#TENDER HEARTED BOYS IN TOUGH HEARTED STREETS
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Violently overcome with the urge to watch The Outsiders (director’s cut)
#TENDER HEARTED BOYS IN TOUGH HEARTED STREETS#BABY ROB LOWE AND PATRICK SWAYZE#BOYS WHO CRY AND HIT THINGS#MY WHOLE ENTIRE HEART#the curtis boys are all my sons#i used to write heavily atmospheric outsiders fics#i have so many feelings#behold my life
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Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.
With Nico hischier!!
Thank you for requesting 🥰 I know yall probably wanted to see nico taking care of reader, but as yall know I'm a slut for reader taking care of the boys and this just felt so perfect.
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Nico was arguably the most stubborn mother fucker you had ever have the pleasure of meeting in your entire damn life. He was strong and kind and loving. He prioratized everyone before himself. Whether it be you, his family, his team, or a random fucking stranger on the street.
Which is how he ended up with the fucking plague. (It wasn't the plague, but your dramatics tended to get the better of you when you were mad at your boyfriend.)
"Nico Hischier, get your ass back in bed before I douse you with chloroform," you threatened, pushing his chest firmly back towards the bedroom.
"I'm fine, schatz-" he was cut off by a coughing fit that had him doubling over. Your demeanor did a complete 180° as you stood beside him, rubbing his back soothingly and muttering sweet words.
"Seriously nico, my love," you say, cupping his face between both hands after his coughing fit had passed, "you need rest,"
"But the team-"
"The team will be fine. They are in good hands. Plus, the faster you rest up, the faster you can get back to it." You say, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. He's burning up, and it makes your heart pang in your chest.
"But Schatz i- "
"Nico, please." You beg with a sigh, "if not for your sake, then for mine, so I'm not worried about you?"
Nico concedes with a sigh, walking back to the bedroom, "Let it be known this is to ease your worries and, not because I am sick,"
You roll your eyes fondly, tucking him into bed, "Of course, my love. Thank you for resting, for me" you plant a tender kiss on his forehead.
"Schatz! Dont kiss me, what if you my germs?" He says hoarsely, trying to fight off another coughing fit.
You cross your arms, staring down at him smugly, "I thought you weren't sick?" You tease.
He pales, realizing his admission. He opens his mouth to try and form an excuse but breaks out coughing again. You shake your head and brush his head back from his forehead. "I'm going to get you some cough medicine."
Nico tried to protest, but he's too busy hacking his lungs out. You wince and hurry to the kitchen, scrambling through the medicine cabinet for the cough syrup. You grab a bottle of water and Gatorade and go back to the bedroom, where, thankfully, Nico's coughing fit is over.
Setting everything on the night stand you pour the cough syrup into the spoon and feed it to him gently.
"Egh," he sticks out his tongue in disgust. You can't help but giggle.
"I'm gonna make some fresh ginger tea and some soup, and you'll be right as rain in no time, ok honey?" You say smoothing the crease between his eyebrows.
Nico has given up the tough guy act. He nuzzels his head against your hand, and you place another kiss on his forehead, much to his disdain. "Do you want me to turn on a movie?"
Nico shakes his head, "I just want you," he says tugging on your arm.
"I know, honey, I know," you coo, "As soon as I'm done making you soup, ok?"
"Ok, don't take too long," he flashes his infamous puppy dog eyes, and you're practically melting at the seams. "Keep drinking lots of liquids, ok?"
He nods, "And I'm right in the kitchen, so just shout if you need anything,"
He nods again, and you press one last kiss to his forehead before turning on 101 Dalmatians for him on the TV.
The soup doesn't take long. It's your mom's famous chicken noodle soup recipe. You ladle the soup into a bowl and grind fresh ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, and honey into a paste and fill the rest of the cup with hot water.
Nico looks worse than before. His skin is pale and clammy, There's a pile of tissues on the nightstand. His nose looks red and irritated, and he's sniffling consistently. He has the duvet pulled all the way up to his chin, and it's tucked around his shoulders to keep the cold out. Your poor Nico.
You set the soup on the nightstand, along with the tea, and gather his pile of tissues to throw them out. "Come on, Nico, sit up for me," you nudge gently.
"Can't Schatz," he murmurs "too cold,"
You pad to the closet with a sigh and pull out one of Nicos fleece hoodies. "Put this on, baby." You say handing it to him. He reluctantly removes himself from his blanket cocoon and pulls the hoodie over his head. He takes the bowl of soup gratefully, and you slip under the blankets beside him, curling against his side.
"Thank you, my love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
You wrinkle your nose, "Ew, I don't want your germs Neeks!" You squeak, dramatically rubbing his kiss off your forehead.
He chuckles and then coughs. After he finishes his soup and complains the entire time he drinks the tea, the two of you fall asleep curled into one another. And if a week a later Nico is the one spoon feeding you medicine, and disposing of your snotty tissues well...
That's what love is.
#guess who's still not doing her assignment 🤪#feeling silly goofy#its due in an hour!#and instead here i am!#nico hischier#nico hischer x reader#nh13#nhl imagines#nhl blurb#nico hischer blurb#nico hischer imagine#hes so precious
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We made it
⊹♡— in which she falls in love with the boy she grew up with, and they realise that the highs and lows of life hadn’t stopped them from succeeding
Max Verstappen x fem!reader
Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of j*s Verstappen, mentions of substance abuse
When I was six years old, life led me on an unexpected adventure, a journey that would intertwine my fate with Max's in the most remarkable way. It all began on a sweltering summer afternoon as I aimlessly wandered the sun-soaked streets of our tough neighborhood. The air hung heavy with the scents of asphalt and distant hopes. My parents were both ensnared by the cruel clutches of addiction, leaving me to navigate the challenges of life on my own, like a small boat adrift in a stormy sea.
On that particular day, a strange serendipity drew me away from my usual aimless wanderings. The distant sound of a kart engine reached my ears like a siren's call, beckoning me toward the source of its excitement.
Curiosity piqued, I followed the melodic hum until I stumbled upon a makeshift karting track hidden within a forsaken corner of our neighborhood. There, in the hazy afternoon light, I found a young boy, no older than me, toiling away in solitude, his small frame dwarfed by the task at hand. He was Max, his eyes heavy with a sadness that belied his tender age.
As I approached, Max looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of surprise and weariness. "Hi," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. "I'm Max. Do you want to race me in my go-kart?"
It was an invitation, a small glimmer of hope that hung in the air. But beneath the surface, I could sense a darkness, a heaviness that Max carried within him. It wasn't long before he began to open up to me, sharing the painful truth of what had transpired earlier that day.
Max had been part of a race, one filled with the adrenaline of competition and the dreams of victory. Yet, the story took a darker turn. He had lost that race, and the consequences of that defeat were more profound than I could have ever imagined. Max's abusive father, consumed by anger at his son's perceived failure, had abandoned him at the track, leaving young Max alone with the daunting task of cleaning up and packing away the remnants of their racing dreams.
In that moment, as I listened to Max's story, my heart ached with empathy and a sense of shared vulnerability. I couldn't bear the thought of Max having to endure this ordeal alone, left to grapple with the shadows of his own past. Without hesitation, I offered to help him.
Together, we folded up the discarded tires, picked up the strewn bits of trash, and neatly stowed away the racing karts. It was during this collaborative effort that our friendship began to take root, as we shared stories of our troubled pasts, found moments of laughter amidst the chaos, and whispered our dreams of becoming Formula One drivers under the setting sun.
As the golden orb dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched toward us, Max and I walked back home together. The bond that had formed during our shared experience grew stronger with each step. We might have come from the darkest corners of our neighborhood, facing adversity that seemed insurmountable, but in each other, we had found the greatest treasure—a friend who would stand by us through thick and thin.
The years rolled on, bringing with them the trials and tribulations of adolescence. Max and I continued to nurture our friendship, our shared passion for racing, and our unwavering support for one another. We became each other's pillars of strength in a world that often seemed unforgiving.
At the age of 14, we faced another turning point. Max's unwavering dedication to racing clashed with the realization that my passion for it was waning. I felt like I was holding him back, and the weight of guilt began to bear down on me.
"I don't think I want to race anymore," I finally confided in Max one day. "I think it's time for me to find something else.”
Max looked at me, his face serious but kind. "You don't have to do something just because I love it. We're best friends, and I want you to be happy."
His words offered solace, but I still grappled with the fear of losing him and the uncertainty of what lay ahead for our friendship.
High school came and went, and our bond persisted, though not without its changes. There was a subtle tension between us that hadn't existed before. I was nervous around Max, unsure of how to act.
One day, as we sat on my front porch, discussing our plans after graduation, Max turned to me, his eyes intense with emotions he could no longer contain.
"I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "But I can't keep pretending anymore. I'm in love with you."
I was stunned, my mind racing as I processed his confession. I had never thought of Max in that way, but as he spoke, I realized that my feelings were more complex than I had ever imagined.
"I love you too," I said, my own voice quivering. "But if we try this and it doesn't work, I don't want it to ruin our friendship."
Max reached for my hand, the touch of his fingers reassuring. "We've been through a lot together," he said, his gaze unwavering. "We can handle anything."
With that, we embarked on a new chapter, our friendship evolving into a romantic relationship. The weight of unspoken emotions lifted, allowing us to be our true selves around each other, without the fear of losing the connection we had nurtured for so long.
As the years rolled by, we navigated the ups and downs of life together. Max faced challenges in his racing career, but I was always there to support him, just as he had been there for me. We both graduated from college, securing jobs in our respective fields, all the while never letting go of the love that had blossomed between us.
Now, at the age of 24, we sat side by side in the grandstands, our eyes fixed on the racing track. Max had made it to his first F1 championship race, a moment we had both dreamt of since we were kids. The tension in the air was palpable, the excitement electric.
And then, it happened—Max emerged victorious, clutching the coveted trophy. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes as I watched him celebrate his hard-earned triumph.
"I couldn't have done this without you," Max said, his arm wrapped around me, his voice filled with gratitude.
"I'm so proud of you," I replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek, my heart swelling with pride.
As we watched the other drivers celebrate on the track below, Max turned to me, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that words could hardly capture.
"You know," he began, his voice soft but resolute, "I never would have made it this far without you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
I smiled, the gratitude and love I felt for Max filling every corner of my heart. Our journey had been a tumultuous one, shaped by the challenges we had faced and the unbreakable bond that had carried us through. From a chance encounter on a karting track to the heights of an F1 championship, we had weathered every storm together. Max Verstappen had not only become a champion on the track but a champion of my heart, and I couldn't imagine a life without him by my side.
#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#formula 1 smut#formula 1 imagine#formula 1#formula 1 x oc#formula 1 x y/n
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kiss me once more !
★ / person ── jake webber
★ / readers ── female pronouns / reader
★ / warnings ── slight implied smut, small makeout session + short oneshot.
love arden 𖦹 hello demons, It's me ya boi, and welcome to my first post. this is the first time I have written something like this before and it is my first time on tumblr, so please bare with me whilst I try to better my writing and my skills so I can improve and provide you all with better stuff.
this ended so differently from what I wanted
T.he strong blinding ball of florescent yellow, began to slowly arise, narrowly peaking through the pastel coloured horizon, sharp, bitter frost laid across the delicate dyihg green grass, cars quietly cruising the silent streets ── Three in the morning was never a time for Jake webber, it was a time he wished to never know, however that was the case until he met the women of his dreams, Y/N.
He had zero choice but to befriend that scarily early time, it was the one time where he could be with Y/N without the looming threat of the other falling asleep due to the exhaustion of her tough graft ── It was a tiny time frame that they both got to spend together, it was cherished, a break before the taunting day ahead.
And Jake heavily insisted on waking up along with his girlfriend much to her dismay.
" Baby, wake up " a familiar voice stirred the half asleep Jake awake, breaking him from his peaceful slumber, his dark coloured eyes narrowly opening, his pale, plump lips pulling themselves into a deep smile upon seeing his girlfriend looking at him, Y/N leant down placing gentle kisses over Jake's tender cheeks.
" Morning " Jake muttered into his pale pink, stain pillow, allowing the love of his life to run her slender fingers throughout the bedhead mess, relaxing under the sensitive touches, Y/N leant down peppering kisses down his spine, delicately nibbling at the skin, leaving faint love bites.
It was a wake up call that always seemed to happen, a routine made without ever meaning it too.
" Stop " Jake quietly chuckled, Y/N immediately halted despite knowing that they were both enjoying the soft spark of sensational feelings, Jake forced himself to sit keeping the crisp pink sheet against his shirtless body protecting himelf from the bitter morning air.
" You have work, and we both know what happens if I let you carry on " Jake teased poking Y/N's forehead pushing the women away from his body, he could see the hunger within her eyes, he felt the hunger too but he also knew all too well the consequences of what would happen if she allowed Jake to continue.
" Well what if I want it to happen? " Y/N plaufully questioned, loving eyes devouring the man in front of her, Jake perfectly acting as if his heart wasn't pounding vigorously against his ribs, the need for Y/N grew.
But he needed to be strong.
" You wish, baby, but you need to work " Jake smirked pulling Y/N towards him for one last kiss, their lips dancing with each other, Jake's pink tongue pushing its way through her sealed lips, almost inaudible whimpering as Y/N fought back, daring to be more dominant.
Heat arose between them, both finding their needs slowly being tended too, Y/N sitting on top of Jake's lap, her fingers tracing his back, Jake enjoying the pressure that Y/N continued to add, a little piece at a time, as her nails dug deeper into his burning skin, only for Jake to stop Y/N again.
" Not gonna happen baby " Jake sheepishly smirked hands on Y/N chest preventing her from moving any closer, Y/N lightly pouted, moving off her boyfriend's lap, already missing the warmth of his body whilst she sulked at the end of the bed.
" Spoil sport " Y/N childishly huffed, Jake chuckling, as he crawled over to her wrapping his toned arms around her waist peppering soft kisses on her neck, Y/N smiling at the loving contact.
" What are you doing? " Y/N questioned, her tender tone deepening ever so slightly, she could feel Jake's lips forming a small smile, roughing the kisses ever so slightly.
" Giving you enough kisses to last the day so you won't miss me " Jake innocently whispered into Y/N right ears, nibbling at it lightly, a dark shade of pink spread across her cheeks.
" Well you better kiss me once more " Y/N softly ordered, enjoying the extra attention, Jake happily complying to the hungered order
It was safe to say that both parties regretted the women making the choice to do an extra shift to earn a little more overtime.
from arden ── I love you all, I hope that you found this enjoyable, it is lightly edited since I'm tired! & I think this goes without saying but I mean no harm or disrespect to Jake, this was purely fictional & I own all of my edits and oneshots so please don't steal them.
#jake webber#jake webber x reader#jake webber x you#jake webber x y/n#jake webber x female reader#jake webber fluff#jake webber one shot#jake webber smut#jake webber imagine#jake webber x fem reader
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Father’s Day Headcanons
Haytham Kenway
If Haytham could be described in three words to say how he is as a father, it would be sassy, protective, and proud.
Sassy due to obvious reasons; it runs in the family line. Protective because I just think he would be in very dire situations, like saving Connor from execution or saying he’s his son so as to not make a scene on the streets. I think he’s also proud due to all that’s happened with Connor and letting himself die by his son’s hands shows he was well taken care of by the people in his life without him.
He’d also make dad jokes that would make only him laugh and the people around him want to punch him in the face.
He’d also be that dad to embarrass his kid when it comes to dating, and if he had another child, a girl for instance, his hand would always be holding his gun, waiting for the guy (or girl) to make the wrong choice.
If Celeste wasn’t given to a tribe by Enola (me by the way hello), Haytham would’ve been the best father he could be to her. I think he would’ve been surprised at seeing a little girl that’s his, but would quickly grow to love and care for her, even if it means doing it while he’s working. Also, he would probably have ladies around him if Celeste was in his arms while he was out in town. He’d probably spoil her too, and let her sleep on his lap and it’s a cute sight to see them both sleeping together (trust me it would be).
Connor Kenway
If he was described in three words how good of a father he is, there would be more than three words.
Kind, Gentle, Sweet, Tender Hearted, Protector, Leader, Mentor, etc.
Protector, Leader, Mentor; It’s in his blood and how he was raised to be. I think he teaches this to his kids in the comics?
Kind, Gentle, Sweet, Tender Hearted; The definition of ‘looks scary, but is the nicest guy you could ever meet’. He truly loves his children and would watch them grow, even if it hurts to see them go as they grow up and search for their own dreams and lives to live.
I bet he takes care of his daddy’s girl more. So gently and delicately, but also treating her as an equal.
For the boy, he maybe tough on him, but he truly loves him dearly and treats him like his child still.
Honestly, for both Haytham and Connor, I would want them to be together from the start. I truly believe Haytham would’ve loved being a grandfather and love them so dearly and would see them often. If only Connor and Haytham weren’t destined enemies working together for a common goal… it hurts having to see your family, your own kin fighting you.
#haytham kenway#assassins creed 3#ac3#assassin's creed#assassins creed#assassins creed iii#haytham#ac#fathers day#connor kenway#ratonhnhaké:ton#happy fathers day
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Eight Days in April
1.
I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet:
hereafter, must I only write you chaste
connubial poems? Now that I have traced
a way from there to here across the sweet-
est morning, rose-blushed blonde, will measured feet
advance processionally, where before
they scuff-heeled flights of stairs, kicked at a door,
or danced in wing-tips to a dirty beat?
Or do I tell the world that I have got
rich quick, got lucky (got laid), got just what
the doctor ordered, more than I deserved?
This is the second morning I woke curved
around your dreaming. In one night, I've seen
moonset and sunrise in your lion's mane.
2.
Moons set and suns rise in your lion's mane
through LP kisses or spread on my thighs.
Winter subsided while I fantasized
what April dawns frame in the windowpane.
Sweetheart, I'm still not getting enough sleep,
but I'm not tired, and outside it's spring
in which we sprang the afternoon shopping
after I'd been inside you, O so deep
I thought we would be tangled at the roots.
I think we are. (I've never made such noise.
I've never come so hard, or come so far
in such a short time.) You're an exemplar
piss-elegance is not reserved for boys.
Tonight we'll go out in our gangster suits.
3.
Last night we went out in our gangster suits,
but just across the street to Santerello's,
waited past nine for wine. We shone; the fellows
noticed. "You have a splendid linen coat,"
Dimitri told you as he sat us down.
(This used to be my local; now it's chic.)
A restaurant table's like a bed: we speak
the way we do calmed after love, alone
in the dark. There's a lot to get to know.
We felt bad; we felt better. Soon I was
laid back enough to drink around the bend.
You got me home, to bed, like an old friend.
I like you, Rachel, when you're scared, because
you tough it out while you're feeling it through.
4.
You tough it out while you're feeling it through:
sometimes the bed's rocked over tidal waves
that aren't our pleasures. Everyone behaves
a little strangely when they're in a new
neighborhood, language, continent, time zone.
We got here fast; your jet lag's worse than mine.
I only had Paris to leave behind.
You left your whole young history. My own
reminds me to remind you, waking shaken
with tears, dream-racked, is standard for the course.
We need accommodation that allows
each one some storage space for her dead horse.
If the title weren't already taken,
I'd call this poem "Directions to My House."
5.
I'd call this poem "Directions to My House,"
except today I'm writing it in yours,
in your paisley PJ's. The skylight pours
pale sunlight on white blankets. While I douse
my brain with coffee, you sleep on. Dream well
this time. We'll have three sets of keys apiece:
uptown, downtown, Paris on a sublease.
Teach me to drive. (Could I teach you to spell?)
I think the world's our house. I think I built
and furnished mine with space for you to move
through it, with me, alone in rooms, in love
with our work. I moved into one mansion
the morning when I touched, I saw, I felt
your face blazing above me like a sun.
6.
Your face blazing above me like a sun-
deity, framed in red-gold flames, gynandre
in the travail of pleasure, urgent, tender
terrible—my epithalamion
circles that luminous intaglio
—and you under me as I take you there,
and you opening me in your mouth where
the waves inevitably overflow
restraint. No, no, that isn't the whole thing
(also you drive like cop shows, and you sing
gravel and gold, are street-smart, book-smart,
laugh from your gut) but it is (a soothing
poultice applied to my afflicted part)
the central nervous system and the heart
7.
The central nervous system and the heart,
and whatever it is in me wakes me
at 5 am regardless, and what takes me
(when you do) ineluctably apart
and puts me back together; the too-smart,
too-clumsy kid glutted on chocolate cakes (me
at ten); the left-brain righteousness that makes me
make of our doubled dailiness an art
are in your capable square hands. O sweet,
possessives make me antsy: we are free
to choose each other perpetually.
Though I don't think my French short-back-and-sides
means I'll be the most orthodox of brides,
I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet.
— Marilyn Hacker
from Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons
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What's in A Name? (Headcannon)
Pairing: Some guy named Elvis & some chick named Jordan
Headcannon
Warning: Words spoken without considering the feels of others. Enemies turned to friends. Friends turned to lovers.
Author's Notes: For someone like me, growing up with a unisex name was tough at times. I'm an adult, and I still get questioned about my name. The words that got me through it were Shakespeare's infamous words from the play Romeo & Juliet (1595).
P.S. this is super long. I hope y'all like it.
.•° ✿ °••° ✿ °•.🌹.•° ✿ °••° ✿ °•.
It's 1960, and Elvis has just returned from Germany.
Being back home, Elvis wants to surround himself with the boys, get some girls, and have a party.
Me and my best friend, Stacy, were invited to an exclusive party at Graceland.
I've been a fan of Elvis Presley's since I saw Love Me Tender in 56'.
I've a few of his records and one small picture I keep in my diary.
My folks are sick of hearing about Elvis. "Elvis, Elvis, Elvis. He's almost all you think about."
"It would behoove you to keep your nose in your studies and out of Hollywood daydreams!" So saith my mother.
When he was away in Germany, my parents thought that would be the end of that.
But they were wrong. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
There's news of him everywhere. His people are trying to keep him in the public eye as much as possible.
I get to see him grow as an Army man, and it's amazing.
A man in uniform is strong and handsome, but Elvis in a uniform is a sight to behold!
Stacy and I were just out on Beale Street getting milkshakes when a tall guy approached our table.
"Hey, ladies. Would you be interested in coming to a party tonight?"
We look at each other. It could be dangerous because this random stranger just approached us.
Three questions filled my mind:
"What's your name?"
"Where's the party?"
"Who's the host?"
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I see two beautiful ladies sitting alone. I thought they may wanna party."
"I'm Sonny West. The party is at Graceland, and the host is Elvis Presley."
We both are in complete shock. The Elvis Presley is hosting a party at his house, and we invited!
We both speak simultaneously, "Yes!"
It was still a risk following this Sonny guy, but we had Stacy's dad's car.
If we walked and were approached, the answer would have been no! Since we had a car, the answer was absolutely.
We followed behind Sonny in his Cadillac.
It was a quick six miles drive, but with the excitement I was feeling, it felt like forever.
I'm in awe of his home as soon as we get through the crowded gates and drive up the pathway.
We park right behind Sonny's Caddy and walk up the driveway.
The house was already lively with music and laughter.
"Ladies, welcome to the party."
Sonny opens the door, and my heart drops.
Graceland is breathtaking.
Although crowded, I could still see the beauty in the house. The carpet was a red wine color, and it carried upstairs.
"Ladies, I didn't catch your names." Sonny asks us.
There were girls running around all over the place. The energy was wild and exciting. I, for one, had never ever been to a party like this.
"I'm Stacy!"
"And I'm Jordan."
Sonny's eyes grow wide, and he laughs a bit. "Your name is Jordan?"
"Yes, and your name is Sonny."
In my mind, I'm saying, "Here we go again. Someone badgering me about my name."
"Yes, it's unusual for a woman to have a male name, but here I am!"
Sonny led us downstairs to where the party was really happening.
It was crowded from wall to wall. Everyone was chatting and drinking it up.
I looked around to see if I could spot Elvis over the hoards of guests.
I turned, and there he stood. The man himself. Better looking than all those pictures. Just ethereal.
He walked over to Sonny and shaked his hand. "How are you, Sonny?"
"I'm great, E. I invited some friends from Beale Street to join us. Ladies, this is Elvis."
"What's your names sweet girls." He asked us.
"I'm Stacy, and I'm your biggest fan."
He smiled at Stacy and looked at me.
"I'm a big fan, probably not as big as my friend here. I'm Jordan."
He raised his eyebrows and started laughing. "Surely?"
I closed my eyes thinking, not him too. "Yes. Surely."
Elvis begins to laugh at me. This tears my heart.
All of a sudden, all my confidence was gone.
"That's quite masculine name for a girl. What kind of name is that?"
"The kind of name that someone named Elvis wouldn't question."
I paused, looking in his eyes, trying not to cry.
His smile left his face.
"Excuse me." I said, walking away quickly.
I was ready to go. I went back upstairs and out the front door.
I couldn't leave the way I wanted to. Stacy had the keys, and it was her dad's car after all.
I couldn't stop the tears from running down my eyes.
I sat in the front steps, tears pouring down my eyes.
I thought he'd be different. Then again, he was until he heard my name.
I wish I had any other name!
I was just about ready to start walking home until I heard a voice.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" I look up, and I see Elvis standing there.
"It's your house. I was getting ready to leave anyway."
I stood up off the steps and started to walk away.
"No, wait. Please." He grabs my hand gently to stop me from leaving. "Could I talk to ya?"
"Mr. Presley, there's nothing we have to discuss."
"Please?" He sounded so sincere.
I sat back down on the steps, and he sat with me.
"You know, this is a good place to cry. I cried here once when my mama passed."
I looked at him. How he opened up to me so easily was baffling.
"I truly didn't mean to rag on ya bout your name."
"I guess I should be used to it by now, but it seems I'm not."
I paused and then said,
"I would love to be a Rebecca, or a Lily, or a Rose, but I'm a Jordan, and I get judged for it. I love being Jordan."
"Jordan's a Biblical name. It's a good, strong name." Elivs said.
"Just too strong for a woman?" I asked.
"Nah, it's just right. Strong like the river herself." Elvis encourages me. It puts a smile on my face.
"Where does Elvis come from?" I asked.
"Elvis? From Tupelo!" He jokes.
He makes me laugh out loud. I didn't know he was so funny.
"I'm not sure where Elvis comes from. It's my father's middle name. I'm named after him."
"Funny. I'm named after my grandfather. George was his name."
"My brother was named after our grandfather, Jesse."
"Isn't life strange, Elvis? The coincidences that arise."
"Yeah, it is quite strange. Jordan, if you could pick another name, what would it be?"
"What's in a name? A rose by any other name still smells as sweet. So even if I weren't Jordan, I'd still have my kindness."
"That was poetic."
"That's because it's written by William Shakespeare. That's how I always got through the teasing."
"Boy. I wish I knew that when I was in school. I got hassled a lot."
I look at him in shock! Who the hell would hassle Elvis Presley?!
"I don't understand. Who would hassle you?"
"I wasn't popular as I am now."
I couldn't imagine how not. He was handsome. Better looking than all his photos. He could sing. He could dance.
With the exception of what he said about my name, he's quite kind. Why wouldn't he be loved in high school?
"People are cruel. We have to remember to be better than that." I said, trying to bring him some comfort.
"He sure didn't think about your feelings earlier, and I apologize for that. It was cruel. It was unbecoming of an officer." Elvis grabbed my hand as he spoke.
"I forgive you, Elvis. Thank you."
I feel that fangirl bubble up inside of me. The pit at the of my stomach was full of butterflies.
"Jordan, would you like to go out for burgers? I'm starving."
"I could go for a burger."
We get off the steps, and he still holds my hand.
My heart skips a beat. I had to let it sink in that Elvis Presley was holding my hand.
Where in the universe do I get the opportunity to hold Elvis' hand?
I pinched my shoulder, just to make I wasn't dreaming.
Nope! Not a dream! He's here. Elvis is holding my hand and walking me to his car.
Elvis drove us through the back gate to escape from the hoards of fans at the front gate.
We went to a pretty empty drive thru for dinner.
We switched seats so Elvis could hide from prying eyes.
Without getting out of the car, we switched positions by way of me scooting over his waist.
I almost screamed as I felt his waist under my ass. I thought I felt something else, but I didn't check.
I was making a friend in Elvis, and I didn't want to abuse his trust.
At the drive thru, we ordered three burgers, two fries, and two cokes.
Elvis concealed himself in the passenger seat.
I drove off, and he gave me directions of a private place to park, not to from Graceland.
We spent the next fifteen minutes or so getting to know each other more.
Bonding over burgers and coke.
Elvis tells me about his tour in Germany and how the weather was compared to Memphis.
He expressed how much he missed a good burger.
Elvis told me he was glad that Dodger (his Grandma) made sure he was well fed if he didn't eat in the mess hall.
Elvis liked hearing about my boring life.
I told him about me working in a clothing store on Beale Street and about my best friend, Stacy.
"How did the two of you meet Sonny?"
"We went out to eat on Beale. I just got off work, and Stacy and I decided to go to the Shake Shop."
"So, you hadn't eaten yet?"
"Not yet. We had some milkshakes, though. Then Sonny introduced himself and told us about your party. Stacy's a big fan, so we had to check it out."
"What about you, Jordan?"
I looked at him for a moment, then replied, "I'm just glad he didn't kill us."
Elvis let out this hearty laugh. It was the type of laugh that makes you laugh along with him. The type of laugh that brings a smile to your face.
When he calms himself down, he asks me again. "I meant on being a fan?"
I decided to tease him a bit. "Well, he's... he's handsome. If you like that rugged James Dean rebel look."
Elvis gave me a shy smile and looked down at his hands.
"And those piercing baby blues..." I slammed my hand against my chest over my heart. "God, help me. Wow!"
He chuckles at this and looks back up at me.
"King Creole is a masterpiece. I saw it three times. I'm excited for the next film."
"Elvis is excited too. He's ready to be a serious actor." He starts speaking of himself in third person, playing along.
"I've always wanted to be a great actor like Jimmy Dean. He's one of my favorites next to Tony Curtis."
Elvis had a with words even though he was a bit shy. I was quiet myself, but he knew how to make me feel comfortable.
"You're pretty amazing, Jordee."
"What did you just call me?"
"I-I-I called you Jordee. Is that okay?"
"No, no. It's fine. My mother calls me Jordee. No one else does."
"I think Jordee's cute. Like you."
He put me in shock! I felt my face burn warm, and my heart skip a beat.
"You think I'm cute?"
"Oh, Jordee, I think you're beautiful." Elvis spoke to me in a whisper.
I felt myself stop breathing.
I didn't even notice how close we were to each other.
All of a sudden, I felt shy and looked down and giggled to myself.
Elvis places he hand lightly under my chin and raised my head to look him in the eyes.
Suddenly, I felt like a deer in headlights.
His gaze just captured me.
Elvis slowly brought his lips to mine, kissing me.
His lips were so soft, and oh so pouty.
He eases his tongue into my mouth, grazing it over my tongue.
My body felt like it was on fire. So much said in this one kiss.
We stopped for a moment and looked at each other.
"Whoa..." That's all I could say in this moment? He left me that speechless.
So much had happened between us since our first meeting earlier in the evening.
I saw him across the room. He came over to meet me and Stacy.
He hears my name and laughs at me. I ran away crying.
He cheers me up and apologizes.
We grab dinner and get to know each other better.
Turns out he's a sweetheart, and all is forgiven.
He thinks I'm beautiful and he kisses me.
If the night went a bit differently and he kissed me, I'd be full-on screaming right now. Fan girling!
But no. I would not do that to him. Elvis deserves more.
"Whoa?" Elvis asks.
"Elvis, you got me at a loss for words. I've nevertheless been kissed that way before."
"Then let me shock you again, baby."
Elvis grabs my face and lays the most passionate kiss I've ever received.
Oh, be still my beating heart!
I wrapped my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers through his fine hair.
I slowly pull away from him to catch my breath.
"Elvis, is kissing always like this?"
"It can be, Jordee, if you want it."
This is better than any dream I could have possibly conjured up.
I kissed Elvis once more for good measure.
He worked his way down my neck, causing me to giggle.
How does he manage to make me feel this way?
Elvis brings his lip back to my lips and kisses me again.
We just kind of hold each other for a bit.
We didn't really speak for a few moments.
I sensed that Elvis was shy at times but never felt that he was a loner.
The way he held me indicated that he wanted love. That he wanted to be loved. I did not mind loving him. In the end, we all need affection.
"Elvis?"
"Yes, Jordee?"
I grinned at him. "I hate the thought of leaving you, but I think I should be getting home."
"I'm sorry, baby. I wasn't thinking. We were having such a good time."
"We did. I loved spending time with you, Elvis. The night started out rocky, but you rolled out nicely."
He got him laughing again. His laughter is so contagious.
When he finally calmed down, he asked where I lived.
"Stacy has the keys..."
Oh no! How could I forget my friend?!?
"Elvis, I left Stacy at your house!" I was in shock of my own actions.
"She safe, Jordee."
"I'm the worst friend ever. We gotta back."
"Okay, baby. I'll take you back to Graceland."
Elvis races us back to Graceland, and all the while I was feeling like the worst friend in the world.
Elvis pulled back into Graceland through the front gate. Interestingly, there were no fans to pester him at this hour.
"There's her car there." I told him.
He pulled up along the side of Stacy's car, and we got out.
My first thought was to go in the house and locate Stacy until I realized something was wrong with her windows.
"Jordee, are her windows foggy?" Elvis asked. "I know that voice.
Elvis tapped on the driver's window and said, "Shelby County police!"
The car shook and covered my mouth in shock.
The window rolled down, and there was an unfamiliar guy in the car with Stacy!
Elvis started to laugh. "Red, you old son of a gun! Trying to bust a cherry in my driveway!"
"Damn it, Elvis! You scared the hell out of us!"
We all had a great laugh. I wasn't sure how safe the car was after their misadventures, though!
"Jordee, baby, I told you she was safe." Elvis grabbed and hugged me.
"I wish I trusted you."
"Red, clean up. The girls need to go home."
Red nodded his head and rolled up the window, saying his last goodbyes to Stacy.
Elvis & I alone once again.
"I had a great time tonight, Jordee."
We took our hands and intertwined our fingers.
I look into his cerulean hues, and I swear I stop breaking. "Me too, Elvis."
Elvis gave me a little smirk and gave me one last kiss.
"Can I see ya again, Jordee?"
Once again, he's left me speechless.
"You want to see me again?"
"Yes, please."
I nodded my head.
"Use your words, baby." Elvis told me.
"Yes, please." *giggles*
I kissed him first this time.
Red emerged for Stacy's car, telling her good night one last time.
Elvis walked me to the passenger side of the car.
"I'll call you." He said, shutting me in the car. He took my hand and kissed my knuckles.
"I look forward to it.... Bye, Elvis."
"Bye, Jordee, baby."
He moved away from the car, giving Stacy space to drive off.
"Woo-hoo! What a night I had, Jordan! Red is so sweet and silly." Stacy started telling me about how her night was with Red.
"How was your night, Jordan? How was Elvis? Is he as sweet as he seems?"
I looked at her and grinned. "No... he's better."
Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @plasticfantasticl0ver @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121
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Febuwhump 2023 - DAY 5: “that’s gonna scar”
The kid held his breath, cheeks puffing out, as the other boy pulled shards of glass out of his side. He did his best not to make any noise, not to cry, but soft whimpers slipped past his lips as hot tears slid down his flushed cheeks. He stared at the ceiling stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the tears. After all, boys don’t cry.
Solo glanced over at the kid through the curtain of his bangs, a sad but tender smile twisting the corner of his lips. The poor chap. He was usually able to squirm his way out of any situation, but this time… Of all times for the kid’s luck to run out, it just had to be when dealing with a drunk, angry sick fuck who was completely focused on getting one thing.
Solo tried not to worry about the growing patches of red on the kid’s clothing. He had a nasty stab wound to his side where the john had managed to clock him with a beer bottle. The seat of his ratty pants also had a worrying stain. The kid was young, though. Hopefully he was too young to understand what had happened to him, too young for it to leave lasting damage.
A sharp cry fell unbidden from the kid’s lips as Solo extracted a particularly large and jagged piece of the bottle from his side. A fresh flow of blood ebbed from the rough edges of the wound.
“That’s gonna scar,” Solo muttered under his breath. He bit his lip, worried. That was a lot of blood. He was unsure if he knew enough to make this better. He was going to have to call in a favor.
The kid’s face was flushed bright red at this point, large tears streaming down his cheeks. He disobeyed Solo’s earlier command and looked down at his wound. Fear shone in his luminescent purple eyes as he looked back up into Solo’s face. His lips wobbled as he valiantly tried to hold his tears back, but he was only around five years old. There was only so much he could do. His face crumpled as he gave into his fear, soft hiccuping sobs growing in pitch and desperation by the second.
Feeling horrible about it, but having no choice if they were to survive, Solo clapped his blood-covered hand firmly over the Kid’s mouth, muffling his cries from any passerbys. They weren’t in a safe spot, huddled in the corner of an abandoned shop. There were no safe spots for street rats like them, no matter where they went, where they tried to hide. If they wanted to survive, they needed to stay tough, unseen, and silent, just like the rodents that they were named after.
“Shuddup, Kid,” Solo hissed gruffly. “I’m gonna leave ya here all alone if ya don’t. You’re gonna give away our position.” While he wasn’t entirely unaffected by the betrayed look in those soulful eyes, Solo had learned how to ignore the guilt ages ago, doing what needed to be done to survive. He nodded at the kid in approval and ruffled his long tangled hair gently when the sobs were immediately choked off into hiccuping gasps. The poor kid struggled to catch his breath through his snot filled nose.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped in between wet, unsatisfying breaths. “Please, Solo, please don’t leave me. I’m scared. It hurts. Help me Solo, please…” His whole little body shook with the force of his repressed sobs, eyes and nose spilling fluids down his face, his expression of raw fear and desperation such that should never be on the face of a child that young.
Solo’s heart could only take so much before his resolve broke and he pulled the kid’s face into his shoulder, uncaring of the snot and tears that soaked into his threadbare shirt. He pet his hand over the matted hair, gently threading his fingers through the few inches near his shoulder blades that were relatively free of tangles. He was normally able to stay tough with the young ones in his gang, but something about this kid just made him want to hide him from all the ugliness in the world.
“I’m sorry, Kid,” he said soothingly. “But you know how it is out here. We all have to look out for ourselves or we won’t survive. You know that. You’ve seen that.” The little head just burrowed deeper into his shoulder, nearly nestling into his armpit in its eagerness to get closer. Solo pulled the little body into his lap, ignoring, for now, the patch of warm wetness that he could now feel on his thigh where the kid was seated. He rubbed gentle circles on the bony little back, rocking him back and forth until the little frame finally stopped shaking, only an occasional shudder going through the skeletal frame.
Solo sighed. At nine years old, he was more weary and tired than any child his age should ever be. He would have to strike some sort of deal with the shopkeeper and his wife so that he could get the kid the care that he needed. Something told him that anything would be worth it to keep his little street urchin alive.
“You’re going to be okay,” he lied to the kid, trying to convince himself as well. “You’ll make it through this.”
———
The corners of Duo’s eyes tensed, the only visible reaction as Heero poured alcohol over the deep slice in his side. He watched as Heero stitched him up and dressed the wound with some gauze. He could see the faded, barely visible scars littering his side from what felt like lifetimes ago, a permanent reminder of his first lesson into the ugliness of life. The corners of his lips twitched up in a sardonic smirk.
“That’s gonna scar.”
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Alright immediate followup to my last post, what if every Overwatch hero got a Street Fighter skin?
Same general logic as the OPM collab skins, basically characters from one wearing costumes based on the other.
I am aware trying to find the venn diagram of tumblr users who like Overwatch and Street Fighter isn't gonna lead to much success but uhhh look I don't feel like putting 74 images in this one post so if you want context google it.
(Also for a disclaimer for the hypothetical singular Street Fighter fan that finds this, I know next to nothing about any of the games besides 1, 2, Alpha, and 3, if there's a perfect match in 4, 5, or 6 I'm not aware of then I'm just Not Aware of them.)
Soldier 76: Either Ryu (Boring Standard Man), Ken (Boring Standard American Man), or Guile (American Military Man). Tough call between those three for him, but frankly my one reason for considering Ryu is because I think S76's VA would kill the delivery for Ryu's iconic lines.
I'd put Hanzo as Ryu and Cassidy as Ken, but like. Frankly it'd be a little cursed to have Hanzo and Cass both clean shaven.
Mei: Chun Li. Mostly because they're both Chinese and I think it'd be a fun combo visually. I don't have any clever ideas for what Snowball would be though.
Winston: Blanka. Pretty obvious. Weird ape-like man who jumps around the place and shoots electricity, weird man-like ape who jumps around the place and shoots electricity.
Reinhardt: Zangeif. Was very tempted to go with Hugo from SF3 (German Synergy), but I had to pair my two beloved large hairy men who would slam you into the concrete or give you a tender hug.
Zenyatta: Dhalsim. Okay like. This is literally the easiest one. Zenyatta was literally called "Robo Dhalsim" by people when they first saw him. Come on.
Doomfist: Balrog (yes I'm going with US names). I mean. Punchy man. punchy man. Simple math, folks. He'd also be a pretty solid Sagat, but. Punchy Men.
Genji: Vega. Skinny lanky pretty boy with a crouched fighting stance, a mask, and a knack for sharp things and screaming while launching himself at high speeds.
Ramattra: Sagat. This one's mostly based on body type, nobody else that was available is quite as long and lanky as Sagat. Plus, it'd be weird to not pair the one guy who actually shoots energy with his hands as an attack with somebody who can do that in Street Fighter.
Sigma: M. Bison. Like I said in my last post, besides personality this one lines up very strikingly well.
Tracer: Cammy. Simple enough, small nimble British lady, small nimble British lady.
Baptiste: Dee Jay. Not quite from the same place in the Caribbean (Haitian for the former and Jamaican for the latter), but I feel like they'd get along. Plus Dee Jay has a down->up charge input, which you can't say any Overwatch character has anything like besides Baptiste, right?
Reaper: Akuma. Shadowy edgelord. Nothing more complicated past that and the fact I couldn't figure out any better ideas for Reaper or Akuma.
Junkrat: Adon. Lanky bastard men. Simple math.
Roadhog: Birdie. Big dude with a chain he likes to grab people with, and (as of OW2) a mohawk. Funny enough, both Birdie and Adon were Street Fighter 1 characters who came back as playable for SF Alpha, so they do kinda stick together, which is nice cohesion for this "couple of dashing rogues".
Kiriko: Sakura. I know for a fact that logically, Kiriko should get an Ibuki skin. Ninja girl, throws knives, simple math right? But like. In my heart. Kiriko deserves Sakura more. The energy Aligns. She deserves to have the Schmoovement victory dance as an emote.
D.va: Karin. This is mostly just because they're both varying levels of rude. Plus I think Karin/Sakura is a ship to the same extent as D.va/Kiriko? Don't quote me on either of those.
Symmetra: Rose. Flashy extra girlboss. Frankly I think she'd just slay the outfit.
Junker Queen: Rainbow Mika. Mostly just because they're the two of the beefiest ladies from the respective series I'm aware of. The other option was Zarya, but JQ's showboaty personality and more flirty nature make me prefer her for this match over Zarya.
Lucio: Yun. Honestly just the bottom-heavy outfit and calm, cool personality, and how it looks cool in my head.
Echo: Twelve. Shapeshifting inorganic being, shapeshifting inorganic being. Though uh... not sure how you'd make this skin look... good?
Bastion: Q. It's very hard to think of any good matches for Bastion, but I think this one's funny enough to pass. Just imagine him with the hat and trenchcoat. Not sure what Ganymede would be. Give him a hat and trenchcoat too.
Moira: Gill. Definitely would need some extra details considering... Gill is kind of just a buff man pretty much just wearing a cloth over the bare essentials, but the split color design and the fact that if I heard Moira's VA say "The mark of my divinity will scar thy DNA" I would disintegrate make me at least enjoy the concept.
Aaaaaand that's all the ideas I got. Which leaves 13 on the Overwatch side of things without a match:
Orisa, Wrecking Ball, Zarya, Ashe, Pharah, Sojourn, Sombra, Torbjorn, Widowmaker, Ana, Brigitte, Lifeweaver, and Mercy. Almost all of which besides very specific body type are ladies, which... I mean considering there were literally only 2 playable women in Street Fighter before Alpha, should kinda make sense. There's almost certainly more in 4, 5, and 6 that'd be great matches, but I haven't played those yet so uh. Sorry women. Also didn't think of anyone who really fit Torb's body type, Lifeweaver's too new for me to have any great ideas for, and... Wrecking Ball. I don't think that one's hard to explain.
Anyways I hope this nonexistent target audience enjoys this poorly organized hypothetical.
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New York (Parfums de Nicolaï)
While going to art school in Manhattan, I lived in a claustrophobic railroad apartment on 43rd and 8th -- the heart of good old seedy pre-Disney Times Square. The apartment (an illegal rebuild in a building zoned strictly for business) belonged to an artist and her filmmaker husband. In exchange for room and board, I nannied their delightful two-year-old and stretched endless painters' canvases in the upstairs studio, where I could actually see the sky.
Only the width of 43rd Street separated my tiny bedroom from that monument of sleaze, the Times Square Hotel. The room right across from mine housed a young drag queen who often sat in front of her dressing room mirror, smoking Virginia Slims and examining her exquisite face for flaws. In this cold and ugly city, we were two loners connected only by the view from our windows. Yet in the hours I spent watching her watching herself, I felt a sense of wordless connection to this lovely, remote stranger. She was my New York.
That winter, every plywood wall around every construction scaffold in the city seemed to be plastered with posters advertising Rattle and Hum, the documentary film chronicling U2's Joshua Tree tour. As a longtime fan needful of distraction from the grey city streets, I went to see it in the theatres two or three times. Its iconography - deserts, highways, endless stretches of open sky -- proved a potent consolation for a small soul stranded on a hostile urban planet.
The first time I sampled Parfums de Nicolaï's New York, I was sharply startled by the inconsistency between its name and its aim. What, if anything at all, does this painted-desert fantasy have to do with the city? There's no sagebrush, no sweetgrass there. No space.
Then I remembered that when I lived in Manhattan, hemmed in all sides by concrete and stone, I longed for nothing more than to be airlifted to Joshua Tree or some similar wide-open landscape in the American Southwest. In fact, I doubt I could have understood this perfume if I hadn't lived there and been desperate to get out. New York the fragrance is not meant to provide a portrait of New York the city, but rather an olfactory mirage of the sort all city-dwellers dream about-- sky and land that stretch all the way to eternity, and no damn buildings in the way.
The best way to describe this unisex fragrance is "L’Heure Bleue Pour Homme”. It encompasses many of the same notes (citrus, carnation, vanilla) and special effects (that ineffably soft focus! those melancholy shadows!). But just as Guerlain arrived at Mitsouko by marrying a fresh peach accord to a pre-existing chypre, his descendant Patricia de Nicolaï took the supremely feminine L'Heure Bleue and Americanized it with a dash each of tumbleweed and testosterone. The results shimmer with desert heat-- but a desert of the sort ruled by Priscilla the Queen, elegant, tough, tolerant, embracing all genders, generous to a fault with her great, big, wide-open heart.
When I wear New York, I think of my New York-- a boy teetering on the cusp of womanhood, hiding her tender young heart beneath the brittle exterior of a grand courtesan. I wonder where she is, what window she looks out of now, what she sees in her mirror. If I could, I would go back in time, take her out of that dark little hotel room in the city, and give her all the skies in the world to play beneath. I'd tell her: Forget the mirror. You're perfect, you are.
Scent elements: Lemon, petitgrain, bergamot, lavender, artemesia, pimiento, pepper, patchouli, cedar, vanilla, leather, amber
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My coworker said I draw too many girls so he drew a dick in my book 😂
I’m just trying to learn how to draw fam. It helps me unwind after brutal days. I sat on the floor of a train station today and just held the boy with the anchor tattoo . After 8 gruelling months of methadone he was cut off abruptly and turned back to street drugs to try and handle the immense sickness. I got the new Capricorn nurse to bandage up the camp fire wound that is still infected. “ I’ll do anything to help you, I love you now ya idiot. “ “ I missed you. I always miss you” he says as I gently rub a topical over the tender skin.
My regular shift partner is bandaging up another regular who keeps nodding off as we sit on the heated grates and every so often I do resp checks on the couple passed out beside us. A guy stops in his tracks as he’s walking through the station and says “holy shit girl I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
I recognize him vaguely from years ago when I used to end up in trap houses trying to score something to take my pain away. “ how ya been homie, it’s good to see you “ I say more out of pleasantries because we were barely even acquainted. “ I’m doin alright girl, wanna go smoke a bowl “
I flash my badge and thank him for the offer. I notice the Capricorn nurse is looking at me inquisitively.
I have vomit on my jacket and sweater from the boys withdrawal. I don’t allow myself to gag until I’m back in the office cleaning up. My heart aches for him.
At the university I find the youth with the face tattoos and sit on a bench next to him. “ when did you sleep last?”
“ a couple days ago”
“ your hands are really swollen and red my boy. It’s concerning. How are your feet ?”
“ my feet are better. “
“ you know it’s from the fentanyl right ? It’s causing circulation issues. You’re too young for this to happen.I care about you. I love you. “ he puts his arm around me and squeezes. I squeeze back. He’s covered in vomit too. I try to lighten the mood by poking his face tattoo and telling him it should say “ really sleepy “ he laughs and looks into my eyes with a softness that I feel in my soul. You have no idea how badly I want to scoop them all up and take them home to feed their souls , to show them how wonderful they are and to nurse them back to health. I’m not naive in saying that. I know he’s a dealer with a face tattoo to some but to me he’s a child with a lot of pain. His father wasnt there for him and his mother taught him how to smoke meth at age 10. I have nothing but the utmost compassion for him and pray that his life can transform. We come up with a game plan to find him shelter for the night and for the first time we honestly discuss the opioid dependency program. “ you’re a good kid. There’s more to life than this , you are loved”
The boy with the anchor tattoo has a traumatic brain injury in the frontal lobe- I’m gonna buy him a watch- just a cheap one , anything worth value would be stolen anyways. He can’t keep track of time or appointments and I need to get him back on methadone.
I find another regular in withdrawal in the stairwell. I haven’t seen him this sick ever and remember that a bunch of people got kicked off of income support.
“ what can i do to help you”
“ I need food, I haven’t eaten anything. I’m freezing”
The Capricorn boy gives him a winter hat and I admire him for his authentic kindness. I leave snacks but we have to leave because some guy I don’t recognize starts accusing us of stealing his belongings. He’s completely psychotic and is threatening both of the male nurses I’m working with. I step in front of them to protect them and when we are safe the cap calls me out. “ I’m fine you dont have to do that. I got us. “
“ sorry, I’ve kinda always had to be tough and I don’t know how to not be. I’m not really … uhh … people don’t really see me as someone who needs to be protected I don’t think , so I’ve always just had to be this way. Sorry”
“ it’s ok. You are strong. So am I. “ he pauses for a minute and then says, “ all those guys you sat with… they felt loved by you. Like you really made them feel loved. I’m assuming you knew them from your lived experience “
“ nah. I met them on the job. I’ve saved all their lives , sometimes a few times. I just really care about them. They are worth caring about. Most of them are fathers. I know what it feels like to love a father who’s caught in trauma and negative patterns. Mine was still my hero. His pain taught me love. You don’t really have a choice right, but to find compassion for the hard stuff. Nothing else is really helpful in that journey”
“ I think you still have puke on you “
We both laugh.
The day was long and cold and at one point I made us jump off the train because I noticed a guy in a wheelchair kind of slumped over. “ that doesn’t look right” the boys follow my lead , they are both registered nurses. The man had escaped from the hospital and had a stroke and so I made the boys wheel him all the way back and security thanked us when we entered the lobby. “ can you kind souls take him to unit 52 and tell em where you found him. “
“ of course”
It was so nice to work with people who have genuine kindness without the saviour complex. As helpful and kind as I am, I don’t wish to ever push my agenda and I don’t think my people are incapable of saving themselves. I just want to remind them they are worth doing the work and in some regard serve as the example of that. I’m always very open with them about my own relapses and mental health struggles so there’s never a power dynamic. Just realness. I want to be a constant display of never giving up even though I’m not perfect and life isn’t always easy
The whole team went out for Indian food together to wish our Virgo nurse farewell as she gets ready to travel to America and practice her icu skills out of country. It was a powerful day where we all helped so many community members, where we supported our capi support worker who just lost her grandparent and somehow despite all the change and heartache we had each other.
I want to find a way to stop being so tough and learning to trust that other people have my back. It feels really challenging to let my guard down.
I wonder if I can.
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A Symphony of Laughter: The Colorful Chronicles of Nakula Ezekiel
In the bustling city of Jakarta, a little bundle of joy named Nakula Ezekiel came into the world on a magical December 5, 2005. From the very beginning, Nakula's life overflowed with a kaleidoscope of colors, painting his days with an effervescent pink energy. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a heart full of love, he embarked on a journey that would light up the lives of those around him.
As Nakula grew, he became known as the embodiment of joy and laughter. His infectious giggle echoed through the streets, inviting smiles and laughter from everyone he encountered. With his playful antics and funny faces, Nakula had a way of brightening even the dullest of days. His humor was like a rainbow, casting a magical spell of happiness wherever he went.
But Nakula's vibrant spirit extended beyond his mischievousness. He had an uncanny ability to find beauty and wonder in the simplest of things. His keen eyes spotted the delicate petals of a blooming flower, the shimmering reflection of sunlight on a puddle, and the captivating dance of raindrops on a windowpane. Nakula reveled in the magic of everyday life, infusing each moment with a sense of wonder and awe.
As Nakula reached the tender age of seventeen, his colorful world expanded even further. His quick wit and natural charm drew people to him like moths to a flame. He effortlessly formed deep connections with others, sharing laughter and creating memories that would last a lifetime. Nakula's presence alone was like a burst of confetti, spreading joy and leaving a trail of happy hearts in his wake.
While Nakula's zest for life was infectious, he was not without his moments of mischief. His mischievous nature brought a twinkle of excitement to his eyes, as he hatched clever pranks and playful schemes. From surprising his friends with unexpected surprises to crafting hilarious jokes, Nakula's mischievous spirit reminded everyone that life should be filled with laughter and lightheartedness.
But amidst the laughter and mischief, Nakula possessed a heart brimming with kindness and compassion. He was always there to lend a helping hand, offering a shoulder to lean on or a listening ear to those in need. Nakula's ability to empathize and understand others made him a beloved friend, trusted confidant, and a source of comfort for those going through tough times.
As Nakula Ezekiel journeyed through life, his vivacious spirit and colorful personality touched countless souls. His infectious laughter, his mischievous pranks, and his genuine love for others created ripples of happiness and left a lasting impact on the world around him. Nakula's name became synonymous with joy, laughter, and the belief that life should be celebrated in all its vibrant hues.
And so, Nakula's story reminds us to embrace our inner child, to find delight in the simple things, and to spread kindness and laughter wherever we go. His colorful energy serves as a beacon of light, guiding us to find the beauty and joy in every moment. Nakula Ezekiel, the lovely, funny, and mischievous boy who just turned seventeen, teaches us that life is a canvas meant to be painted with laughter, love, and endless shades of pink.
Copyright 2023, うちは, All Rights Reserved.
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Eight Days in April
by Jewish Lesbian poet Marilyn Hacker
[Full text under the cut]
1.
I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet:
hereafter, must I only write you chaste
connubial poems? Now that I have traced
a way from there to here across the sweet-
est morning, rose-blushed blonde, will measured feet
advance processionally, where before
they scuff-heeled flights of stairs, kicked at a door,
or danced in wing-tips to a dirty beat?
Or do I tell the world that I have got
rich quick, got lucky (got laid), got just what
the doctor ordered, more than I deserved?
This is the second morning I woke curved
around your dreaming. In one night, I've seen
moonset and sunrise in your lion's mane.
2.
Moons set and suns rise in your lion's mane
through LP kisses or spread on my thighs.
Winter subsided while I fantasized
what April dawns frame in the windowpane.
Sweetheart, I'm still not getting enough sleep,
but I'm not tired, and outside it's spring
in which we sprang the afternoon shopping after
I'd been inside you, O so deep
I thought we would be tangled at the roots.
I think we are. (I've never made such noise.
I've never come so hard, or come so far
in such a short time.) You're an exemplar
piss-elegance is not reserved for boys.
Tonight we'll go out in our gangster suits.
3.
Last night we went out in our gangster suits,
but just across the street to Santerello's,
waited past nine for wine. We shone; the fellows
noticed. "You have a splendid linen coat,"
Dimitri told you as he sat us down.
(This used to be my local; now it's chic.)
A restaurant table's like a bed: we speak
the way we do calmed after love, alone
in the dark. There's a lot to get to know.
We felt bad; we felt better. Soon I was
laid back enough to drink around the bend.
You got me home, to bed, like an old friend.
I like you, Rachel, when you're scared, because
you tough it out while you're feeling it through.
4.
You tough it out while while you're feeling it through:
sometimes the bed's rocked over tidal waves
that aren't our pleasures. Everyone behaves
a little strangely when they're in a new
neighborhood, language, continent, time zone.
We got here fast; your jet lag's worse than mine.
I only had Paris to leave behind.
You left your whole young history. My own
reminds me to remind you, waking shaken
with tears, dream-racked, is standard for the course.
We need accommodation that allows
each one some storage space for her dead horse.
If the title weren't already taken,
I'd call this poem "Directions to My House."
5.
I'd call this poem "Directions to My House,"
except today I'm writing it in yours,
in your paisley PJ's. The skylight pours
pale sunlight on white blankets. While I douse
my brain with coffee, you sleep on. Dream well
this time. We'll have three sets of keys apiece:
uptown, downtown, Paris on a sublease.
Teach me to drive. (Could I teach you to spell?)
I think the world's our house. I think I built
and furnished mine with space for you to move
through it, with me, alone in rooms, in love
with our work. I moved into one mansion
the morning when I touched, I saw, I felt
your face blazing above me like a sun.
6.
Your face blazing above me like a sun-
deity, framed in red-gold flames, gynandre
in the travail of pleasure, urgent, tender
terrible—my epithalamion
circles that luminous intaglio
—and you under me as I take you there,
and you opening me in your mouth where
the waves inevitably overflow
restraint. No, no, that isn't the whole thing
(also you drive like cop shows, and you sing
gravel and gold, are street-smart, book-smart,
laugh from your gut) but it is (a soothing
poultice applied to my afflicted part)
the central nervous system and the heart.
7.
The central nervous system and the heart,
and whatever it is in me wakes me
at 5 am regardless, and what takes me
(when you do) ineluctably apart
and puts me back together; the too-smart,
too-clumsy kid glutted on chocolate cakes (me
at ten); the left-brain righteousness that makes me
make of our doubled dailiness an art
are in your capable square hands. O sweet,
possessives make me antsy: we are free
to choose each other perpetually.
Though I don’t think my French short-back-and-sides
means I’ll be the most orthodox of brides,
I broke a glass, got bloodstains on the sheet.
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TOKYO REVENGERS REACTIONS:
❤︎ forever is a long time, but I won’t mind spending it by your side ❤︎
an; how Tokyo Revengers characters realise they have fallen in love with you; warnings: none, slight angst, fluff, slight manga spoilers
characters; mikey, draken, chifuyu, baji
For as long as you could reminisce, MIKEY and you have been thick as thieves, doing all sorts of shenanigans (with most of them being his idea of course) and enjoying the time of your youth together. How you wish good times could stay like this forever; just the two of you running through the labyrinth of streets without having a single worry about what the future has to offer, the thrumming of footsteps echoing against the asphalt pavements as chime-like chortles reverberate in remnants of the dwindling sunset.
The two of you have been through ups and downs throughout the years, yet you and him would always seek for solace in each other’s company. The one incident, though, which brought both of your hearts closer than ever — was Emma’s passing. In the dingy bedroom, it was the first time you saw Mikey’s walls collapsing as he leaned into your chest, raw cries laced with heart-wrenching pain reverberating through the solemn midnight air. It broke your heart to witness the tough blonde in such a state of despair; he had lost way too many people already, and the light that was long lost in his hollow eyes now bore semblance to an impenetrable void — devoid of life, and the will to live.
“Hey, y/n ...” A meek croak cut through the lingering silence. “What does it feel like to be left alone ... before you get to realise all of the people you’ve loved is gone?”
Hearing that, your eyes were glassed with a layer of tears that was threatening to overflow. Nonetheless, you held it back, leaning forward as you pulled the blonde into your arms and gave him a tender hug.
“I know how it feels, Mikey ... it’s painful, you’re left alone, you want the agony to stop ... but you’ll not be shouldering this on your own. I’m here for you ... when you need me, okay? So please ... don’t bottle up all of these feelings by yourself. We’ll share the suffering and live on. Promise?”
People came and go in his life, yet the only one who stayed with Sano Manjiro until the very end was none other than you — his first love.
DRAKEN’S instincts have always been spot-on, and this is the same just like any other time — the only thing special is you being in the picture. From the day you become acquainted with the gang’s vice commander, Ryuguji finds himself gravitating bit by bit towards you. He would look forward to seeing you at every meeting, feeling his heart sink whenever you can’t hang out with him, Mikey and the others; initially the blonde only thinks that it is nothing more than a measly feeling — friends would look forward to hanging out with each other, right?
But it is soon proven to be wrong when an unintentional comment from him reveals his feelings towards you to everyone.
“Where is y/n? It feels a bit different today —“
As if everything is in slow motion, his friends swivel their heads around — stares burning into the back of his skull with their jaws dropped.
“Dude, you’re totally into y/n huh.”
Oh shit.
Before the blonde realises, everyone starts to bombard him with questions; not that they aren’t happy for him who finally manages to find the one, but rather — how do polar opposites like you and Ryuguji attract one another.
“Dude, you’ve totally found the right one!”
“Man I feel jealous that you have your eyes on them first! I would’ve shoot my shot if I were you.”
“If you don’t man up and confess, don’t blame me for stealing y/n off their feet —“
“Hold on!” A yell from him is all it takes to make the gang quiet. “How do you guys know it’s love? I mean it can be anything —“
“Just how dense can you be, idiot?” The others chime in unison.
Someone save him, boy is hopeless sometimes.
To pinpoint how he has fallen in love with you would be immensely difficult for CHIFUYU, there are way too many moments where he just finds himself diving headfirst into love! But if he has to choose the exact instant which kindled the flames of adoration, it would be every little bits about you which make him lovestruck.
He loves how your gaze softens at the sight of pets running around every time you come and visit him at the pet store he works at, cooing over how endearing you look as your eyes crinkle when kids wave to you on the streets, admiring your patience and kindness towards everyone you meet — the list goes on and on. Falling in love with you (to him) feels like a typical romance troupe which he has read ad nauseam in shoujo mangas, yet experiencing it firsthand is definitely a first for him.
And of all the attributes he loves about you, the one which makes Chifuyu ascertain his feelings is how you could see the good in people whom you hold dear to your heart — him included.
The sky fades into a myriad of pomegranate pink and indigo as the two of you hang out at the park after the gang meeting has ended, each of you eating an ice cream. With you finishing yours first, you turn over to look at the blonde, only to discover that he has some smudged on his cheeks. Seeing this reminds you of your childhood years together where Chifuyu also had ice cream smeared over his face — the nostalgia of it making giggles roll off your tongue, earning a perplexed look from the vice captain of the first division.
“What are you laughing at y/n??” It only make you laugh harder as his whining reaches your ears.
“Nothing! It just reminds me of how we used to hang out at the same spot when we were younger, also eating ice cream whilst watching the sunset. You also had ice cream all over your face back then. I can still remember that cute ass look on your face ~”
“Come on, it’s in the past! Stop mentioning it y/n, I’m going to die from embarrassment before long. You better attend my funeral —“
“Cute and dramatic as ever Fuyu.” You give him a tap on the nose. “But you know what? I feel so glad that fate brought me to this adorable kid with ice cream all over his face back in the days, and I’m grateful for having you in my life Chifuyu.”
Poor boy almost suffers from a heart attack.
BAJI adores your duality; whether it is watching you coo over street cats or casually firing comebacks at his occasionally snarky remarks, he embraces both sides of your personality, thinking it is what makes you unique to him. Other than that, the teen finds himself drawn towards you for another reason. Being the motherly figure of Baji and his friends, you would always make sure they take care of themselves, chiding them gently whenever they neglect their health; it is something in which he values a lot — he might be known as one of the toughest fighters in the gang, but Baji is also a teenager at heart.
Whenever he needs to vent, you would be there to lend an ear; every time he falls ill, you would rush to his house with warm chicken soup and all the necessary medications to take care of him until he feels better (despite him telling you that he is capable of taking care of himself, which he isn’t). Occasionally Baji would show up outside your bedroom window bartered and bruised, and you would put aside the things you are doing at that moment to dress his wounds, giving him a nag on how he should prioritise his safety over anything else.
You are like a pseudo parental figure to Baji — his solace and anchor whenever life doesn’t go as what he expects; he could never ask for more from you, but deep down — the teen knows that people would eventually drift apart someday.
And a part of him wished this would last forever, that he could let down his walls and be the middle school Baji that yearns to be taken care of by nobody other than you.
The longer he’s spent time around you, the more the queer sensation in his gut stirs. Baji could feel his heartbeat becoming frenzied each time he is hanging out with you, and his usual confident facade would drop as the teen stutters over words. And being rather dense at the beginning, nothing dawned upon him until Mikey and the rest almost have to withhold the urge of bonking Baji in the head for not realising how he’s fallen head over heels for you, did he realise all of this is love after all.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#sano manjiro#sano manjiro x reader#mikey tokyo revengers#mikey x reader#ryuguji ken#ryuguji ken x reader#reader insert#chifuyu matsuno#chifuyu matsuno x reader#x reader#baji keisuke#baji keisuke x reader#tokyo revengers oneshots#tokyo revengers imagines#tokyo revengers drabbles#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers scenarios
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Home in a Motel Pool
Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader
Summary: Dean and you have some fun in the motel's pool.
A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought, but here it's! Wet Dean in motel pool for us. So canon compliant of me, I know I know. This piece is my submission for @deanwanddamons 's 1st Blogiversary and 2K follower celebration with the prompt in bold. Congrats again, honey! And it's also my part for @anaelsbrunette 's YAS’S POC READER CHALLENGE with the song Home by Depeche Mode. Thanks for the extra time and the marvelous challenge!
Warnings: sex in the pool, p in v, dirty talk
Hunting was brutal. Even when the hunters won, it was a victory with no triumph-- there would be someone dead, always a corpse and loved one weeping as a reminder that you and the Winchesters couldn’t save everyone. You’d come around the town, tell the folks what they wanted to hear to get some information, kill the thing, and luckily save a person or two. It was a page from the emptiest stage, a show for a crowd of three: you, Sam, and Dean. Their own critics and praisers, doctors and patients, sinners and saints.
And if your hands were melted and molded into killing machines, you better pray for your heart to be made of anything but gold. That job didn't leave space or time for tenderness. In order to hunt the prey, you must become ferocious. Attack anything on sight, sing to the loneliest sound that’s the gunshot in the dark, pretend that you’ll make amends only to end up befriending the glorious end of the line that often came too soon.
Thing is, it wasn’t just about that. It would be easier if it was all about perfect soldiers and ultimate killers. A black and white world stained with crimson red would be the ideal, but there were always more colors.
Certainly, it wasn’t the most illustrious job one could get. If anything, it was unfair and underpaid and the seed of violence. Every hunter happened to do things they never could speak about, and all the blood got so normalized to the point red is just the color that pointed you were doing it right. like a good grade or a father’s head pat. Where was the seat on the table for any gentless to sit down in the chaos? In the thankful hugs from the mothers of the rescued children, in the pranks the boys came up with against each other for no other reason but childish nostalgia, in the nights where the three of you stopped and sat on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in silence, in the way Dean’s tough hands touched your cheek so lovingly, in the smell of the Impala’s wheels burning against the streets. Summarizing, when saving people wasn’t reasoning enough, kindness appeared glistening in the middle of the pandemonium, as a paragon of something good in cruelty.
Just like this moment.
‘’My body aches in places I didn’t even know that could hurt.’’ You groaned as you got out of the classic black car, hand on the back of your neck to apply some pressure. Even being thrown against a wall by some demon hurt less than sleeping in the backseat-- sweet mundane problems.
Sam scoffed before adding insult to injury, ‘’At least you were sleeping and didn’t have to hear the same cassette three times.’’
‘’Quit whining, you two. I was the one driving through two states.’’ Dean said in a huff, swirling the keys as the three of you walked towards Bonita Motel’s entrance. He placed an arm around your waist, his own way of showing affection in quietude. Your hand slipped inside his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Sides’, Baby’s backseat is comfortable and Zeppelin is awesome.’’
The youngest Winchester refrained his response to an eye roll and a mumble among the lines not when played three times in a row. You, though, turned your head to the side and offered your stubborn boyfriend a cynical smile.
‘’I prefer a bed.’’
He aimed at you with his signature lopsided grin, the one he knew that you loved, while you passed through the main door of the establishment. ‘’That’s not what you said last week.’’
‘’Guys, limits.’’ Sam pleaded, shaking his head at Dean’s comment before turning around. He made a chatter that quickly got old with the woman behind the counter, gaining two keys. The long haired hunter tossed one at his brother, who quickly grabbed it with his free hand.
‘’This is a good motel…’’ You commented as the three walked upstairs, the gleaming blue sight caughting your brown eyes. Your whole body shone as if it was really a beach and not only a cheap motel’s pool. Dean and Sam had never gone to the beach, but you grew up with salt aired weekends, a collection of swimsuits, and a loud family on the sand. You missed the sensation of being held by the ocean so dearly. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing was after you jumped in Dean’s Impala in New York; hustling for some other life, a better one like your parents when they came to the United States. Yet, a pool could be diverting and cozy. Pulling away from your man’s hold, you approached the small chlorine miracle.
‘’There’s a pool!’’ You pointed out, as excited as a kid in a carnival. ‘’We should take a swim.’’
‘’You guys go. I have some research to do.’’ Sam nodded at the pool with his head, denying the request with a sleight of hand as he opened the lock of the room 209. ‘’Have fun, kids.’’
The green eyed man clicked his tongue when his brother disappeared with the craike of a door. He wasn’t exactly against the idea of jumping in the pool - apart from the germes, but his paranoia wouldn’t mind that much, not after trying endless motel’s bathtubs. The drive here had just been too long. Besides, if that crap motel had a well-cleaned pool, it probably had vibrating beds. He could use a massage. ‘’I think I’ll get crash in bed.’’
You arched an eyebrow. ‘’Didn’t you say that Baby’s backseat was comfortable to sleep?’’
‘’How taller than you I am, sweetheart?’’ He smirked as you walked back to him like you always did, your own north star in shape of a magnetic force of a man,
‘’Shush.’’ You slapped his chest playfully, wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. ‘’Come on. Most motels we go to barely have a door, much less a pool. I miss going swimming. It’s a sunny day…’’ The childish joy in your tone metamorphosed into a newfound malice. ‘’You’ll get to see me in a bikini.’’
The Winchester wiggled his messy brows at your statement, suddenly reinvigorated as he placed his arms around your waist to bring you closer. Forget the body ache and all that, that was a way better reason to be sore in the bones later. ‘’You made some good points.’’
‘’I always do.’’ You kept the adamant tone, even when you could feel his breath on your cheek, those green eyes so livid when looking at you. God, you had to put a period here before things escalated and you two ended up getting to right in the middle of the hall. You attempt to make a joke: ‘’Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter.’’
He knew it was a prompt from The Little Mermaid-- you two had watched two days ago in Tupelo, in a vintage television after killing a Ghoul, while Sam got some junk food. Yet, the kind of smile that brought to his face held anything but purity. A simple conversation became double-edged with Dean Winchester. You two often ended up breathless, either from fighting or from doing more entertaining dances. You should’ve seen that one coming.
‘’I know another wet spot.’’ He’d say, unholy significance trapped in each word as his right hand started to motion over your skin, guiding his greedy finger under your skirt. Your mouth was set in a grim line, a surprisingly determinate attempt to hold back a moan. You and Dean could do it in the pool, unite the good infant memories with the tent-like emotions of adulthood to make a grand deal.
‘’You’ll get all of me wet.’’ You kissed the corner of his lips, smoothly pulling away with a wink. So much self control. ‘’Hurry up, cowboy.’’
You grabbed your bag and rushed to room 208 to change your clothes, leaving an astonished, mildly turned on Winchester behind. Getting in the bathroom, which didn't stink for once, you swiftly changed into the bikini. A jade green one, directly from Brazil’s brand Cia Maritma. If you squint your eyelids hard enough, you could still put a name to each face that was with you when you wore it for the first time in the calmer days. All the long gone friends and the daily sunbath in your caramel skin.
Decided to leave the past well enough alone, you just smiled in melancholy and turned around, facing your reflex in the mirror. You looked hot. Dean surely would agree about that, especially with the way the top brought up your breast.
Arriving in the room to your boyfriend ready for the swim, you couldn’t help checking him out. You were attracted to the way the righteous man’s body was built since the first glance, addicted since the first touch. His shoulder, the freckles on his nose, and the way he wasn’t all defined, yet had the muscles right in the certain spots. You took off your hairpin, hair falling on your shoulder into a brown sea, like the waves crashing against the ocean rocks. The smell of your sweat and orange monopolizing the edges of everywhere, mainly Dean’s senses. He relished on how soft your skin was compared to his, how your accent tingled his insides, and the way you swing your hips while walking. Your boobs almost jumping at his face because of the tiny bikini only aroused him more.
The place had to get some credit. For a dive motel, it was more than they’d picture. Manageable bathrooms and safe locks, the pool glimmering blue with a small tree by the right side. It was gorgeous.
A dazzling breeze whispered through your bodies, causing you to shiver slightly and Dean to get sweet smelling sheets clinging to his knees and feet. Fucking tree. You could taste the friction swallowing the atmosphere, a report of what was near.
Before you could say anything, Dean grumbled as he pokes a leaf away. ‘’It’s gonna rain.’’
‘’It will.’’ You agreed, holding his hand to pull him closer, well-aware that your body would scare away any linger of adorable grumpiness. ‘’But who cares about raining when you’re in a pool?’’
It's the kind of question that doesn't need an answer, it briefly exists to make Dean distracted in wonder just now, a pause between seconds as you jump in the pool first. The water splashing around with a brutal sound. Your body seems to recall an old memory, how you made a lark of anything with your siblings in the sea, how you used to feel like the beaches were a peculiar way of God to show the living how his touch would feel like. Every fiber of your body missed this.
Dean went in too, emerging to the marvelous sound of your laugh. He glanced at you, now less of a hunter and more of a man. The drops on your face could easily be confused with tears, yet the way you grinned and threw water at him couldn’t leave space for any other world but happiness. The Winchester often noticed your longing for cultural things that you no longer had in the palm of your hand. It was stupid, he even felt somehow resposible for taking you away of everything you ever knew only to coaxe you through the road not taken— full of bumps and blood and undecked halls. Then you’d smile, you’d wrap your arms around him like you were doing in that exact moment, and he would see that the drops all over your face are flickering with your chortle.
What other choice would Dean have, what other option could he ever make himself pick, if not to place his hands on your hips? So it goes. He put his rough hand on your, each tender touch seeming to make the bruises there clear up.
The hunter was leaning in to kiss you as a wave of water met his face.
‘’Ops!’’
He narrowed his eyes, spilling out the water. ‘’You are gonna pay for this.’’
‘’I’d like to see you try, Kansas boy.’’
Yeah, you once were raised in the water, such an important part of your identity which you didn't wish to lose, yet slowly slipped beyond your reaches. But you had Dean, you had adventure, and you had the motel’s shitty pool. If you could find contentment in that, you should know that who you were wasn’t lost. You were still the five years old who played in the plastic pool, the seventeen girl who grabbed your cellphone’s lantern and went looking for what was making a noise at 3am, the twenty years old who jumped in a car with two hunters and a craving for finding her true home. You were all of them at once.
Heaven sent the only true friend you could call yours and you’re under his lips. Dean’s crashing his mouth with yours, hungry like an animal after your playful war. You two are soaked, and so is your pussy. He pressed your against the border of the pool, your back to the wall of it. The water rushes in and you couldn’t care less. When did a bikini start to look like too much clothing?
Breaking the kiss, the Winchester glanced at you. The green of all the wild gardens localized in his orbs, dappled with stars and desire. Waiting for his touches, enjoying when he took his time with you was always worthwhile. Today, though, you needed him fast and dirty and raw.
There was nothing you'd rather than spread your legs, so you did it. Dean’s smart fingers quickly ripping your panties and brushing against your heat. He let out an annoyed huff, missing the satisfaction of your wetness around his digitals, how he knew you were a mess for him and him only. The pool’s water didn’t let it much evident, he’d have to fuck you even harder, make sure you were still needy for his cock.
You whined, clinging to his touch with a swing of hips. His hand covering your pussy as Dean applied some pressure, savoring the way your body winced and your eyes shut close, a beautiful moan leaving your lips. He couldn’t wait to eat you out later after he made you come in this stupid pool. Hedonism made his blood thicker-- like he was a calm sea before you, and now his waters were violent and hungry for destruction.
He pulled his hand away. ‘’Dean…’’
‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart.’’ His throbbing cock entered you, voice even deeper as he spoke. ‘’Gonna give you what you want.’’
You placed your legs around his waist and he held your thighs underwater, the sky spilling out its own water above. It didn’t stop two. Your hand on his shoulders, nails sinking in seemed to be a combustible for Dean to go harder inside of your. His hips attacking yours as his mouth kissed your neck with bites.
‘’Dean, please.’’ You pleaded, warm walls squeezing his long dick. ‘’More.’’
‘’All my cock is for you, honey. You get all of it, fucking you, scratching you open.’’ The eldest Winchester said, his voice so low and sensual. You could come only from his talking. ‘’That’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck that pretty cunt, mark you up inside this shitty pool.’’ His digital reached your clint and you growled. Dean kept his dick inside you, unable to pull away from the heavenly sensation of being inside you. ‘’Wanna know something? I can’t wait to come inside that tight pussy right here.’’
He increased the rhythm, pounding you even faster and rougher as you tried to keep up, the lack of synchrony causing his cock to reach and pull inimaginable pleasures inside you, all turning more brutal and necessary. The pool had its own waves, your and Dean’s movements causing a chaos ocean chaos in it.
The heat and the sickliest, you were drowning in pleasure with each thrust to a desperate beat that his heart echoed. All your pretty noises tangled with his breathless howls. The rain’s drops becoming one water with the pool as you and him became one with your intertwined bodies, only to grow apart again and come back in need for more.
Your and your lover’s figures distorted on the reflex of the pool water, washing away any piece left of purity as you moved in a hurry when you finally reached your orgasm. Your cunt tightening around his hardness was too much to bear, making Dean come after you.
He rested his forehead against yours, breathless faces with closed eyelids darting together. The heat calmed down by the water. Dean dared to look at you, but not to pull away. His cock remained inside your tight cunt and he caressed your cheek gently. That woman pounded from within and is pinning him down to earth, like you are his own gravity, the glimpse of relief, the lover’s photographe that gives the soldier’s battle a meaning.
‘’There’s a saying in my country.’’ You said suddenly, opening your brown eyes as he lifted his head to greet yours with his forest ones.
Dean captured your small nose, your desirable lips, your big eyes, your gorgeous tan skin, the signals he had map of on his lips. His thumb still stroked your face as his cock took its time to weaken inside your pussy. ‘’Yeah? What’s it?’’
‘’Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar.’’ He arched his eyebrows, a silent request for an english version. The Winchester knew around ten words in your mothertongue. Half pet names, half cussing. You pecked his plump lips. ‘’There's no literal translation, some things just lose their core if you try to put them to another language. It would be like if you are in the rain you want to get wet. It would be another way to say if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’’
‘’I gotta say, you look pretty hot when you say those things.’’ You smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully, fingernails tenderly fondling the back of Dean’s neck under his haircut. ‘’Do you miss it?’’
‘’My country?’’
‘’Yeah. Not just your country but your language, your friends, your life there.’’ He shrugged, secretly scared of the answer. ‘’It’s not like we go to the same places you used to go to. I see how many bikinis you carry around.’’
Which was the main reason he booked that motel. You didn’t need to know that. The childish joy you had with the surprise was enough for his credit.
‘’No. Well, I still speak my language when I’m mad at you.’’ Dean chuckled. Whenever you two got in a heated argument, your inner latina would come out and jump at him in both languages at once. It was supposed to be serious, but mostly got him all hot and bothered. Your accent was just too sexy, especially when you were angry. ‘’But no, not really. I miss situations and people, but not how it was. It was a good life, but it wasn’t the one I was supposed to have.’’ You pulled him to you by his neck. ‘’I thank you, you know? For bringing me here. For showing me home, Even for the tears and the fear. I finally I’ve found where I belong.’’
Tranquility engulfed the atmosphere momentarily as comfortable as a silent sleeper, the rain no longer coming, giving stage to a sunny sky. You and Dean, twisted together like that was all serenity you could relish on. You both quiet in the afterglow, his cock no longer hard but neither wanted to pull away. He laid his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. He certainly would bring you to a beach as soon as he could, maybe pop the pretty question on his knees there. For now, thought, he could enjoy thar simple moment.
‘’After my house was burned to the ground, I didn’t think I’d have another one. I was always rolling around the country, never really stayed in a place for too long. I didn’t want to call some random walls my home and have it destroyed in my face again.’’ Dean said, his thumbs caressing your thighs underwater. Since his first breath near you, he knew he was a goner. Even better, he knew he wasn’t a goner, a nomad, or a lonely wolf anymore. Dean Winchester once swore he would never come back home after what happened in there, and then you appeared. The hot latina who kept up with his stupidity and didn’t think twice before calling him out on his bullshit, and was always there for him and actually loved him-- not besides the job, but with all the things being a hunter included, all the ugly acts he had to go through. You believed he was good and worthy. His house burned, but you gave him a home. For the first time in so long, Dean felt warm and happy and loved. ‘’But you gave me a home. Without the apple pie life and all that. You, me, and Sammy-- fighting the good fight, just the three of us. This is my home.’’
To be a hunter was to be gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid, always carrying the heaviest cross ever made like a soldier’s duty that wouldn’t end with a couple years of trocious war. This treacherous slope was forevermore. A hunter life, all the fraunds and the paid phone calls and the running away with laughs empty of joy, the song from the wrong side of town. But fuck, all the saving and the excitment and the hustled love made a dance for the melody and suddenly it was worth it. All the tender parts, the new restaurants every week, the jokes in the car, the hidden chortles in the dark places. Sam. Dean. Dean and all this am out of love and loyalty he gave to you.
Everything was worth it to be in his arms.
He brought you back home.
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I love your writing! I was wondering if you are accepting requests? I just got my heart broken and was left on/cheated by this girl I was in love with and could use some sexy Chucky/Brad Dourif x reader work to cheer me up 😊 Keep up the awesome work!
I’m so sorry that happened to u and I’m sorry this took so long!😭 But thank you for the request babe!❤️
Warnings: Swearing, drinking, mentions of cheating, kissing, mentions of rough sex, slight smut
Walking alone smelling the cigarettes and alcohol through the streets, whenever you breathed you can see the cold fog from your lips as the coat you were wearing tended to prevent you from getting sick from the freezing Chicago air. Heading straight to a local bar that was more packed with people than you’d like to have it. You were not, in the mood.
Having your heart broken by someone else was tough as it is, but to be cheated on and dealing with it was a lot harder than it seems. Tonight, you decided to just grab a few drinks, head home and take a bath to relive any stress and irritation. A few men had already eyeing you as you walked in after showing your ID to the bouncer to who a little short, but buff and gave everyone a glare before they walked in. He must’ve had a rough week too...
As your high heels clicked on the floor, watching carefully as there was spilled drinks all over from people either throwing them, or dropping them from being too intoxicated. Sitting on an empty booth calling the bar tender over to order your drink, the corner of your eye catching a glimpse of a small group of men looking over in your direction.
Forcing you to look over curiously spotting one of them with long brown hair and big blue eyes chuckling to his two other friends. For a moment you believed they were making fun of you for whatever reason, until the older man in a long coat stood up,
“Well boys. It’s been fun but I feel like gettin laid tonight.”
And he smugly walked up to you with a grin, “Is this seat taken?” Glancing at the empty chair feeling a burning feeling on your face, “Um... no, not at all.” You offered a small smile to him as he placed himself right next to you. As soon as the bar tender placed your alcoholic drink on the counter, the man was quick to take it for himself.
“Watcha got here?” Before you can respond he had already take a swig of your own drink, downing it before placing it back on the counter as the glass was halfway full. Placing his arm on your chair, “Got a name doll?”
The man had a nice suit, black and tight with almost no wrinkles as if he an important meeting before he decided he wanted to head to the bar with a few friends. “(Y/N), yours?”
He offered a genuine smile, but he had hunger and impatience in his eyes. Like he was eager to just find out what you got underneath your threads and coat. “Charles, but for you, ya can call me Chucky, beautiful.”
Feeling that familiar flush on her cheeks you managed to keep calm and smile back. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Chucky.” You held your glass and sipped it down til all that was left was the ice, when Chucky asked, “So... (Y/N), you seemed pretty lonely sitting here. Somethin on ya mind? Someone break up with ya?”
Letting out a sigh a little annoyed at his question but you had a feeling you would tell someone tonight. “Actually... yes. Just a woman who, cheated on me and I guess I needed some alcohol in my system to forget about it...” Keeping your eyes on the counter and not ready for what he said next in your ear, “I can help ya forget with putting other things in your system too doll face.~”
Nearly choking on your own spit, you managed to hide it by clearing your throat and flushing again. “Uh-well... I, wasn’t planning on going home with anyone...” You told him softly stroking some hair behind your ear listening to him click his tongue and hiss softly in disappointment. “Well... that’s too bad. Coulda really helped ya forgot bout that slut but,” He shrugged when you paused.
Before he can get up from his chair you stop him. “Wait... maybe, y-you can stay at my place for a bit?” You offered an awkward blushing smile having him laugh. “You sure babe?”
“Y-yes... I’m sure.” You nodded looking at Charles with curious eyes, as his blue eyes stared back. There can be hunger and desire seen in them. It made your heart flutter in a strange way, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious either. “Great, hey bartender!” After paying for the drinks, he looped his arm around yours as you walked out together causing a few stares.
You walked in with a bad mood and a heart break, now you’re walking out with an attractive man on your side that you just couldn’t wait to taste.
Arriving at your apartment, his curiously took the best of him and was looking around already before you can tell him, “Make yourself at home.” Chucky not very patient and gets what he wants first. When you noticed he wasn’t in the living room when you turned your back holding up two wine glasses in your hands, you paused and placed them on the counter with the sound of the glass clicking on top of it before heading to your bedroom, soon finding out he’s laying on your bed looking real comfortable.
Gasping softly and flinching a little, you sigh as he chuckled sinisterly before pulling you closer to him by the hand as your face was visibly bright red in the moonlight shining through the window. Soon, you were close enough to feel his lips on yours. The kiss was soft, at first. When Charles turned it into a more heated and desirable kiss, it had you moaning softly in his mouth.
You’ve never had a kiss like this before, you might even say it was the best kiss you’ve ever had...
Feeling a familiar pressure on your crotch and dripping a bit of slick in your panties, and he was pretty quick to notice when he slipped a hand inside of them and you gasp against his lips. He must’ve known that was coming because he smirked smugly and placed his hand on her lower back, to lay you down and flip on top of you.
“Get comfortable doll face,” Talking in a deep growly voice eagerly, you can feel his digits on his fingers rubbing against your clit as you whimpered.
“Because this is gonna be a long night, and I’m plannin on breaking you.~”
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