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charlie-lec-stories · 3 months

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Everything happens for a reason // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Stroll!Sister

Summary: After a whole life of following her father's orders, Y/N's tired of being the good girl and when she finally stood up for herself with the help of her best friend, all hell broke loose.

Warnings: Sexual comments and scenarios, cheating, strong vocabulary.

Author’s Note: Well guys, gals and non-binary pals, you know I love messy stories, this is no exception. Rate: +18 (adult content)

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"UGHHHHHH". Y/N couldn't help but laugh out loud when her brother, Lance, sat down beside her, grunting as if it was the hardest thing his body had done in 20 years.

"Really, Lance, was it really that hard? Are you that old?". She rolled her eyes as the boy fixed his position on the roof, making sure that he wouldn't fall off. They had the tradition of sitting on the roof of their mansion after dinner and before bed time. They had an hour before the staff would start looking for them, the only time they could be normal and not billionaires.

"I'm not old, it was that hard, some of us train, you know. Not everyone is naturally gifted at driving cars". She laughed again. Even though her brother tried to act annoyed with her great driving, he was actually proud of her.

"I'm not that good". She lied, but he shook his head, then let it rest on her shoulder, getting comfortable next to her under the blanket she had. Her hand went to his hair, lovingly running her fingers through the locks.

"Don't lie. Gees, I'm not ever sure who you got that from, because dad sucks". She felt his body shake as he giggled at his own comment. "That old man may love racing but God knows he should never touch a steering wheel".

"Hey, don't be like that, he's an average driver...". Lance moved his head up to give her a pointed look. "He is!... When it comes to tennis karts he is". They stayed silent for a moment before bursting out laughing so hard that they got worried someone might have heard.

"Okay, okay, enough with roasting the old man". Lance said once they calmed down. He resumed his position close to her and changed the subject. "Are you excited for the new season? I mean, you have a real chance this time, sis".

"Carlos said the same". She said, sighing and looking into the horizon. The sun was setting and the sky had that perfect shade between pink and purple, it was lovely, it made her feel at peace.

"Well, we are right. I'm always right, as you obviously know, and Carlos is your best friend, he could never lie to you, that's illegal". Y/N smile, that was true, her best friend was the most honest person she had ever met, and if there were two people in the world she trusted with her life, those were Lance and Carlos.

"Speaking of Carlos, I have something to tell you about this season". Lance could feel the tension in her voice so he fixed his position again, showing her that he was giving her his full attention. "Nelson, you know, the PR guy, he told me that I have to get into a PR relationship. He gave me two options: Carlos or Leclerc. Of course, I chose Carlos. I'd rather fake-date my best friend than Charles-stupid-Leclerc".

"You should let go of that anger, your beef with Charles was years ago, he's a nice guy". Lance rolled his eyes at his sister. Y/N and Charles fought after a karting race when they were 16 and never got along after that. He was unnecessarily mean to her and she always over-reacted. But to be fair to Charles, she did say to him that he had a small penis in front of the whole grid, and that can be really harmful for a teenage boy. The fact that everyone knew that they had hooked up once only made the accusation seem more reliable, humiliating Charles even more in front of their peers. To add to the feud, Y/N called him "Peanut" and he called her "Matagot", which is basically a south-french mythology monster that only treats you well if you keep it well-fed, otherwise it can be your biggest nightmare. It was Charles' way of calling her a spoiled brat, that only cares for others when she can get something in return.

"He's not nice. But I don't want to talk about him, I want advice. I have never been in a PR relationship before and you have. It's pretty uncomfortable to have to do this with Carlos, but I have to make it work".

Lance and Y/N spent their hour talking, he gave her advice on what to do and how to keep the friendship strong after having to be all over each other in public. It was going to be awkward, but her contract said that there were things she had to do to get a better public image and Carlos was a great way to keep things interesting. Drive to Survive, the Netflix series about the sport needed something to talk about, and a relationship between two drivers from different teams was perfect, and that's how she ended up trapped with a PR relationship. Around 10 pm, they got down the roof and made their way to their rooms. Before bed, Y/N checked her phone and found a text from her best friend.

Chili-man: Hey kiddo! I know that this is going to be awkward, but remember that we're best friends first, if you ever feel uncomfortable, you let me know and I'll do everything to help out. Okay?

Y/N: Thanks Chili-man. I love to know that you're always on my corner. You're the best. And the same goes for you. It's gonna be weird, but at least I'm not fake-dating Peanut.

Chili-man: Don't be mean, he's a nice guy.

Y/N: You and my brother need to stop being such Leclerc's advocates, I'm sure he can pay his own defense lawyers, you guys don't need to do it for free. Anyways, good night and I'll see you tomorrow for the first day!

Chili-man: I promise he's not that bad. But whatever. Sleep tight kiddo. I'll see you tomorrow.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of her father shouting and her mother begging him to lower his voice. Still half asleep, she walked to the door and cracked it open. Outside, she saw Lance peeking out of his own room and after sharing a puzzled look, they moved their attention to their father. He was at the end of the hall, at the door of his room, their mother was pulling at his arm, trying to pull him into the room without success. It was strange to say the least, that their mother interfered with their father's affairs, she had her own business to worry about, but she seemed actually worried about the discussion their father was taking part in over the phone.

"I SAID NO. I don't care about the numbers, I don't care about the stupid show. She's not dating Carlos Sainz Jr. She'll do that over my dead body!". Both Lance and her looked at each other. Why was he so upset? He loved the Sainz; he had been friends with Carlos Sainz Sr. for as long as they could remember. "I DON'T CARE IF IT'S FAKE".

"Honey, please, they'll hear you". Their mother tried to calm him down, but he was furious.

"THEN USE LECLERC, BUT SHE'S NOT DATING CARLOS AND THAT'S MY FINAL WORD". She definitely didn't like that last statement. Her father hung up and stormed into his room. It was her turn to be upset, she didn't want to date Charles Leclerc, fake or for real, it was a nightmare both ways. A little later that morning she tried to convince her father in her favor, but he was so angry that it was impossible to make his change his mind. Carlos texted her mid-day, while she was on the jet on her way towards Bahrain, asking her what happened and why his PR team told him that he was replaced by Charles. She didn't want Carlos to feel bad or inadequate in the eyes of her father, so she lied and said that she had no idea and that as soon as she had an answer for that, she would tell him. When she made it to Sakhir, she was told to leave her luggage at her room and then go back to the lobby so she could wait for a car there with Nelson. They had to meet with Charles and his team to discuss the details of the arrangement. It was a quiet car ride, Nelson was aware of what she thought of Charles and that the change had not been her decision, so he let her off the hook for a few minutes.

"Welcome, Miss Stroll, please have a seat". Kathy, Charles' PR head of the department greeted her when they made it to the hotel where Ferrari was staying. The room they used for the meeting was a last time arrangement, but it had space and it made her feel better, considering how bad things could get once Charles arrived.

"Thank you". She sat down on the couch and Kathy handed her a glass of water. They didn't have to wait much before Charles walked through the door. If it wasn't for her being completely aware of how much of a prick he was, she was sure that she could fall at his feet over and over again every time she saw him. He was the most handsome man on Earth, she knew that, but he was also aware of that so it posed a problem for her.

"Sorry I'm late, I wanted to shower after the flight". He sat on the bed of the room and looked at Y/N when she scoffed.

"Thank you for that! Now the only thing that stinks in this room is your shitty personality". Charles growled. They spent less than two minutes together, 2 meters apart, and they were already at each other's throats.

"I told you this was not gonna work". He told Kathy. "She's a spoiled little shit and I can't stand her close to me. The feeling is obviously mutual, why force this?".

"Because you're the perfect marketing option and it's our job-". Kathy pointed between her and Nelson. "- to make you both a selling machine. So you'll both make it work or your teams will reduce money from your salaries for breaching your contracts".

"That's not fair. I need my money and this Matagot doesn't give two shits about her contract, her Daddy is a billionaire, you're giving her all the power in the world over me!". Charles complained. He knew that she didn't need the money, she could make his life a living hell without a problem and he would have to take it all like a good boy not to lower his income.

"Suck it up, Peanut. Compensate that small pecker of yours by being the bigger person!". She was enjoying the moment.

"The itinerary is long. Read it, learn it and follow it". Nelson explained to ease up the tension. "Remember to be caring and loving, but do not overdo it. Kiss once in a while, hold hands while you walk together. We'll take care of the interviews and the press. Act the part for Netflix and we'll help you with the conflict for the show-".

"We don't need help with conflict". Charles interrupted.

"We need conflict, not first degree murder, Charles". Kathy sent them a stern look as she let the comment out and both drivers looked at their laps.

"Okay, I got it all. Can I go now?". She wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

That night she texted Carlos, and he told her something interesting: His PR team and his father told him to put some distance with her. They were both surprised, since when did their parents dislike the idea of them being friends? They had been friends their whole lives, close since they remembered. They were like siblings, why couldn't they be friends anymore? They understood the whole PR thing, that she needed to sell and that there was drama that had to occur between her and her fake boyfriend, but why did it all have to happen with Carlos at an arms' length? It was weird and she needed to know. It was hard enough that her father had controlled her whole life, she was already old enough to make her own decision. Why did he care so much about her friends? It wasn't like she was going to date Carlos for real. Carlos had his own questions, he was almost 30, his father was stepping over a line trying to control his life like that, but he respected his old man and he was going to listen, as long as the decision didn't prove to be hurtful for his best friend.

"I'm not kissing you". She said as soon as she met Charles at the lobby of her hotel. They were supposed to show up together for the first day at the paddock. Of course, she wanted to make it difficult for him. "I'm not doing the same stupid shit twice".

"You don't have to do me this time, Matagot". Charles hissed at her. "Plus, it's not like I will enjoy it so shut up and make this easy for everyone".

"I said-". But he cut her off with his lips over hers. As fast as he did it, he pulled away and before she could say anything, he was practically dragging her to his car.

The day went by incredibly slowly, but at some point she became numb to holding hands and kissing with Charles. They would kiss and she would instantly start talking about something racing related, like Lance suggested she do to get rid of the awkwardness. Charles seemed okay with that. What was actually bothering her more was the fact that she spent the whole day without talking to Carlos. Charles noticed her looking for his teammate a few times but decided to ignore the raging fire it started inside his veins. He hated the idea that he had to date her, but he dated more the idea of her dating Carlos. He wasn't surprised when Carlos told him that he was going to date Y/N as a PR stunt, what surprised Charles was that they weren't actually dating for real. He could never understand why the Spaniard would refuse to date a woman like her. Charles found Y/N the most amazing woman, when she was nice, and she was definitely nice to Carlos. The older man explained that he never felt like that about her and it never made sense to Charles, after all, he did feel that way about her when she used to be nice to him. But that was a decade ago, and she had never been nice once to him since that time. Still, he felt pleased that Carlos wasn't a threat. She may have looked around for him, and liked him over Charles, but he didn't reciprocate her feelings, so Charles was safe. He was torn between a need for her to love him and constant reaction of disgust to everything she said.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Peanut? There are no cameras here". She said when he appeared at her room door.

"We need to talk". He made his way inside the room and she sighed, already too tired to complain.

"What do you want to talk about?". He sat on her bed and she went to the couch, not wanting to be near him.

"Do you like Carlos?". He decided that dancing around the question was pointless and she was kind of thankful that he cut to the chase.

"That's none of your business, Charles"

"Well, but we are fake dating, and he's my teammate, so I need to know". Lie, that wasn't the real reason, and she knew, but she let it slide.

"I don't like Carlos that way". She saw the accusatory look on his face and explained further. "We're best friends. Something happened. I don't know what. I think our fathers may have something to do with it. He told me that we can't hang out much for now. It's weird".

"Does this have anything to do with us getting together?". 'Failed act', Freud would say.

"We're not together Charles, we can't stand each other". He could pick up on her tired tone, maybe it was the right time to finally get her out of her shell.

"We used to. I remember that time. We had a great moment". But what he thought was going to be a comment that made her happy, completely backlashes at him.

"A great moment?! That's what it was for you? Just a great time?". She stood up, tears at the corners of her eyes and Charles suddenly felt the need to get up and hold her. He didn't, though. "That's why you just simply walked out and ignored me then? Because I was just another good time for you?"

"What? No, how did you even get there?! I never said that!". Now he was the one in a defensive mood.

"Your actions speak better than your words. You ignored me, after everything we did together, after how vulnerable I was with you. I gave you my virginity and you simply threw me away!". She was fully on crying and Charles just could take it anymore, he got up and pulled her to his body, hugging her as tightly as he could.

"I was embarrassed. I felt like I did it like shit. I was stupid and had zero experience. I came so fast because I liked you so much. I thought I let you down". He wasn't sure if she heard him, his words muffed by her hair and his sobs. "I thought you had not enjoyed that moment as much as I did and it was embarrassing, because I loved every second of it. I wanted to talk to you but your parents kind of scared me off from the house the next morning. It felt like I had done everything wrong. Then we saw each other at the race and you were so cold that I believed I was right. You then said those things... I- I just didn't know what to do".

"I shouldn't have said that. I was hurt and felt humiliated, I was wrong". She was grabbing at him as tightly as he was at her.

"We both were". He kissed her head and they broke apart. "I never stopped thinking about you. I always wondered what we could have been...". He let that linger in the air, the possibility. She took his hand and led him to the bed. Her actions spoke better than her words.

They woke up the next morning to someone pounding on the door. Charles quickly fell asleep again, but Y/N got up to tell the person at the other side to get lost. She was surprised when she found Carlos on the other side. The man didn't even say hi, he walked into the room, pushing her inside with him and slamming the door shut. The noise woke Charles up again, this time he did get up, furious when he noticed that his teammate was grabbing his girlfriend's arms with a python's grip. Carlos looked worried, but it was mixed with a bit of anger and something else Charles couldn't decipher. It wasn't until he spoke up that Carlos actually noticed his presence.

"What the fuck are you doing?!". The monegasque walked towards him, and Carlos noticed the lack of clothing, the black Calvin Klein's hanging from Charles' hips were the only thing keeping him decent.

"You two...". He suddenly smiled. "It was about time. A decade. Never met two people this slow".

"You're on thin ice, mate". Charles said, sternly.

"Then you're not going to like what I'm going to say next". Carlos took a deep breath. "I need us to fake-date, Y/N. I want to pressure my father. I think he's planning on setting me up with someone. But if he thinks we're dating even though he said no, he'll leave me alone". She looked at Charles, he didn't seem happy with the idea, but she also wanted to find out why her father was so against Carlos so suddenly.

"If- IF I do it, do you think we can make it happen sometime when both our parents are there?". Charles looked down at her frowning. "Remember last night, when I told you that I didn't know what happened? I want to find out".

"I don't know, mon Ange". She took his hand and his face relaxed a bit. He used to call her that, when they were younger, it felt right.

"I need to know, something feels off. This is the reason why we are together now. Over ten years of history fixed by one phone call by my father". He let out the breath he was holding, she was right. "Please, everything happens for a reason, Charlie".

"Okay, let's do this".

They had to wait until after the race. Carlos Sr. and Lawrence, Lance and Y/N’s father, were sitting at the hotel restaurant, chatting with frowns on their faces. Carlos and Y/N held hands and walked towards them, Charles following them close behind. He had a part in the plan, and he was ready to execute it perfectly, even if it was harder for him to act mad at Y/N now that they had made up. The older men looked up at their children when the three drivers approached them. To say that they looked horrified would be an understatement. Carlos Sr. seemed about to throw up, while Lawrence was simply shocked. The first part of the plan was done, keeping the element of surprise. Now to phase two: the lie itself. They sat at the table, Carlos in the middle of Charles and Y/N, his hand interlocked with hers resting on the table so their fathers could see them. It took the older men a moment to get the color back to their faces, but when they did, Lawrence went from white to red in a second.

"What the hell is this?". He asked, trying to keep the little cool he had left.

"We're dating, Mr. Stroll. We wanted you both to know". Carlos was the oldest, he took the lead.

"You can't". Carlos Sr. said with his voice rough thanks to the lump in his throat.

"That's not your decision, Dad". Everything was going as expected, but they had to admit that their fathers did look more disturbed than they had foreseen.

"It is. You won't date Carlos, you will date Charles as it was planned by the PR team and I don't want to hear anything else about it". That was Charles’ cue.

"I won't date her if she's in love with my teammate. We can barely stand each other, I won't get stuck into this mess for her". It hurt, but he had to say it like that. The other two didn't budge, and they had to pull out the last resort they had to press their fathers' buttons. Y/N saw their mothers walking to the table, so she took Carlos by the chin and started to get closer to him, ready to kiss him. Before they could make contact, Carlos Sr. was pushing them away.

"You can't do that, don't do that". He was almost losing it.

"Why?". She whispered, her eyes looking into his and a chill ran down her spine.

"You're half-siblings". It was Lawrence who said it. There was a long list of options that Carlos and Y/N had made of what could have happened, being siblings was not on the list.

"What?". Charles was as stunned as them. Lawrence and Carlos Sr. sighed and rested against the backs of the seat. Their wives, paralyzed behind them, were still unnoticed by the rest of the table.

"I had an affair with Lawrence's assistant. Of course your mother didn't know about it". Carlos Jr. had an expression impossible to read as his hand gripped Y/N tightly. "She got pregnant, asked me to leave your mother. I refused. She had the baby, Y/N. But then she got postpartum depression. She killed herself three weeks after giving birth".

"Y/N, you mother had just lost a pregnancy, no one knew, I found you in that house, alone, crying. It was the chance to give your mother a baby after the one she lost". Lawrence continued.

"You had the power and money to make it happen". Charles was officially angry, and it wasn't even his identity on the line. "What did you do with her mother? Where is she buried?".

"She was cremated. I took care of everything. I gave her the best there is". Carlos Sr.'s wife was looking at Lawrence's with pain in her eyes. She knew, all this time she knew that they were raising her husband's offspring and she hid it from her.

"Why did you let us become friends?". It was Carlos Jr.'s time to ask.

"I wanted to keep in contact with her, watch her grow. You two got along so well, she ended up liking racing too. Everything led to you two in my life". Carlos Sr. let a few tears free. "Ten years ago, we considered letting you know the truth".

"Your mother and I discussed it, but then we saw that Charles was in the house, we kind of got rid of him to talk to you, but then you looked so upset. You got disqualified from the race for fighting with Charles. We understood that you were going through a lot, so we desisted". Lawrence added.

Carlos Jr.'s mother made her presence known and the three drivers took the chance to run away from the situation, knowing that the argument the two couples had was going to be too much to witness. The three ran to Y/N's room, crossing paths with Lance on their way there. Telling Lance that his sister was not his biological sister was one of the worst conversations they had. But they were all victims of so much, they found solace in sharing the tears together. They refused their parents' calls for the night, sending a text explaining that they needed time and that they would reach out when they felt like it. The four of them stayed in the room, chatting and calming themselves down. The irony of it all struck Y/N like a lighting and she couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny, mon Ange?". Charles asked and then kissed the back of her hand.

"If my parents hadn't scared you off that morning, we would have never discovered the truth". She explained, but her brothers didn't follow. "Charles walking out on me that morning is the reason why we fought that day in the race. Because of the fight in the race, we started hating each other. Because of the rivalry, I choose to fake-date Carlos instead of Charles. Because of my choice, Dad made the call and everything else followed".

"So, if you and Charles had made up that day...". Carlos started.

"We would have probably been together today, no need for PR, no need for your fathers to say anything". Charles finished. All four laughed softly. "I was so sad that things didn't work out back then".

"Everything happens for a reason".

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Okay, this is a LONG ASS STORY, sorry guys for not posting in months, I've been so caught up with work I literally thought I could get fired, but I had some time to edit this one. I hope you liked it. Remember to like, comment, reblog and all those beautiful things you do.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader

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moremaybank · 1 year

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I'LL GO ANYWHERE YOU GO — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

summary your best friend jj gives you a token to show you how much he treasures you.

warnings none, just soft!jj with hella fluff because i said so

jj masterlist

you stood in front of your mirror, desperately trying to fasten the clasp of your necklace but failing miserably.

“you almost ready? the kegger’s about to— oh. need a hand?” jj asks, walking into your room and tossing his backpack on your bed carelessly.

“actually, yeah. this clasp is tricky as hell.”

he chuckles wordlessly, striding over to you so he can help. or so you thought. jj takes the necklace out of your hands and discards it on your dresser, and your brows furrow in response.

“hey,” you frown, “what are you doing? i need help putting it on, not taking it off.”

“i have a surprise for you,” he replies, as if he isn’t up to no good. he reaches into the back pocket of his distressed shorts and pulls out a small black velvet box. he extends his hand to you, but you give him a puzzled look.

“oh god, what did you do?”

he chuckles, “why are you just assuming that i’ve done something?”

“because you’re you. i know you way too well, and at this point, if you’re giving me something in a velvet-wrapped box, it means you’ve done something bad. possibly illegal.”

“not true. i’m doing this out of the goodness of my own heart.”

you stare at him warily, not sure what to make of whatever the blonde boy is handing you. he looks a little too eager for your liking, and you’re not sure if you should be nervous or aiding and abetting an escape from the law. but then he flashes you a grin, his signature dimple on full display, and you know you can’t resist him.

“come on. i worked my ass off to get you this. even had the store put it on hold,” he tells you.

“jj, how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want you spending your hard-earned money on me? it should be spent on you.”

“princess, i only need three things in life to be happy; weed, beer, and you.”

“so you’ve given up on food and water?” you question, cocking your head at him with a smart-ass look.

“alcohol and the devil’s lettuce will sustain me for as long as god intends, pretty girl. now will you open the box?” he asks, placing the small box into your hands.

“you’re not proposing to me, are you? ‘cause if you are, you should buy me dinner first.”

“for the love of all things holy, will you just open it?”

you huff a sigh, “fine.”

you open the lid, and your eyes instantly land on a breathtaking necklace. the pendant was of the letter ‘j,’ and it reflected off the sunlight beaming into your bedroom.

“jj…” you breathe, not being able to help the tears from welling up in your eyes. “i— it’s beautiful. you sure you didn’t steal it? be honest,” you deflect. you try your hardest not to read too much into it, but you can’t help it. the thought of jj, your jj, giving you a necklace with the initial of his first name to take the place of your current everyday necklace makes your heart swell. it’s like carrying him with you, right next to it, everywhere you go.

“i swear, princess. i didn’t steal it. i saw it a couple of months ago when i was with john b and sarah in some kook store over on figure eight, and i decided to save up for it so i could give it to you. consider it an early birthday present for my favourite girl.”

“j, my birthday isn’t for six months. and it’s not that i don’t appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have had to pinch pennies to give me this. you work so hard, and you deserve every cent you earn.”

he sets the small jewelry box aside on your dresser and takes your hands into his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he gazes deeply into your eyes. the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

“listen. you’ve given me everything. a place to rest my head when i need it, the most beautiful heart i’ve ever known, and my favourite person in the world. you deserve this and so much more. plus, you’re my best friend, and i can spoil you any time i goddamn please.”

you blush, avoiding his gaze as you stare down at your intertwined fingers. “you are so sweet, y’know that? too much for your own good.”

“i try,” he beams at you but shrugs his shoulders casually as if to say it isn’t a big deal.

“you succeed,” you say. “will you put it on for me?”

he smiles so wide that you can tell how much you and the personal piece of jewelry mean to him. “of course, pretty girl. turn around.”

you do as he says, facing your back to him and gathering your hair so you can move it out of the way. jj carefully removes the necklace from the miniature jewelry box and places the chain over your collarbone as he fastens it behind your neck. his fingers linger for a moment as he moves to retreat, and you feel a warmth, his warmth surge through you as he touches you. goosebumps erupt all over your skin as you feel the electricity from his hands course throughout your body.

you both look at your shared reflection in the mirror, and your gaze locks on his ocean-blue eyes. jj offers you a smile that’s impossible not to return as you both stand together so close. you can practically feel the quick thump-thumping of his heart against the skin of your back as he begins to blush.

his hands move to your shoulders. “now you’ll always have a piece of me with you. it’s cheesy as hell, but you’re destined for greatness. i believe that. so, no matter where you go, what you conquer, or how far you are from me, i’ll always be there for you. i’ll always protect you.”

“i love you, j,” you breathe. you turn back to face him. “you know that if i ever get out of here, i’m bringing you with me, right? i’m not me without you,” you mumble into his shoulder after throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.

of course, you mean it more than platonically, but the words are true to your heart either way. your love for him constantly overtook your being, but it was to the most significant degree at this moment. you’re desperate to ensure that he knows how much you appreciate him. jj has gone through so much of his life thinking he wasn’t enough for anyone that crossed his path, but that was never the case for you. he always came through, no matter when you needed him. especially then.

“i’ll go anywhere you go,” he whispers. his hand cradled the back of your head as he held you to him, instantly sighing in contentment at how close the two of you were. “and i love you too, my pretty girl. so much more than you’ll ever know. and i hope that someday i can prove it to you.”

little did he know that he proved the strength of his adoration for you every day.

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar @obxjjpouge @conniesanchor @baby-maybank @angel037 @wotfasked @rafelover

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

Can I request a Bradley thing where he goes in to get a tattoo and reader does his tattoo and he’s just super love stricken. Next thing he knows he’s going to get tattooed just to see reader till he finally asks her to go on a date??? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Honest to God, if Bradley knew that you were going to be the girl doing his tattoo today, he would've pretended to be sick to get out of the appointment. He would've just gone to a different tattoo place entirely. But it's too late now--he's here, sitting in your little cubicle with its potted plants and hand-drawn posters and knick-knacks and bluetooth speaker, and you're quietly humming as you look over his paperwork.

It isn't that he thinks you're incapable of doing his tattoo--God, no. You were the name that kept popping up when he asked around for artist recommendations, the highest rated artist in his area (and the surrounding three--but who's counting?). And he knows you'll do a good job because he's seen your work on other people and even if he hadn't, the posters on your wall are evidence alone. Bradley can draw a crude stick figure on a good day--so he is endlessly impressed with your skill.

It's just that you are the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his entire life. No, not just pretty--something above that. Beautiful, gorgeous. Fuck, you're ethereal even and Bradley hates people that say ethereal.

Everyone he talked to failed to mention that you are simply the prettiest person in every room you walk into and, Bradley knows just by looking at you, that you're probably the coolest person at every party you've ever been to.

You have big eyes that you wear bright colors on, which look almost too good against your skin and those pretty irises. Just looking at you legit makes Bradley want to bite his knuckle. You have a cool haircut, one that is polar opposite of all the Navy-issued chop-jobs he's so used to seeing, and your voice is raspy and lovely. You're wearing authentic vintage Levi's and a smooth bodysuit, one that hugs your body, one that shows the hills of your breasts so well.

Simply put--you're fucking perfect.

Perhaps the worst of it all is that you're so fucking nice. From the moment he walked through the door, you were all smiles, leading him back to your little area and talking him through everything without making him feel like an idiot. You were offering him drinks and asking what his ideas were and then complimenting his ideas. You were making all the little tweaks he wanted and not complaining about it even a little bit.

And now, as he sits on your table with his foot tapping incessantly on the tile, he's just watching your throat vibrate as you hum. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but when he does, it makes him want to rake his hands through his hair.

"Leather and Lace?" He asks you, perching a brow.

And the way you laugh, looking up at him with a bright grin as the sun kisses your face, should be illegal. You're about to put a needle to his skin and watch him cower in pain--he wishes you would take that into account and look less Goddess-like, for the sake of his ego.

"Stevie is my idol," you sigh, pointing casually to the portrait of her on your arm. He inspects it with a smile tugging at his lips, hoping his ears aren't as red as they feel. "You're a big music guy, then?"

He nods, slightly embarrassed. Isn't everyone a big music person? Who the fuck doesn't like music?

You like this guy--this guy that told you to call him Rooster for some reason. This guy who's wearing the ugliest vintage Hawaiian shirt you've ever seen. This guy who has a lewd pornstache, the one who somehow pulls off the lewd pornstache. God, this guy is still wearing his sunglasses inside, but he's just so goddamn cute. He has one of those infectious laughs and a headful of nice, sandy hair. He looks like California has kissed him--pretty. He just looks pretty.

But you can tell that he's nervous. Most people are before getting under the needle--you totally get it. Sometimes you still get nervous about it, too, despite having your arms almost all the way filled in. but you have a hard time imagining this hunk of a Navy man is nervous about a tattoo on his peck. Even just based on the scars littering his face and throat, you're certain he's been through worse.

"So," you sigh, moving your chair closer to him so he can see the paper in your hands that has the mock-up of his tattoo. He leans in and you get a whiff of sea salt and vetiver--God, he smells good. "I scaled down the legs just a bit. I was thinking some light shading through here and filling in here and here--is that okay with you?"

Rooster nods, swallowing hard, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"It looks good," he tells you. "Like really, really good."

You beam at him.

"Well, thank you," you say softly. "I'm a big art girl."

It makes something come loose in his chest--some breath he's had bated releases through his smiling lips. You're teasing him, you're joking with him. It feels good--natural.

"So, with this detail, I'm gonna put us at three hours. Does that sound good?"

Rooster nods immediately--his afternoon is entirely clear. But the prospect of getting to be with you for three hours is exciting--so exciting that it makes his throat tight. Needle be damned, he's going to get to listen to that laugh for three hours. Three!

"Sounds great," he tells you.

You grin, clapping your hands together.

"Well, I bet we're gonna be good friends by the end of this, huh?"

He grins. He already aches to kiss you and he doesn't even know you. Rooster does consider himself a hopeless romantic--but this is a whole new line he's crossing.

You point to his shirt, a slight blush covering your cheeks.

"You can go ahead and take that off now. I'm gonna prep the area."

As he obliges, he watches as you grab a little plastic razor and some paper towels. You're putting gloves on and still humming along to music that isn't playing, mentally cataloguing everything you're gonna need presently.

"Prepping the area includes--?"

You smile, standing up. He still hasn't taken his tank-top off yet, but you can tell already that this guy is fucking ripped. Not even in the usual California way--no, this guy is like movie-star ripped. He looks like he's been plucked out of a blockbuster.

"Shaving and disinfecting," you tell him, gesturing to the razor.

He nods, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he finally shrugs his tank and lets it fall into the chair he was sitting in.

"At least let me buy you dinner first," he teases.

Then you laugh--it's the first time he's really heard you laugh. He likes the sound, likes that you laugh with your mouth closed and your eyes wide.

"We'll see how the tattoo goes," you wink.

You're very careful as you shave and disinfect him, humming Stevie Nicks and Don Henley still. And you can feel his eyes lingering on your face as you work, but it doesn't bother you. He has pretty eyes--you're glad he's looking at you.

"Wanna be the DJ?" You ask with a grin, nodding towards the speaker.

Rooster feels like his heart is about to fall out of his ass. If he'd have known that he was going to be DJing this three-hour tattoos session with you--the prettiest girl he has ever seen--he would've made a playlist. Like, a proper playlist. One that is carefully curated and accounts for all possible avenues of this appointment. His dad used to make his mom mixed tapes--he still listens to them. Even though he thinks that making playlists is only a fraction as romantic, he understands that it's the modern mixed tape.

"Sure," he says softly, connecting his phone. "Are you exclusively a Fleetwood Mac girl?"

You shake your head, making sure all your ink is set out on their stabilizing beds of petroleum jelly and your gloves are intact. You pat the bed and he takes the hint, laying down while you adjust the light above you. Jesus, his muscles are practically rippling and he's not even doing anything.

"Mainly," you tell him, running your fingers along his peck and trying not to drool. "But I'm pretty diverse with my music. Hit me with your best shot."

Bradley suddenly feels nervous--put on the spot. It isn't even that he is about to have a needle against his skin. No, he was in Afghanistan, he doesn't really give a fuck about three hours of needle pricks. He cares about picking a song you think is lame. God, he'd just die of embarrassment if you didn't like what he chose.

As if you can sense his sudden nervousness, you grin up at him--it has the ability to completely relax his shoulders.

"C'mon, flyboy," you smile at him, readying your tattoo gun, "give it to me."

And suddenly Bradley can't breathe. You know that--it's why you said it. You watch him suck in a breath, watch him flounder for words, watch his pupils blow. Now he knows what it feels like for you to stare at his upsettingly beautiful midsection.

So Bradley gives it to you--very subtly turning on Hot Stuff by Donna Summer. It makes the both of you laugh--you even dance a little bit for him, in a silly and unserious way that makes his heart warm.

"Bet you're a good time at the bars," he tells you with a grin.

You nod rapidly, biting your lip.

"Oh, I'm the best to go to bars with," you tell him with a grin. "I dance and I sing and I drink."

"Triple threat," Bradley grins.

You nod again, chewing on your lip again. This guy is cute--like too cute for his own good.

"Few and far in between," you say, sighing. "I'm really a spectacle."

His heart is sitting in his throat. He loves the way you blush when you're being mockingly egotistical--he thinks that makes you genuine. Genuine and confident.

"I'd gladly spectate you at any bar," he says. You smile at him, the blush in your cheeks darkening as you narrow your eyes slightly. "You know, if you're up for it."

Your answer is a resounding yes--you know that already. But you can't just give it to him like that--you like to keep guys on their toes. Especially Navy boys.

"Actually, I have a two-tattoo minimum dating requirement," you sigh, shrugging.

He smirks at you. He can do this--he can do the chase.

"Is that so?"

You nod.

"Unfortunately," you say.

"What's your availability look like tomorrow?"

There's that sweet laugh again--it's bigger this time. God, Bradley loves to make you laugh. You just look so fucking happy. Happiness looks really, really good on you.

It isn't hard for him to imagine that you really are the best person to go to the bars with. He can imagine you in a pretty little skirt, sweat dampening your hairline as you twirl on the dance floor, the golden lights above you reflecting off the glitter on your eyelids. He can imagine that your warmth would be enough to heat the entire place. You seem like someone who is just down--down for anything and everything. He likes that.

"Ready?" You ask sweetly not a moment after, still laughing quietly.

He just nods, blinking rapidly at you.

The three hours honestly flies by. The pain really isn't all that bad, not when you're making conversation the entire time. By the end of the tattoo session, he knows where you grew up and that you don't have a boyfriend and that you have a cat named Strawberry and that you don't have a boyfriend and that your favorite food is street tacos and that you don't have a boyfriend and your first concert was Neil Young. Oh, and that you don't have a boyfriend.

And by the end of the tattoo, you know that Bradley is getting the tattoo in memory of his father, who was also in the Navy. You know that he has an affinity for Jerry Lee Lewis. You know that he has a vintage car and an endless collection of vintage Hawaiian shirts. You know he's gonna be stationed here indefinitely and that he hangs out at the local Navy bar--The Hard Deck. And you know that he is endlessly pleased that you don't have a boyfriend.

"Careful sitting up," you warn softly as you take your gloves off. "You've been laying down for a while. Want a hand?"

Bradley feels totally fine. He doesn't want to brag, but he's pushed his body to the brink in his life. Laying down for three hours having a conversation with the prettiest girl he's ever seen is like a luxury for him. But he wants to touch you--so he lets you grab his hand, lets you help him sit up.

And then the two of you are close--like close enough that he can smell that sweet, flowery musk on your skin. He can see the little flecks of his favorite color in your eyes and the way your lashes fan out over your cheeks.

And you can see his scars when you're this close, these pretty white lines that roll over his skin like ridges on a map. You like scars--as an artist, you think they're part of what make bodies art. They're the human equivalent to an eraser smudge.

He doesn't move for a moment, just looking down at you with that sweet smile, just letting his eyes wash over you. And you don't move from his gaze--you feel totally comfortable in it. You haven't known Bradley for long, but you're a good people reader. You can tell that this man, intrinsically, is a good person.

"Don't you wanna check out your new ink?" You ask with a teasing smile.

He makes a show of glancing down at his chest with his eyebrow perched. Then he hums and nods in approval. When he looks back up at you, you're biting a grin of your own.

"So," he starts softly. "Your availability tomorrow?"

eeeeek fun fact about me: I have eighteen tattoos! so it would by me greatest HONOR to write this little fic!!

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kitthepurplepotato · 2 months

Text

Chapter 6 - Crimson Riot?!

Summary: Eijirou is too busy fawning over Crimson Riot.

Warnings: Swear words, Eijirou makes one kinky comment

First Chapter Ko-Fi Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

She’s so close. Oh my god. She’s so pretty. Those plump lips, the slight blush on her cheeks… how is he supposed to resist?

He knows Y/N said this was a date but he’s still sure she’d meant that as a joke. It was just teasing. She still called Kirishima her homoerotic buddy by the end of the day, so clearly, he’s still in the hubby zone.

He should be happy for getting a kiss on his cheeks. He should be thankful…

Okay, Y/N is clearly aiming for his lips but maybe, that’s just his wishful thinking.

He’ll just… wait it out, he guesses. He slowly closes his eyes, letting faith choose the path for him and certainly, it does; Y/N’s door opens up from the inside. Kirishima respectfully almost shits his pants.

“Did you forget how to open your own door, you silly sausage?” A cheery old man with Crimson hair crackles teasingly. “… oh. Oh!”

Well, that’s what Kirishima’s also thinking. Oh. This relic is a bit too big to fit into a box; Kirishima thinks as he looks at the man in front of him who looks 100% like Crimson Riot.

Kirishima’s also sure it’s illegal to keep people in boxes. Except if they want to be kept in a box. But why would they live in a box willingly?

“What the fuck are you doing here, Uncle?!”

Oh, it’s just her uncle. The loaded one who owns the flat. It makes sense. Crimson Riot was one of the best heroes of his era so he certainly managed to get his hands on enough money to keep him and his family well fed for as long as he lives and probably even after. Makes sense indeed.

Makes… sense.

Okay, wait. So this man, possibly Crimson Riot himself, just opened Y/N’s door and she called him her uncle. That means…

“Crimson Riot is… your uncle?!” Eijirou yells and there is a palm on his mouth the second after.

“Don’t fucking yell, you himbo!” Y/N sighs, clearly aggravated by Kirishima’s stupidity and to be honest, Kirishima is quite used to get this look every day so he doesn’t even flinch. He’s a bit dumb. He knows it. He’s okay with it. “Why the fuck are you here, uncle?! You just ruined my plans!”

“Ahh, honey, I’m sorry to say this but I’m quite sure the mood is ruined anyway so we might as well have a little chat. I’m quite sure Red Riot-kun is more than happy to tell me what does he want from my one and only niece I’m willing to kill for if I need to.”

Kirishima’s blood freezes in his veins. This is too much to take in for his little bird brain. Okay, let’s focus. One thing at a time. One thing… at a time.

“Are you really…” He lowers his voice into a whisper. “Crimson Riot?”

Y/N facepalms herself. He has no idea what he had done wrong this time. Like, bro… can you really blame him for that question? He was already all over the place thanks to the fact that he was on a not-a-date with his new favorite person and now that favorite person turns out to be Crimson Riot’s niece? Eijirou is having an out of body experience. He swears he can see his soul leaving his body as he stares at the old man he’s been worshipping for decades now.

“Yes… I was Crimson Riot when I was a hero. Now, I’m just uncle Riot. Okay, son?”

Kirishima cries manly tears. This is the best day of his life.

~•🪨•~

“So now that we are settled, can you please tell me what are your plans with my little girl?”

Uncle Riot asks. Well, that’s easy.

“I…” Nevermind. It’s not.

What are Kirishima’s plans with her? Honestly, not much. He knows he’ll never have the balls to confess to her. He knows he’s not enough for such a perfect woman anyway, so… “I like spending time with her. She’s the manliest woman I’ve ever met.”

Uncle Riot rolls his eyes and looks at Y/N questionably. She sighs.

“We were on a date and if it’s not for you he would be my boyfriend by now, so fucking thank you for the cockblock.”

Okay, what the fuck. Kirishima has no idea what’s going on and why is Y/N lying about their relationship but if that’s what she wants, he will just roll with it. He doesn’t even need to lie to be able to do that.

“To be fair, I was about to kiss her goodbye in the doorway, then you opened the door and… well… not like I mind, sir! I’m actually so thrilled to meet you, can I ask a few questions?” Kirishima rambles, embarrassment already forgotten.

“I thought you want to have some alone time?” Crimson Riot smirks knowingly but Kirishima is too excited to even think about cheeky things.

“That can wait!” He spurts out and he can’t even finish the sentence before he gets a fist in the stomach.

“Oi!” Y/N yells, clearly offended. Kirishima gives her his best apologetic face, puppy eyes and all, and Y/N only sighs at that. “Only if you stay for the night.” Y/N whispers into her ears, and oh boy, his whole face must be as red as his hair. Stay… for the night?! Like a sleepover? With the prettiest angel in the whole universe?! Kirishima is so fucked.

“Uhm… okay?”

“Good boy.” Y/N kisses his temple with a smirk and Kirishima descends to another planet. He really liked being called a good boy. Is that weird? Kinky? His little fella between his legs says it’s the latter. Oh no.

~•🪨•~

You are so done with this bozo. Yes, you said you are okay with Kirishima staying over to talk to your uncle for a while but it has been hours, you need to go to bed in a few minutes and the red headed idiot - the younger one - can’t fucking shut up. Even your uncle looks uncomfortable at this point, probably having PTSD from all the times he’s been interrogated before. Yet here is the himbo, his non-existent tail wiggling from excitement as he asks questions after questions like it’s his fucking job.

By the look of it, you’ll go to bed alone. You are actually about to cry from how disappointed you are.

“I’m going to bed. I have an early shift tomorrow.”

Your voice is so lovelorn it’s actually ridiculous.

It’s just… you had this all planned out. You wanted to kiss him in the hallway then ask him to come in, cuddle on the sofa then maybe… share the bed after. You can’t believe it’s almost midnight and none of your attempts to kiss him worked. Is he even interested in you? You really thought it’s obvious that this was a date. He gave you a ring and promised he’ll be yours, yet here is, fangirling over “fucking old man Crimson Riot” instead of being with you. It just… hurts.

“What’s wrong, Angel?” Red asks and your stupid heart almost leaps out of your chest from the pet name. Your uncle takes one good look at you and slowly makes his way to the door with an apologetic smile on his face.

“I… just remembered something. I need to go. Sorry, son! I’ll see you soon, I’m sure of it.” That stupid old man winks at you as he sneaks out of the door. There was no fucking need for that. No fucking need.

“There is spare bedding in the chest of drawers next to the sofa.” You mutter and make your way towards your bedroom and for your surprise, Eijirou doesn’t even bother to come after you.

You take a deep breath and grab your pajamas from the bed then make your way to the bathroom to shower and brush your teeth. When you are done you take a peek to the sofa; Eijirou looks so fucking sad you start to feel terrible for being an absolute bitch to him just because he didn’t give you all his attention for once.

“Hey, himbo.” You half-whisper into the silence and Eijirou looks up right away.

“I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry.”

Oh my fucking god, how can he be so cute?!

You move closer the sofa and crouch down in front of him. You are done with this game. Just… done.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I just love to be in the center of attention.” You admit sheepishly, your hand caressing his cheek, because you can’t behave yourself. Eijirou melts into the touch and pushes his cheek into your palm then turns so he can leave a kiss on your fingers, slow and so-so loving it almost makes you cry.

“Crimson Riot is the only person who can steal my attention from you.” He admits, and you can’t help but giggle at that.

“That was a really backhanded compliment, Ei.” You smile as your thumb caresses the skin under his eyes. There’s a lot of tension in the air but not the unpleasant kind; it’s like you are both waiting for something, but none of you know how to actually make the first step. “So what do I need to do to gain your attention, Red?”

“Don’t tease me…” he looks down into his lap with tears in his eyes. It breaks your heart.

“Ei… I’m not teasing you.” You stroke his cheek again. You can’t help but take a peek at his pretty lips, slowly closing the remaining distance as you speak. “I want to know. I don’t want you to take your eyes off me. I’m being selfish.”

“You can have all my attention. All of it.” Eijirou whispers, so close to your mouth it lips actually tingle from his breath. Fuck it. Just fuck it.

“No, it’s not enough.” You finally close the remaining distance and kiss him right on the mouth. You stay there for a few seconds, savoring the taste, the texture, the softness, then move away with your heart in your throat. You did it. Oh my god, you kissed him. And it was amazing. Oh god, you are so in love with this himbo. “Good night, hubby. See you in the morning.” You smile at his dumbstruck face. Red Riot.exe has stopped working, clearly. “I put a new toothbrush out for you. The red one is yours.” You can’t help but barge back for another little peck before you run into your room with a massive blush on your face.

It’s done. It’s official. You made your intentions clear as a day and he didn’t say no. You make a new note in your calendar for today called “anniversary” then you yell into your pillow, like a proper adult.

~•🪨•~

“So she tried to kiss you several times during your DATE.” Katsuki mutters.

“That’s not what I said!” He retorts right away but his best friend does not listen.

“Then you proposed with a ring from the vending machine and she said yes.”

“I didn’t propose!”

“Oh sorry, you told her you’ll marry her.” Katsuki looks at Kirishima with pure incredulity. “Then she invited you to her flat and told her uncle you two are a thing.”

“You are not listening, Katsuki!” Kirishima yells with a red face. “Why are we not talking about Crimson Riot?! He’s the uncle! Crimson Riot! Katsuki! Focus!”

“You focus! She fucking kissed you on the mouth TWICE, Shitty hair, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” Katsuki is absolutely out his mind by now, he’s yelling like a maniac, his eyes dark and menacing, and you swear there are fresh claw marks on his desk where his hands are right now.

“She’s not my girlfriend! I swear!” He’s about to cry. What does he not understand?! Yeah, she kissed him. On the mouth. But maybe Y/N is just really affectionate with his homosexual buddies (hubbies). There are some countries where people kiss on the mouth. Or at least he thinks.

“No, she’s fucking not, because she’s your fiancé, you absolute idiot!”

“Eijirou, I love you to death but you are an absolute himbo… a himbo with a fiancé.” Katsuki’s girlfriend looks up from her paperwork. He can’t believe these two.

“She’s blood related to Crimson Riot! That’s just… inappropriate! No! I’m done with this conversation!”

“She made you a home-made fucking bento at 5 fucking AM in the morning! The carrots are fucking heart shaped!” Katsuki continues to yell, but Kirishima is done with this conversation. “HEART SHAPED, KIRISHIMA!”

No one understands him. No one.

~•🪨•~

It has been a week since you and Eijirou became a couple. You wear the ring every day, showing it off proudly, especially, when customers try to chat you up. You love how their face pale when you tell them that you are actually engaged.

He comes to see you every single morning, buys his usual coffee and gets a little kiss on his mouth as a bonus. Eijirou barely kisses back but he’s a shy boy, so that’s fine; he’ll eventually get used to it - You’ll make sure to kiss him loads on your date, and maybe by the end of the night he’ll actually kiss you back… and maybe, he’ll stay the night and kiss you even more. Ahh, a girl can dream. Eijirou has no idea how absolutely gorgeous he is but that’s why you like him so much; he makes you feel like a teenager again, naive and lovesick and well… he also makes you feel really hot in inappropriate places.

No one can blame you, though. Red Riot has the body of a god and he’s sweet and so innocent you just want to ruin him until the monster in him comes to the surface and devours you in whole, but it’s too much too soon so you try your best to behave yourself and keep the kisses chaste because there is no fucking way you will be able to stop once that kiss deepens.

It’s quite silly how stressed you are about being proper when it comes to this thing even though you are literally engaged to the guy.

Having sex after the first date? Hell no.

Getting engaged on it? Hell yes.

If this keeps going this way you’ll end up having your first night after the wedding.

Hell, maybe you’ll get eloped in a random chapel on your second date.

The weirdest thing is, that you wouldn’t even mind doing that.

You feel really silly to call something so fresh “love” but you are old enough to know the difference between a crush and pure, wholehearted affection. Eijirou is everything you’ve always wanted in life; he’s kind and genuine, a person who’s not ashamed of having emotions, who’s not ashamed to cry, to be angry, to be unapologetically himself, even if people laugh at him for being like that. He’s kind to a fault but that’s even more reason for you to stay by his side; you’ll make sure that no one can break his fragile heart, you’ll make sure he’s the happiest himbo in the whole wide world.

“I can hear the wedding bells!” Your boss teases with a smile, but you can’t even get mad at her.

“Me too, boss, me too.”

The silence speaks volumes.

… Next Chapter!

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TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #kirishima eijirou x y/n #ejirou x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #red riot x you #red riot x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 1 month

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three

TW: forced proximity, restraints, unequal power dynamics, sexual harassment

Officer Ludlow makes his way into your examination room not once but three times in the following two weeks. Once for torn stitches again. Once for broken glass embedded in his arm. (He seemed pissed about this, so you actually believe that a perp broke a window he was on the other side of, and he didn’t do it on purpose), and the third time for deep bruising and cracked ribs after taking a 9mm bullet to his flak vest.

The thought that he might have done the latter on purpose terrifies you. They’re a great precaution but bullet proof vests do not prevent all the damage from a bullet. You can still get seriously hurt. So naturally, as you’re wrapping his ribs, you’re more than a little pissed off.

“This had better have been an accident,” you grumble, forced in close quarters while you have to reach around his ridiculously broad chest with the bandage. You can’t help but notice at this point of his shift that the brain-addling addition of his own sweat and musk added to that edible fucking cologne makes for a near weapon of mass destruction on his skin. It should be illegal, for what it does to your insides.

“What, you worried about me, sweetheart?”

“As a healthcare professional? Yes, this worries me. It could have been a lot worse.”

“If only I had incentive to be more careful…” he muses with a smirk, his stupidly handsome face just inches from yours.

“Are all cops this fucking creepy?” You purposefully brush his side a little too hard and reign triumphant when he grunts in pain.

Kinda like shooting a bear with a handgun - it just makes him mad.

He catches your hands again, only this time he uses the bandaging already wrapped around his torso to bind your wrists. He’s too quick for you to pull away, tethering you up with those beautiful hands that seem far too bulky to be this dexterous, tugging you forward so you’re more than a little cramped. You don’t think you can get any closer until he spreads his thighs and you fall right into the trap.

You have to crane your neck to avoid being cheek to chest with him, feeling so fucking tiny and useless and enveloped. It pisses you off. It makes you burn with involuntary, awful want.

“My little nurse speechless?”

You try to glare at him, but it resembles more of a pout.

“God,” his voice drops lower if that’s even possible. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You want to jump off the roof for the thick, high choke of your tone. “You didn’t even ask me if I have a boyfriend.”

“Cuz I don’t fucking care if you do or not.”

“Well I do,” you lie. “And he’s gonna kick your ass.”

He snorts. “And I’m gonna let him so his girlfriend has to patch me up.”

“Fuck you.” You are seething with rage at this point, powerless, helpless, fucked in the head for somehow liking it.

“Mm. What would you prefer? Fingers? Tongue? Cock?” He makes you gasp with a sharp tug at your makeshift bondage and that lewd word in his handsome mouth. “Yeah, that one?”

“You’re going to get me fired.” You don’t know why you keep trying to appeal to his rationality and humanity, when both seem to not even be in his vocabulary.

“That’ll free up your schedule so you can spend more time tied to my bed.”

You’re terrified he can somehow feel the violent clench of your lower body.

Maybe god does exist, but he has a fucked sense of humor. Your pager buzzes loudly from your scrub pocket as the automatic “CODE BLUE CODE BLUE CODE BLUE” goes off over the loudspeaker.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah.” To his credit, and, let’s be honest, you’re super reluctant to give him credit right now, Tom loosens up on your wrists and lets you go attend to the patient currently in cardiac arrest.

#keanuverse #keanuverse fic #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #Julia is fucking amazing at collages #street kings

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eternal-echoes · 4 months

Text

Just to clarify some confusions brought on by this post (especially since it has reached outside my usual Christian tumblr clique a lot of implicitly agreed upon context is lost), Catholics do not seek to make every sin illegal. St. Augustine even stated that we shouldn’t make earthly human laws banning every single sin because some good may be wiped out as a result.

For example, it’s a mortal sin to use contraception during sexual intercourse whether within or outside of marriage. However, if we were to make it illegal, we would have to violate people’s right to privacy in order to find evidence to prosecute people due to this prohibition. Hence why Catholics shouldn’t seek to make it illegal.

The point of the statement:

"Is an alcoholic free if he's allowed to take another bottle or if he's prevented to get another drink?"

is to show that an alcoholic isn’t really free; he’s a slave to his carnal desires. An alcoholic reaching for another drink is only hurting himself; he’s not fulfilling his best potential. If you love someone, you would prevent them from hurting themselves. Because the definition of love is willing the good of another. And the logic of love is the basis of Christianity.

Just as an athlete restricts himself certain food in order to achieve his best performance in a marathon, so too Christians follow certain rules and regulations so we can be purified and be worthy in uniting with God in the afterlife; because nothing unclean can stand within the presence of God.

We Christians abstain from pre-marital sex and pornography so we don’t settle for the kind of “love” that reduces people to sexual pleasure. And also so we can have the unconditional love and see the real soul of the person in his/her naked body after genuine and honest courtship and receiving the sacrament of marriage.

Because freedom is not an end on itself, it’s a means to an end, which is to achieve man’s purpose. And the purpose of human life is to love and serve God.

Since God made everything in the universe, everything exists to serve Him. Catholics believe that the purpose of the government is to lead people to God, not just preventing ourselves from killing each other.

Having said that, the kind of human laws that we should have that only forbids certain sins and not the others requires another blogposts (more like another book) so I’ll just end this right here.

#Catholic #Christianity #politics #libertarianism #text #libertarian

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strangelittlestories · 3 months

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It was somewhere around a year into the apocalypse when the Lion and the Lamb found what they had long been looking for: a very remote (and thus largely unpillaged) and *very fancy* hotel.

(Lion and Lamb were the names I knew them by, at least. We met at a wedding - always a strange event in the end times - and they did not give me their true names. This was, honestly, a wise move given the kind of entity I am. But they did gift me with this anecdote, which perhaps reveals more about them than a simple name could.)

After scouting the place out - and bloodily evicting a small pack of ghouls that had gotten separated from the horde and (hopelessly lost) wandered into the hotel spa - the pair climbed the many steps to the building’s palatial penthouse suite.

There, they found many wondrous treasures. Fluffy bathrobes. Tiny sachets of shampoo. A bed so large it should probably have been illegal.

And, of course, a little peace and quiet.

---

“What do you think the thread count on these sheets are?” Asked Lamb.

“Do I look like the kind of person who understands thread count?” Lion was already lying in the bed, starfishing her limbs out across the pillowy expanse.

“It’s just…this might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. This has got to be four hundred. Maybe even five?” Lamb’s brow wrinkled for a moment. “Hey - would you mind if I take this with us when we leave?”

“What’s the matter? You already afraid to go back to scratchy blankets and sleeping bags?” Lion grinned, while twisting the top off a little bottle of Jack Daniels. A small pile of tiny liquor bottles lay beside her; across the room, her axe rested against the sundered mini bar.

“No, I uh-” Lamb looked sheepish. “I was thinking it’d make for good bandages.”

Lion paused with the mini bottle of Jack on her lips. She made steady eye contact with Lamb as she downed the bottle, then threw it casually to one side.

“You want to take the sheets off this bed.” She sat up and calmly took hold of Lamb’s arm, pulling him close. “This bed that may as well be made of clouds. These covers that were probably hand spun by gods or artisanal Shoreditch arseholes. This bed that may be the last gift from a now-absent god, and which - by the way - we have not even hugged in yet…”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“You want to take the sheets off this bed - this bed that is larger than some countries - and tear it up for stab wounds and bullet holes?”

“I just-”

At this point, Lion yanked on Lamb’s arm and he tumbled awkwardly into the aforementioned bed, rolling over Lion and landing nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder. It was somewhere between a cuddle and a headlock and, if we’re being honest, Lamb really didn’t mind that.

Some time passed. We need not discuss how it passed, let us simply say that it did and that, for the Lion and the Lamb, its passage was necessary, healing and only mildly bruising.

Lamb sighed happily and said:

“I just thought. Y’know, about the bandages. That … well, dangerous shit happens to us so often. It’s really easy to get used to being scared. To being hurt. So I figured it might be nice, y’know, if when we were patching each other up, we had something soft to do it with. So that even when it hurts the most, we can *practise* being soft. And it’d be something that reminded us of this. This perfect day we stole for ourselves. A happy memory to literally bind up the hurt with.” Lamb looked shyly up at Lion. “It probably sounds silly. Or soppy. But, well. I am those things sometimes.”

Lion leant down and gently and carefully kissed Lamb on the forehead.

“Okay.” She said, in a voice roaring with love. “We can destroy the sheets when we’re done.”

“Thanks.” Said Lamb. “I knew you’d cotton on.”

And, even despite the pun, Lion could not have been happier.

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #love stories for the end times #love story #honestly even writing this made me make little d'awwww sounds so I really hope y'all like it

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holocene-sims · 3 months

Text

next // previous

august 17, 2021 4:00 a.m. paradise hotel

three hours later

[grant] you know, i didn’t get a good start to dealing with the whole “my body is broken” thing.

[henry] huh? oh, sorry, i'm awake and heard you; i was just surprised.

[grant] the first time that, um, i got really sick after my sister died, everyone just thought i was mcfucking mentally losing it. i mean, i was, but also i could not get out of bed, could not walk, couldn’t hold a toothbrush even because my hands wouldn’t move…

[grant] and my parents, who are medical professionals, wouldn’t take me to any doctor because they thought i was melodramatic.

[henry] you missed two months of school. we went different schools but i remember that. i didn’t see you for that two months either.

[grant] they only ever took me because they got tired of dealing with me, and they were getting in trouble for me being truant. and what do you know? like every other kid with something wrong, the answer was growing pains. you're tall for your age, so that's it!

[henry] doctors are stupid sometimes.

[grant] tell me about it. i lived with two idiot doctors for eighteen years. the proof is in the pudding.

[grant] and then, uhh, there’s the whole…

[grant] the whole college thing.

[grant] did i ever tell you how i became an addict, bud?

[henry] you’ve never wanted to.

[henry] i assumed it was because people try to numb childhood trauma. and i could tell something was not right with the college hockey team situation, but i didn’t know what or if that was connected at all.

[henry] it could have come from anywhere. most everyone in college does drugs. i smoked a lot of weed.

[grant] it’s both of your assumptions. there were a lot of things i needed to suppress, and i didn’t know how to control myself after tasting the slightest bit of freedom from my parents. but also…

[grant] the dudes on the hockey team hated me except sebastian. i just didn’t click. i wasn’t the right kind of person to fit in that very dudebro jock locker room.

[grant] so, on one hand, i started on a bunch of party drugs and alcohol because i figured out that when i got fucked up out of my mind, they finally found me funny, and you know how i am.

[henry] you are really desperate for people to like you and for you to not feel like you're imposing.

[grant] it’s totally true. i need to be liked. and need is the right word. it’s not as bad now, i've grown out of it a bit, but still, the feeling is there. i need to be liked and to not be anyone's burden.

[grant] yet that’s not the whole story.

[grant] i was, um, well, also illegally prescribed a lot of painkillers.

[grant] by the team's medical people.

[grant] my health issues were already there, but playing a contact sport made it worse. i'm gonna be honest, i don’t remember what happened, but i got some kind of back injury, and i went right back to that state i was in after my sister died.

[grant] seriously, same stuff. couldn’t really get out of bed, couldn’t function. at least not without...

[henry] oh god. i don’t like the way this sounds.

[grant] i was naive enough to hope that people might do the right thing for me once in my life, so i told the medical staff, like, hey, i'm suffering, and i need help. and they just kind of, uh, waved me off and said their job was to patch me up so i could be on the ice, not fix me.

[grant] i was already trouble in all the staff's eyes because i was the odd one out in the locker room, and that's not looked upon well. so, in hindsight, i should have seen literally all the red flags or should have been brave enough to just break down and see a real doctor elsewhere again, but i didn’t.

[grant] anyway, the team staff offered me opioids and i gladly took them. and they kind of sort of barely worked. so i took more. and more and more, and i mixed them with all kinds of other substances. like, i should probably be dead from the amount of mixing i did or from just the sheer volume of drugs i took. also, no one gave a fuck how many times a week i came in to ask for drugs as long as i played hockey good enough.

[henry] and you were good.

[grant] still, the pills never genuinely made me feel better. they just got me high enough to forget about suffering. that makes sense now because i have a diagnosis and have heard nothing but anti-inflammatories are going to really work on resolving the whole pain thing. too late for that, though. i'm an addict. yes, am, not was, even if i'm sober. so, i won't touch them now. i haven't in years.

[grant] but there you go! there’s the story.

[grant] that feels supremely embarrassing to have told, but i wanted to get it off my chest. you are my best friend. more than that. you're family. you're my brother. i don’t have to be afraid to tell you anything and you deserve to know the truth.

[grant] especially because you've never shied away from honesty and you stuck with me that whole time. i don’t think most addicts are lucky enough to have friends and family that patient. and i tried many, many times to push everyone away so i could destroy myself in peace. i wouldn’t blame any of you if you had given up on me.

[grant] yeah. it's not very kind of me to receive that much, um, grace and love and forgiveness, and not at least reward and thank you with the truth. the full and honest truth, even if you didn't ask for it. oh, and a window into why i am the way i am, why i keep my mouth shut.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #i know i wrote this but like bro i'm proud of you for being open and honest <3 #we got real progress folks #first of all he wasn't self-pitying during his birthday and now he's telling the truth even if it's kind of ugly and painful #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: henry

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