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impala-dreamer · 3 months

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Tourniquet - Chapter Nine

Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

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Another Summer Alone

“Y/N!”

She was sitting on the old creaky stairs, knobby knees bent up to her chest. She was staring at the front door, waiting impatiently for the handle to turn.

“Y/N Y/L/N! Where you at, girl?”

Bobby’s voice boomed through the downstairs, bouncing off the plaster walls and finding its way to her ears.

“I’m here!”

She stood up as he appeared, wiping his wet hands with an old yellow rag. She was clean and dressed, hair uncharacteristically brushed out and hanging down over her shoulders. Her arms and legs were bare, and she wore a pale blue sundress and her white Keds.

Bobby’s brow creased as he looked her over.

“Whatchoo all dressed up for?”

Y/N shrugged, hiding her nervous smile. “Nothin’. Can’t a girl get dressed up around here? I am a girl, in case you forgot like everyone else.”

He hummed in reply and adjusted his trucker hat, wiggling it back into place. He was not as clean, wearing an old shirt and jeans, both more holy than the man himself; and a gray flannel that matched the grease stains on his hands. No matter how much he scrubbed his hands, they never looked clean. The dirt had sunk deep into the cracks of his palms, settled in the nail beds, seeped into his skin. Still, Y/N thought he was handsome, even with the scratchy beard and growing beer gut. He was Uncle Bobby. He was safe and caring and sturdy.

“Quit staring already,” she huffed, waving his gaze away with a delicate hand.

Bobby caught her hand and tugged it gently, turning her palm down. “You wearin’ nail polish, too?”

Y/N yanked her hand from his and turned her nose up in the air. “I can wear nail polish if I want to.”

“And that stuff on your eyes - your father let you wear that crap?”

She looked back over her shoulder and prepared to fight back at such an accusation with some teenage rampage about how if he cared what she did with her body, he’d be there to yell at her himself. Before the words could truly form, she heard it.

Gravel crushed under tires.

A roaring engine.

The heavy creak of door hinges.

A knock on the door.

Her heart raced and she looked at Bobby who nodded toward the door, letting her get it.

The setting sun was bright, striking her gaze with a familiar sting.

Green eyes, spiked hair, pale freckles, beautiful smile. Seventeen looked good on him.

Dean bit his bottom lip as he looked her over. “Hey, Y/N/N.”

Her heart soared;, her cheeks burned. “Hey, Dean.”

A gruff voice broke through their reunion as John pushed Dean through the entryway.

“You gonna stand outside all day or get in? Move it, Dean.”

The older boy stepped aside and John bounded in, ignoring Y/N and greeting Bobby with a firm handshake and a manly hug.

The smell of whiskey and dirty smoke followed him in and Y/N gagged silently next to Dean. He laughed under his breath and gave her a secret wink.

Sam was next through the door, carrying two giant duffle bags that were threatening to take the kid down.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greeted shyly as Dean took the weight from his left shoulder.

“Heya, Sam. Nice to see ya.”

He blushed as if the simple fact that she knew his name was enough to send him to seventh heaven.

With the welcome done, Bobby cleared his throat. “Well, if you boys want supper, drop your bags upstairs and get cleaned up. We wash our hands before eating here.”

Sam nodded and adjusted the strap on his arm. “Yes, sir.”

Dean hung back with Y/N, wanting to talk to her, but John snapped at him.

“You too, Dean.”

He sighed. “Yes, sir.”

John rolled his eyes and turned away, following Bobby into the back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dean whispered to Y/N, accidentally on purpose bumping into her as he went for the stairs.

“Me too,” she grinned.

She watched him go, dreaming of running away with him someday, of stealing a car from out front and racing off into the sunset together.

He must have felt her staring and paused on the top step. He glanced back down at her.

“You look really nice,” he said.

Her heart nearly burst.

John left the next morning and the house seemed to sigh in relief.

They spent the summer days lounging about or sneaking around in the Ford graveyard. Sam kept to himself, shoving his nose in a book or trying to get better reception from the rabbit ears on the old tv in the bedroom.

Bobby kept one eye on the budding couple, but mostly let them do as they pleased. Dean and Y/N were too old now to really reprimand, but he was especially attentive when they teens hung about in the shadows. It would be one thing for them to get hurt fooling around in the yard, scraping knees or burning themselves on hot metal, but Y/N ending up pregnant under his nose was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

Y/N hadn’t been so happy in a long time and from the look of the fading bruises on his face and arms, neither had Dean.

He seemed sadder than she remembered him being. Despite his smile, there was something underneath that she couldn’t quite reach, some secret he was holding in. She held him just a little tighter when they hugged, snuggled just a little closer when they sat together on the ratty old sofa.

Still, there was a calmness between them, a warmth that they shared, as if the sun were beating down just for them. When Dean looked at her, he smiled. When she held his hand, he relaxed.

It was nice.

Days turned to weeks and the summer wind grew warmer. They spent hours in the field or down by the stream, kicking rocks into the water and chatting about everything.

Dean was proud that John had finally let him hunt and he assured Y/N that he was being safe, and was actually really good at it. She worried, but knew that someday he’d be the greatest hunter in the world. He was amazing like that. She had no doubts.

Y/N talked quietly about her travels with her father, about the miles and monsters they’d conquered. They’d finally made it to Kentucky, she announced with the cadence of an inside joke, and his smile made her melt.

“You ever wish you didn’t know about this stuff?” he asked one evening while they lay in the grass side by side.

Y/N was propped up on one arm, watching him as he watched the fireflies sparkle overhead.

“I guess. Yeah.” She sighed. “I mean, this is life, isn’t it? I think I’d rather know the thing under my bed could really kill me instead of pretending it didn’t exist.”

Dean chewed his bottom lip. His hands were clasped behind his head and he shifted a bit, getting comfortable even as his words made it impossible.

“I’d rather not know, I think,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I want to do this the rest of my life. I’d rather be doing something else. Anything else.”

Y/N smiled softly. “And what would you be doing right now if you weren’t stuck on this track?”

He turned his eyes to her. “Honestly?”

She laughed. “Always.”

He took a breath and twisted onto his side, facing her. “I’d take you and run. Get away from everything. Find some place safe, some place that isn’t crawling with evil sons of bitches. Somewhere we could just… live.”

Y/N felt that old familiar ache in her chest and she dropped her chin, tugged on a blade of grass between them. His words soaked into her soul, and she wished more than anything that he was serious, that they could really run away together.

“That’s a nice dream, Dean,” she whispered.

“Yeah…”

There was more to say, more she wanted to tell him, but nothing came out. She was stunned by his hand suddenly on her cheek, his fingers holding her so tentatively.

“Would you?” he asked, eyes locked on hers, lips drawing ever closer.

She was trembling despite the warmth pushing off of him. “Would I what?”

“Run away with me.”

Her eyes fell closed and her stomach fluttered. She leaned in, closing the void between them.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t her first kiss, nor was it his, but the taste of him would linger on her lips forever. The feel of his body rolling over her, pressing her into the ground would live in her head for the rest of her life.

They kissed as the sky darkened; hands fumbling over cotton, lips chasing more. His tongue was hungry, his knee between her legs was like a match igniting everything inside of her.

It was quiet and desperate and clumsy, but it was perfect all the same, and only the fireflies knew.

Dean was fiddling with something on the workbench, his back to the yard. He was sweating in the hot August sun and his gray t-shirt was dark around the collar and under his arms. His jeans were dusty and a greasy handprint painted his back right pocket.

Y/N slapped it when she approached and Dean yelped, jumping off his feet.

“Gah!”

She laughed. “Gotcha.”

He spun around, hands hiding something behind his back. “You sure do…”

Her arms slid up around his neck and he dipped down to kiss her lips. A quick peck that she filled with as much love as she possibly could.

Mama once warned her not to go falling in love with just anyone who winked at her, and not to spend her youth running from one bed to another. She hadn’t understood at the time, but the older she got, the more sense it made.

But sixteen wasn’t too young to fall in love and Dean Winchester wasn’t just anyone.

He pulled back before he wouldn’t be able to any longer. “Wanna run into town tonight? Maybe catch a movie?”

Y/N’s smile fell. “Um…”

Dean searched her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She took a step back and shifted her weight between each foot. “My dad’s here. He just showed up.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be back for a few weeks, I didn’t know-”

Dean’s jaw tensed and he looked down at his boot; kicked up some dust. “It’s cool.”

Y/N’s chest ached. “I’m sorry, Dean. I want to stay. I want to run away with you but-”

“Hey-” He stopped her, hand raising between them. “It was just a dream.”

Wetness threatened to spill from her eyes. “Yeah, it was.”

He took a breath and pulled his right hand from behind his back. “Made you something,” he said, letting a thin ball chain hang down.

Y/N’s breath was heavy, her smile true. She took the necklace and held it in her palm. The pendant was a thin lug nut, probably something he’d kicked up in the gravel, polished and sanded down a bit.

She laughed sweetly. “It’s…”

He cringed. “Stupid, I know.”

“... it’s perfect, Dean.”

It hung on her neck, dipping down to just above the low cut of her tank top. The metal gleamed in the sun and it burned between them as Dean leaned down for one last kiss.

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303 @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#spn fanfic #supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean x reader #series #tourniquet #how many tags can i fit on here?#does it matter?#i love this chapter omg

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gender0bender · 11 months

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There is another group of men who live, and often suffer, with breasts. Unlike gynecomastia patients, these men are transgender. Assigned female at birth, they identify as, transition to, and live as their true male gender. It is common for transgender men to report dissociative feelings toward their chest. Many trans men develop personalized terminology to re-gender their body parts; it's common for trans guys to think of their chest exclusively as their chest, without using the word "breasts" to describe that part of their body.

Some non-transgender men who have gynecomastia also manipulate gendered language to describe their gender nonconforming bodies. Specifically, these guys use acutely masculine terms to talk about their breasts. One user on a popular gynecomastia forum underwent surgery to have his breasts removed. He wrote about the experience with sports terms, stating, "I had two liters of fat removed from each breast, and a hockey puck of estrogen, or whatever." Another described his breasts as if fast food: "The amount of tissue for each breast was about the size of a quarter pounder burger from McDonalds."

None of the men that I spoke with felt like their gynecomastia was a gender issue. "I feel the need to say [that] I've never had any complex with my gender. My case with gynecomastia was no different to the mindset of someone who wants to remove an ugly scar, birthmark, or lump," Sam told me.

Brian is also in his twenties, and he lived with gynecomastia for many years before having it surgically removed. "Gender was never really something I contemplated in any sense of the word I guess," he told Broadly in an email. "When I developed gynecomastia, I was embarrassed by it and sometimes made fun of for it, but I never felt like 'less of a man.'" He said that he never felt the need to be manly. But he and Sam both felt a need to correct a part of their body that they had come to see as abnormal, something that caused them some degree of mental anguish. Though they don't feel aware of the way that gender relates to their experiences, it is arguably intrinsic. "Gender didn't become more important after puberty," Brian said. "I never really paid attention to the idea. It just was."

"Feminists and critical race theorists have long argued that this is how privilege works," Blum said. "Just as most whites don't experience themselves as having a race, [cisgender] men seldom experience themselves as having a gender." The sense of anxiety, insecurity, or disconnect that men with gynecomastia experience toward their chests can resemble the way that transgender men experience gender dysphoria. Both groups deserve to live without that anguish, and to have healthcare that recognizes the difference between cosmetic and medically necessary plastic surgery—but they also deserve to live in a society where their bodies are not deemed abnormal.

- 'Chop the Things Off': The Plight of Boys Who Grow Breasts, from VICE by Diana Tourjée

#gynecomastia #transgender #disagree slightly with the point about medically necesary versus cosmetic surgery #I think that 'cosmetic surgery' is a very politicised term #in how it's used to diminish trans related medical procedures #so when people agree wo this dichotomy of 'there's medically necesary and then there's vanity surgeries' I'm always hesitant #like is body contouring or FFS cosmetic or medically necersary?#does it matter?#but other than that very important point that we as trans people aren't alone in our experiences of our bodies #and our experiences of dysphoria can be a source of empathy and deeper understanding of those outside our community

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