—it’s natural, and I guarantee majority of teens go through it every day,” reassured Ford. “But you don’t have to be ashamed of it. As cliché as it is, your appearance is only a small part of who you are—”

“—it’s what’s on the inside that’s most important,” finished Dipper with a sincere smile.

“And if anyone wants to give you crap for some dumb zit, they’re the ones with real insecurities,” added Stan. “Just deck ‘em.”

“Er…I think I’ll save that as a last resort,” said Dipper with a slight smile. “I’ll just ignore them and keep my head high.”

“Stanley, you could learn a thing or two from him,” chided Ford.

“Shut up, Poindexter.”

Dipper laughed. “I’m gonna wash this junk off of my face and find some cinnamon. Thanks.”

“Anytime my boy.”

“You’ll keep us updated on what you find with the gem?”

“Of course,” agreed Ford. “Granting that Stan doesn’t break it.”

“Keep up the attitude and I’ll do it just to spite you,” countered Stan.

They said their goodbyes and Mabel disconnected the video call. “I’ll go milk a bee for some honey.”

Dipper squinted at her. “You are joking, right?”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.” She leaned forwards and gingerly poked the blob of toothpaste, where not a single blue chip came off. “It hardened, bro.”

“Ah, shoot!”

To: Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject: Magic of makeup

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Hey!

So the honey and cinnamon mask brought down the redness, but the pimple was still noticeable. Thankfully I’m a whiz with makeup. Should have just done this from the beginning!

Much love,

Mabel

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Dipper Pines: Thanks for letting me know ahead of time that you were doing this…

Mabel Pines: Aw, come on, you’re not the only guy to ever wear makeup. Robbie is awesome with eyeliner.

Dipper Pines: That does not comfort me.

Grunkle Stan: Wow, can’t even see it. How much gunk did you use?

Mabel Pines: Just a few layers of foundation and concealer.

Grunkle Ford: This technique would have saved me a lot of grief with my more appalling acne episodes.

Grunkle Stan: You’re lucky to have a sister like you do, kiddo.

Dipper Pines: Yeah, definitely. But I think it’s only fair that she sends you a picture of herself.

Grunkle Ford: Why’s that?

Dipper Pines: The makeup job she performed on herself is miraculous. She woke up this morning with a huge zit in the middle of her nose. Hers is way worse than mine.

Mabel Pines: …I would say it’s unbecoming to boast, but if you ever end up getting braces I will be laughing all the way to the orthodontist.

#gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #featuring puberty problems #the horrible acne #grunkle stan #Stanley pine #grunkle ford #Stanford pines #to gravity falls from piedmont #byanimationnut

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hirsuteandcute · 7 years

Note

Hi! First of all I really love your blog and endlessly appreciate what you're doing! I'm doing my high school media studies diploma thingy (it's hard to explain) about PCOS and would love to interview you here or through email, if possible :) it's nothing too official, I'd just send you a few questions and you could send me the answers when you have time. The finished article would be published in my blogs and if I get lucky, in a local newspaper. I would refer to you as a "blog keeper" (1/3)

or by your first or full name, as you like, and name your blog in the article if it's okay to you. I would also translate the whole thing to English and publish it in my blogs and fb. I too have pcos so the whole thing is partially me trying to come in terms with it... And raising awareness in my school at least :) I know how the shit hits the fan sometimes so if you don't have the energy for this, I totally understand and it's totally okay :) thanks in advance!You don't have to anwer to any of these if you don't like :)1) How many followers do you have? What kind of people they typically are?2) Do you have any thoughts about why pcos is not spoken about in the media? What should change about how it's presented / the lack of it's presentation?3) What symptom is the most difficult to deal with for you?4) Have you ever faced any kind of "suspicion" about pcos?5) How has pcos affected your life?

Okayyy, I’m so late answering this, I don’t know if I’ve missed your deadline, if so I’m sorry! Things have just been a bit all over the place at the moment :S If it’s ok I’m not really down with like, having my personal information out there like my full name and stuff. I’m sorry it’s just that this is kind of a personal thing for me and I appreciate having a little anonymity. I’ll answer your questions anyway if it helps you or anyone else reading at all.

1. At the moment I have 1,220 followers. I have to go through my followers list quite regularly to make sure there are no pornblogs/bots/fetish blogs etc following so I can flush them out and block them. I’m very very grateful for all the wonderful people that follow me otherwise though and it’s really reassuring to know there are so many out there going through the same thing as me :) As for the type of people they are, of course there are many different people but I do admit to checking out my followers blogs when I can so I can get to know them a bit better 🙈 . I tend to find that they’re artistic and thoughtful/contemplative people more than anything which I find really sweet and wonderful. I have a lot of followers that enjoy music and fashion and quotes and poetry and paintings which is lovely. They’re often very kind and very strong especially as I know a lot of them suffer from depression or anxiety. I’m also really surprised at how international my followers are, I thought they’d mostly be from the UK or the US but there are a lot of people on here from all over the world!

2. If I’m honest? I think because a. it’s primarily a women’s illness b. it’s not something immediately visible, like you can’t look and tell someone has PCOS c. it has a few ‘unattractive’ symptoms such a excess hair growth or acne or weight gain and the media likes to pretend that women shouldn’t have those things or look that way and since it’s related to periods and the menstrual cycle which is already a ‘taboo’ subject, people would prefer not to talk to hear about it and d. since there isn’t really a ‘cure’ and there’s limited amount of funding and research into it it’s maybe not a very widely known illness, I didn’t even know what it was until I was diagnosed. I’d love it if there was more awareness spread about it, if women felt more able to talk about their hormones or their periods so that they’d feel more comfortable getting help if something was wrong and if there was more education as to what a ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’ period is like, I was taught almost nothing about periods at school.

3. I think either the pain or just like...general hormonal fuckery (you might need to rephrase that one if it’s going in a paper lmao) Hormones affect SO MUCH. Like I get splitting headaches, sudden changes in my body temperature, constipation/diarrhea, loss of appetite and then sudden cravings for something really specific, mood swings, I always wanted to pee, feeling faint etc and these are all connected to my hormones. All the pain of a PCOS period is like..God it’s just a nightmare. I was always just told ‘haha periods are so painful, poor women eh?’ but it’s like, there’s normal period pain and then there’s ‘something’s wrong’ period pain and I wish girls were raised to know the difference. And the pain of a ruptured cyst is just agony, straight up it’s so uncomfortable. Even cystic acne is painful, normal acne is bad enough but cystic acne is soo unpleasant because you can feel it from under your skin and it’s just like a constant stinging even if something lightly brushes your face.

4. I wasn’t entirely certain what this question meant, i.e. if I had suspicions or if other people had suspicions as to whether I actually had it or whether other people had suspicions as to whether or not it’s a real illness. Personally I know that it’s a real illness, I even have the ultrasound results to prove it, let alone experiencing it on a daily basis. People have had my doubts whether I had it, it took me a long time to get diagnosed once I first went to the GP about it. First they thought it was just because I was young and my hormones hadn’t settled down from puberty yet. Then they said it was because I was underweight. Then they said it was because I wasn’t getting enough iron. Then it was because I wasn’t getting enough Vitamin D, then it was Vitamin C, then it was Vitamin B, then it was Vitamin E, then it was because I wasn’t active enough, because I was depressed, because I suffer from other chronic illnesses, because my periods are ‘just a bit more difficult’ I think it took me almost 3 years to finally have someone suggest that it could be PCOS, it’s ridiculous. People can have all the doubts they want to but ultrasound scans and blood tests should give them all the evidence they need. Sometimes people don’t take it seriously, especially men who think it’s just women being overdramatic about period pain and hormones but anyone who lives with PCOS knows how real it is.

5. Oh man, in so many ways. It’s hard for a start, I’m basically half dead for 2 weeks of the month. I get depressed, my sleeping schedule gets messed up, my eating habits gets messed up, things kind of go down the shitter a bit. It’s also hard because I’ve had to completely re-evaluate how I see myself, to know my pain is valid, to rebuild my self esteem after being ashamed for so long about having a ‘gross’ illness, about being excessively hairy and having painful acne on my face and body and about potentially/probably having to live with this illness for the rest of my life. That’s hard. On the other hand I feel like it’s also made me more compassionate, it’s taught me to be more gentle with myself and ask for help if I need it. It’s helped to take better care of myself and my body and put more thought into what I put into my body and how i treat it. It’s taught me to reach out to my fellow women and the importance of having a community that makes you feel understood and accepted and the importance of not letting people walk all over you because of something that is beyond your control.

I hope this helps you and anyone else who is curious :) xx

#asks #sorry if there are spelling/grammar mistakes 🙈#appelssiini

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areswriting · 5 years

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a x e : xx

Jason and Sophie crane their necks to look at Elise, who holds a broken plastic fork between her fingers.

“Babe?” says Jason, reaching out to touch her face. He pushes her fallen, choppy hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?”

“I think she’s a little shocked,” Sophie says. We all look at her to see her smiling, pointing her intact fork across the table at Elise. She turns the utensil on herself and looks at Jason. “The reason that voice sounds so familiar is because it’s mine.”

Jason’s mouth falls open and he turns his attention to me. “I thought you said you two weren’t together—”

“Please,” says Sophie, wrapping her arm around mine. “We all know you don’t have to be with someone to, well, you know.”

“But you said…” Jason’s voice trails as he stares between Sophie and I, his eyebrows knitted, his mouth still hanging open.

“Come on, Jase,” Sophie sighs, exasperated. “It’s not like you went and told Abe the very moment you and Elise had sex.”

My eyes dart to Elise, who looks at Sophie with a resentful glare.

“That’s because we haven’t,” Jason says. I look at him. His entire face is red, and he looks only at his half-eaten dinner.

“Aw, Elise, I’ve never known you to hold out,” Sophie says sweetly.

“Some of us don’t drop our underwear the second a boy looks at us, Sophie,” Elise says.

“Yeah,” says Jason. “Some of us want to wait for the right moment.”

Now it’s my turn to look down, ashamed.

“That’s sweet,” Sophie says, and surprisingly she sounds sincere. “I think the important question is, who recorded us.”

“I mean, that is creepy,” Jason says. “Do you guys have any idea who is might be?”

I shrug, while Sophie says, “It could be anyone.”

Then it dawns on me—there are two names written all over this.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

I leave dinner early and head straight back to my room, my eyes focused on my phone. After a few seconds of scrolling through texts, I find the thread I’m looking for—but instead of sending a message, I hit the phone icon and the line begins to trill. Once, twice, three times before you’ve reached the voice mailbox of 802-555-9811.

I end the call with haste and start typing a message.

I know it was you who sent out that recording.

Hi, I have no idea what you are talking about.

Who are you? How are you spying on me?

Lol, ok I know I’ve been mysterious but trust me, Abram, I’m not lurking in the shadows spying on you. I’m hundreds of miles away.

Why should I believe you?

Because I think deep down you know that I’m not to blame for whatever happened?

I set my jaw. As much as I want Sylvia—or whoever she is—to be responsible for the recording, a big, growing larger by the second, part of me somehow knows that she isn’t. Even if all she has ever done to me is lie, I know her, and this isn’t her style.

But it could be someone else’s.

I thumb through my contacts until I find Ellie and I press the call button with more force than necessary.

Ring.

Ellie’s face appears on the screen and she’s rolling her eyes. “Kai, if you’re calling about Brody—”

“Ellie, I need you to be honest, did you record Elise and me…indecently?” I ask.

There is a long pause that is followed by laughter. “Do I look like Gossip Girl to you? What are you talking about?”

I study her face for tells—but I’m looking at the girl who once said; it isn’t staking, it’s called fierce journalism. She doesn’t have tells.

“I know you are angry at me over Natasha—”

“First off, don’t say that name,” Ellie says with a look of disgust. “And second, I was angry, yeah, but I’m not anymore.”

“Look, you and I both know that you’re vengeful, so if you could just admit that this was your way of getting back at me—”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Kai,” says Ellie, “I haven’t seen you since you and your brother Mason—”

“Jason,” I correct her.

She rolls her eyes. “Since you and your brother Jason were here after Thanksgiving, and the only time I’ve seen you and Elise together was during that facetime call back in December.”

I go from pacing to sitting on the edge of my bed, defeated.

“What happened?” she asks. “You look worried—and is your lip cut?”

“I took a high stick at practice,” I lie. “And someone recorded Elise and I...”

“Save the gory details, I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” she says.

“They sent it to everyone at school,” I say.

“That is pure genius,” Ellie says fondly. “I mean—that’s terrible for you, but that’s one way of getting information on there. You have no idea who it could be?”

I shake my head. “I thought maybe it was you, you’re the only person smart enough, and had a reason to.”

“I can’t believe you think I’d actually do that to you!” Ellie says, offended.

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to think you wouldn’t,” I say back. “You made YouTube videos bashing our English teacher in the ninth grade for giving you an A minus on a paper.”

“Touche.”

▲ △ ▼ ▽

A tall girl with long, curly, strawberry blonde hair eyeballs me as she walks through the classroom. Mr. Grant greats her as she passes him and slides into the seat beside mine.

“We haven’t met yet,” says the girl after she pulls a Tootsie Pop out of her mouth. “I’m Dominique Wesley.”

“Abram,” I say, watching as she suggestively places the sucker in her mouth, then against her cheek.

“Oh, I know who you are,” she says brightly. “I think everyone does after that video. I also think that we should get together sometime.”

“Excuse you.” I look up to see Sophie glaring down at the girl beside me. “That’s my seat.”

“I don’t see your name on it,” Dominique replies. “But there are a few empty seats in the back just waiting for you.”

“I’m going to give you five seconds to get up before I—”

“Before you what?” says Dominique, “Finally move and leave Abram and I to our conversation? I’m not going anywhere, babe. But you probably should. Class is starting soon.”

Sophie’s cheeks are the color of her hair and she turns her nose up at the girl before walking around us and to the back of the classroom.

“Where were we?” she says, tilting her head. “Oh, right, you were just about to ask me out.”

I laugh because I don’t know what else to do. Girls never gave me this much attention before and I honestly don’t know what to do with it.

“Did I say something funny?” she says, eyebrows raised.

I shake my head. “No, I’m just trying to figure out why we never met before. Are you new?”

“I was taking pre-calc last semester, but I had to take it with the other freshman,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“You’re—you’re a freshman?” I say, eyes wide.

She sits up and smiles proudly. “I’ll be fifteen in March.”

My breath catches in my throat and I feel dirty enough to need a bath in bleach.

“Wow, ok,” I say. I swallow hard. “It’s uh, impressive that you’re already taking Calculus. I think I was hardly passing pre-algebra when I was fourteen.”

“I’m extremely advanced for my age,” she says, smirking. “And not just with schoolwork.”

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Grant says. “Quiet down.”

The room falls silent as he takes his place in front of us holding a stack of papers. “We’ll be having a pop-quiz today. I know, I’m awful, but the good news is, you’re free to go when you’re done.”

He counts out enough quizzes for each row of students and hands them out, face down. “You can start once you get yours and you have until the end of the period to finish it.”

I flip my paper over and get to work on the first of ten questions.

I’m only on the third question when I hear a pair of heels clicking, and I look up to see Sophie making her way to Mr. Grant’s desk. I glance around the room to see everyone else hard at work, while Sophie hands her quiz off, completed.

She winks at me as she walks across the front of the room, quietly opening the door. I want to ask how she managed to cheat—then I realize just how much everyone seems to underestimate her; she didn’t cheat. She is just scarily intelligent.

Fifteen minutes later I find myself on my feet, offering my paper to Mr. Grant, who takes it with a smile. I feel several pairs of eyes on me as I walk to the door, but I don’t dare look back—because I don’t want to see that little girl put anything else in her mouth.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

(texts Brody & Abram)

dude why is ellie so petty?

she brought me coffee to school, saying it was a peace offering. well she put salt in it instead of sugar and when i took a drink and spit it out she said oh, was that salt im sorry it was an accident, kinda like how you accidentally kissed Natasha

lmao bro she’s the queen of petty she always has been

I’m following in those petty ass footsteps because here I am passive aggressively drinking it and looking at her from across the cafeteria.

i didn’t raise no bitch. You drink that bitter AF coffee ♥

i am. wyd.

Just got out of calc, about to find somewhere to baptize myself in bleach.

did you hook up w a bootleg looking girl or st?

no dude worse i got a semi talking to this hot girl in my calc class she was deep throating a sucker and then says lol i’ll be 15 in march omg fkin gross

omg right these children are out here catfishing us in real life wtf what happened to young girls having snuggle teeth and acne?

idk but I honestly feel like I need to go to church and apologize.

lol i miss you man.

Miss you more pookie

I wasn’t gonna tell you but I’m too excited not to. I’m gonna come to your game on Saturday.

I’m mid key smash when I feel someone sit beside me on the fountain. Locking my phone, I look up and I immediately scoot away from the girl who looks at me like I’m a four-course meal and she hasn’t eaten for days.

“You know, I’m impressed with how fast you finished that quiz,” says Dominique as she crosses her legs toward me. “Maybe I need some tutoring.”

“I’m sure Mr. Grant wouldn’t mind helping you if you’re having problems,” I say and I lean farther away from her.

“I’m not interested in his help,” she replies, smirking. “I was thinking maybe you could help me.”

“Abram—oh.” I look over my shoulder to see Elise rounding the fountain, her lips pinching into a thin line as she studies the girl beside me. “Never mind, I would hate to interrupt.”

I stand and grab my backpack. “You’re not—I was actually looking for you.”

She glances back at Dominique. “Are you sure, because you looked pretty cozy—”

“Please, save me,” I whisper against Elise’s ear.

She pulls away and smiles back at Dominique. “Sorry, sweetie, but he isn’t available right now. You can try again later—maybe once you’ve hit puberty?”

“I think she already has,” I say as Elise urges me away from the fountain and my dignity.

“Oh my God, Abram,” Elise snaps. “That girl is like twelve.”

“I know,” I bite back. “She was trying to show me how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop earlier.” I can’t help but cringe as I think about it, and I will myself to think of something else.

“I think she probably want to know how many licks it’ll take from you,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You seem to have a fan club now.”

“I think I’ve had one since that party—”

“God, shut up!” she says, walking in front of me and throwing her arms out. “What makes you think I want to hear about that? Or any story about you with any other girl?”

I stare at her, eyebrows creasing together. “Oh, but it’s okay for you to flaunt your relationship with Jason in front of me?”

“I don’t do that, Abram—that’s Jason. Besides, that’s different, I haven’t—we haven’t—we’ve barely even kissed!”

“So that makes it fair?” I say.

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you’ve implied it plenty of times,” I say. “Did you just want to fight with me? Is that why you were looking for me?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting to find you with some freshman skank!” she shouts. “I thought you had standards—but I guess if you’d be into Sylvia, you’d be into anyone.”

I laugh dryly and shake my head. “Obviously I don’t have standards,” I say, holding my arms out toward her. I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, but I’m too angry to say sorry, even after her face falls. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t put up with your neck-breaking mood swings.”

Her lips part, but words are forestalled—because I’m not done yet.

“You know what? Never mind—forget that I was looking for you. I’m going to go find Sophie, because at least she is constantly a bitch and doesn’t lead me on!”

Without giving her a chance to respond, I walk away.

#ae #my writing

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