#Yellow Motorcycle Boots

[leathercollectionus]

Yellow Motorcycle Boots Miguel Oliviera Winter Test 2022

Miguel Oliviera Yellow Motorcycle Boots are the replicas of those boots worn by him in the MotoGP 2022 Winter Test and have particular features concerning the rider’s foot safety.

Yellow Motorcycle Boots Miguel Oliviera Winter Test 2022

[gloomystims]

: ̗̀➛ NEGAN SMITH ; STIMBOARD

requested by @urpersonalbloodbag2112 / Julian !!

this is horribly late so sorry about that :(( but I wanted to do it and I hope you like it <33

[iplayghoul]

let the light in

xx: cowboys! eren & onyankopon x reader . .

9.9k words — life on a ranch, porn with plot, tension, feelings, eventual sex, fucking in.. mud & rain, reader is referred to as 'she', 'girlie' etc, use of 'daddy', lots of spit & being dirty, reader is a country bumpkin, light arguing, thumb in ass, pussy spanking, spitroasting, cunnilingus, crying, some squirting & creaming, lots of shortened words & punctuation (country dialect duhh), not proof read sorry, awkward moments.

notes: been writin dis since december 2023... enjoy u guys :] rbgs appreciated

“hiya mrs. brown!”

worn out boots of marble cake pink and brown swirls, graze the dirtied gravel near the elderly woman's cottage as you slip from the horse. mary-lou, you affectionately call her, dusting her pinked moist nose with a pat before hobbling onto the stone path. over the horizon, the pastel orange and yellows of the sun threaten to melt into your skin, kissing it golden as the morning begins and so do your deliveries. 

golden-blonde, french curl braids woven into your roots fall past your lower back ending in thick, loose curls, some held together by bows and others hair clips. they bounced with every step. mrs. brown was the first on your list of deliveries today. on cool mornings like this when spring teases its approach, you often bake little treats for the other villagers. apple tarts, blueberry jellies, cherry pies with freshly picked fruits, warm buttery honey-milk breads and healthy breakfast muffins: all made with ingredients grown at home! but, we'll explore the garden later.

calling this a village was a bit of a stretch, realistically, a happy delusion at most. acres of farm property was shared by each of the residents whose homes were nearby, despite the farm areas creating distances of land behind them. tok, tok, tok! the haste below mary-lou's hooves pulled you back to your task as you rearranged the goodies and stepped onto the wooden plank. mrs. brown sat atop her rocking chair, crocheting a blanket you'd commissioned. a chuckle, “ [  ] , dearest, always in y’head, aren't yuh?” mrs. brown softly muttered, deep brown skin crumpled besides her lips, short pastel curls tickling her ears. hands busied with the neapolitan coloured yarn. her countryside twang was a pleasant aerated tone, reminding you of your own parents. 

you huff and offer a smile. “mrs. brown I've—”, “must I remind you, dearest, eleonora,” the playfulness in her voice offers it a quiver. “and let me guess . . . cherry pie?” thin, quivering lips stretch to a smile, your plump ones mimic hers as you nod with a sweetened expression. “yes, eleonora, I know how much y’love cherry pies n’–”, “and my grandson does too, y'know!” you stop to stare at her as she wears nothing but a smug look on her face, her head bobbing side to side with a ‘you know damn well’ manner. 

eleonora lived mostly alone. when her daughter married, giving her a sole grandson they'd moved to the city. luckily for her, and you, her grandson moved back on his own to the country. he fixed cars, motorcycles, tractors– you name it, he's got it covered. she said his name was onyankopon or, ony’. to be honest, you spied around one time to catch a glimpse of him. back when you first moved in and eleonora became immediately smitten with the idea of you and her grandson as potential lovers, you snuck around where ony's ranch was, peaking at who the man could be. you barely saw him really, the small flash of him you saw all greasy with engine oil was so far away! but infatuation always grew in you from a small bud, slowly growing before flower petals started spilling out your throat.

“are ya’ stoppin by him too, darlin’?” she pries further, “I ‘dunno els’ . . . y'know I haven't actually met ‘em right?”, “oh I know dear,'' she breathes, “ he's strong, he's tall, he surely is handy ‘round the house and- and he's not ‘onna dem toxic masculine things i hear ‘bout on the Internet! I think he's had a boyfrien’ b'fore, that must count!” she relieves your hands of the heavy treats while speaking, “eleonora . . .”, “c'mon darlin’, you've got t'get married someday, n’ imma’ be the flower gal!” 

all you can do is shake your head and accept the sweet kiss to the cheek she offers you before trotting back to your horse. mary-lou grew rather impatient! settling her brown and white spotted body to the ground awaiting your return. to be completely honest, you craved love. the partying, sex and relationships of college got old and moving here right after left you high and dry with the weight of ‘unlovable’ bearing down on your shoulders. the lack of men your age was . . . a troublesome dilemma but who were you to complain? you hiked yourself back onto mary-lou and continued your journey to the next cottage home. 

looking over the blueberry skies and whipped cream clouds kept you in grandiose delusions of a love so pure and sweet, like powdered sugar that you could indulge in, maybe one day.

♡

“down girl, down!” 

The rough, deep voice shakes the silence near the upcoming ranch. after your deliveries, you'd end up with a few apple-cherry tarts remaining, sometimes the neighbours are vacationing in the city, or insist you keep some! by this time, the sun shone fully now, its warmth tingling your skin. “awe, shucks, man!” another voice caused your brows to furrow, peering up ahead at the ranch . . . the one in which eleonora's grandson resided. from what you could see without the sun in your eyes, two men of tall statures– roughhousing with gorgeous horses. the one in the cowboy's hat was doing a terrible job of trying to calm one of them. their manes were a beautiful silky white, shining healthily under the sun as they lifted their front legs to the air before trotting around the . . . shirtless men again. mother would scold you now if she could see you openly ogling at the two, you push that thought to the back of your mind.

mary-lou slows on your command beside their ranch gate, huffing and happily shaking out her mane as she watches the other horses play. something possesses you to hop off with the remaining tarts, awkwardly shuffling to the fence– your pink-brown boots were worn mismatched to your strapless white lace top and similar mini-skirt. “uh . . . howdy there fellas!” both men turned to your direction, blocking their eyes from the sun and beginning to stroll over.

the closer view made your breath catch in your throat. the one on the left, you assume is el's grandson, his skin was a dark mahogany brown, he glistened slightly with sweat in the sun, deeply defined muscles prelude veins below his belly button then covered by bright blue jeans and black cowboy boots to match his hat.

he had a handsome face. 

thick two-toned lips spread to reveal a bright smile, a few teeth plated with gold caps as he teased the man to his right. this man had dark, black, shining curls that rested atop his shoulders, two eyebrow slits decorated with piercings, matching ones on his . . . pretty lips. his skin was a dusted tan, sunkissed tone and he wore black jeans atop his brown boots. You couldn't miss the tattoos that crept up the side of his abdominals, you were curious.

“how c'n we help ya’, miss?” the left spoke up and your cheeks felt hot, it's been a while since you heard that pet name, you chalked it up to the blazing sun. “well, uh, you're eleonora's grandson, right?” you nibble on your nails nervously, he nods, “I just . . . thought it’d be nice to give y'all these extra treats i baked.” pushing the basket in their direction and allowing the dark haired one to peep under the cloth, he had a mischievous look to him and he elbowed the other in the ribs with a slick smile, “wass ya’ name, pretty? ‘m eren, dis is ony’,” he pointed between them, “ n’ y’made these y’self, ma’?” eren pulls out a tart, staring down at you through long eyelashes, “oh! uh I‘m [  ], n’ yes! I did n' I grew all'em fruits m'self too!” you bounce on the heels of your boots, nervously.

ony’ stays mostly quiet you've noticed, taking in your outfit as well, his eyes raking over you. eren warmly feeds him a bite of the tart as their horses trot over to mingle with mary-lou. “how long ya’ been livin’ ‘round here, sugar?” ony’ speaks up soft and mellow, grabbing himself his own tart to taste. eren reaches out to pet mary-lou. “i guess it’s been a about a year now! y’see i moved out ‘round here after college.” you nibbled your shiney bottom lip, “what ‘bout y’all? your grandma talks ‘bout you all the time, but, i ain’t really seen you round here?” you turn to eren who makes a kissy face at mary-lou before turning to you. “i mostly tend to the farm ma’, as y’can tell, ‘m better with the animals than ony’ here.” he flashes you a smile and props his arms against the fence biting his lip and lowering closer to your eye level. ony’ playfully smacks his arm, flashing a gorgeous smile with his gold teeth sparkling in the sun, “shut up, man.”

you look away quickly, catching yourself staring at his lips, he certainly doesn't miss it. you totally push the basket towards eren’s arms, “y’c’n have the basket y’know i always weave more, i’ve gotta get goin, now,” you rush, “wait– take m’ number, pretty,” eren offers before reciting it a couple times so you’ve got it down. “n’ which onna’ these ranches ‘s yours, mama?”, you're mounting mary-lou once more, “it's not too far! it's the ranch with the blue fence n’ the pond out front!” 

♡

the days after that remained uneventful, with no deliveries of any kind, you preferred to remain on the ranch tending to the animals and house work. you'd never texted eren, only saved his number and stalked his contact profile . . . and opened his chat section many-a-times without saying anything. taking a liking to someone new is hard. you don't forget the many times a partner toyed with you, assuming innocence and naivity of you based soley off your appearance, then doing whatever they'd wanted behind your back. you were past that now, hopefully at least; the concrete walls you used to block others out wasn't something you'd liked to be reminded of.

padding out the back door, the coldness of the stone path chills beneath your bare feet. your toes painted with the cutest design within your artistic range, accompanied by the musical arrangement of your anklet. you pick up a dirtied bucket with the many things you'd needed to complete your chores for the morning, taking a long look at the expanse of the ranch. 

a deep breath of clean air, healthy green fields relieve your eyes of their stress; partly cloudy skies was the forecast! weather for hanging outside, the cumulus clouds indicated it to be the perfect day for fishing too! the pond was still, the little lambs were just waking up in their pen, the gardenias were blooming; the white dexter cattle mulled around, seemingly bored behind the fence. just as you begin to walk by with the bucket of feed, the cows behind let out soft, deep ‘mooooo’s’: a ‘good morning!’ greeting in their own way. each receiving gentle pets to their fur.

your mental list of duties was shorter today: pet the cattle, inspect the lambs & brush their fur, throw feed for the chickens & clean their coupes, feed the dogs, feed the fish.

you couldn't help but wear your best little dress to do the tasks today, a simple white thing that cupped your breasts just right. “oh, how are ya’ buttercup!” you squealed in delight as the silky white wolf dog rushed up to lick your feet, his opposite onyx counterpart, bentley offered a short bark to show her delight, sitting peacefully and obediently. she'd recently fallen pregnant with pups, confusing as you'd given both animals the proper precautionary procedures! while filling their food bowls, you couldn't help but be reminded of eren and ony’. your toes dug into the grass a bit, excited at the idea of . . . sharing your home with someone else again. both men seemed pleasant, highly attractive, but feelings always confused you. perhaps they were only being decent human beings to you, nothing more.

to be honest, you hadn't had the best history with relationships. it's part of– it's one of the main reasons you'd decided to move out to the countryside. casual sex was fine, yeah, whatever, you enjoyed it. however, when it comes to your relationships, you refuse to believe you attract shitty people. from making fun of how excited your are by things, to the way you dressed, wore your makeup, your hair, how you cry— the whole works had been used against you. there was only so much of it you could handle. moving away meant . . . fresh start, new people, new experiences. and most importantly, a place where everyone did as they pleased. as much as people think gossip goes around in small villages, the country area was mostly pleasant. neighbours traded crops for items, enjoyed each other's company and minded their own business.

sitting beside the pond, bentley and buttercup eagerly cuddled up at your side; the joy this life brought you was comparable to hot chocolate at the end of a winter day. now you think about how long its been since you could cuddle someone on a cold day. it probably hasn't been since your mother was alive. now was a good time to visit eleonora.

♡

a raspberry lemon loaf warmed your hands as the weather began to cool. the trudge to eleonora's ranch was tranquil, pleasant animals, butterflies and chirping birds kept you occupied for most of it. that is, until your boots dragged to a stop in the dirt, noticing a familiar face in el's front yard. 

onyankopon's hair was short, brushed into smooth waves atop his head and faded on the sides, revealed by the lack of cowboy hat. he was shirtless, once again, knee deep in the dirt of his grandmother's yard where he dug the soil for new plants. you swallow, nibbling a plump lip that made your mouth spring from the strawberry flavoured gloss. a colder breeze blew up under your thighs, blowing your simple little dress slightly; furrowing your brows with concern as you peered at the beautiful bright sky, you force yourself to walk up to the gate and begin to unlatch it. 

eren's grassy green eyes meet you first, his hands busily feeding a plump cherry into his mouth. pretty pink lips sucked them in, unwelcoming to the juicy red droplets that escaped the cherry. he licks his lips to pull them in. you take a deep breath and focus on not dropping the raspberry lemon loaf. “h-hiya everybody!” you greet, noticing eleonora seated in her usual spot on the rocking chair of her porch while observing the two men. 

you hold the loaf somewhat close to you and swallow hard, walking along the stone path of which both men were at either side of. ony’ in the dirt and eren manspreading on the front steps. you held eyes with the ground. “howdy ony’, eren, nice to see you two ‘gain,” you say in a pleasant mumble as you make way up the stairs to eleonora. “brought you this raspberry lemon loaf els’!” you look at her smiling slightly, caught off guard by that signature smug look she held. what insane thoughts about your love life could she be brewing now? the silence from the two men was noticeable too, you were sure they'd turn to look at you as you presented the treat for el’, “my, my! well doesn't this just look lovely!” she claps clammy hands clad in flower themed rings and laughs jolly. “ony’, son, could you get us some tissues n’ forks? oh- n’ eren darlin’ why don't you bring out the pitcher ‘f lemonade with s'm glasses.” the two men stand as she calls upon them, uttering out their deep ‘yes ma'am's’ as they towered above you in walking by. your eyes trailed them slightly before turning back to eleonora who never (not once) misses your silent pining.

ony’ wore his jeans low on his waist, the band of his boxers showed off its maker's name. eren, on the other hand, wore a white wife-beater below unbuckled blue overalls, leaving them hanging over at his waist. “so, have ya’ found y'self a boyfren’, honey?” eleanora asks somewhat loudly as the two men shuffle around the kitchen bearby and your eye widen. “now what kinda’ question is that els’?” you sputtered, “you know I haven't got one.” eleonora giggles like a school girl. you take a cool seat onto the steps. eren and ony’ share small smiles as they return with lemonade and dishes. ony’ takes a seat in a chair opposite eleonora, elevated above you whilst eren makes himself comfortable back in his spot across from you on the steps. raspberry lemon loaf is shared around with the cool glasses of not-too-sweet lemonade to wash it down, eating brought silence besides low groans from the two men who seemed to enjoy your baking. their groans were not sensual, but pressing your thighs together was still a must as a reaction to the unexpected sounds of pleasure. fuck, you felt like a creep. eleonora complimented your skills, asking, “[  ] , did ya’ grow these in the box gardens y'made?” you nod and swallow quickly, all attention to you as eren mumbles ‘box garden?'. ``yea els’, the box gardens ar’ doin’ great, but I've got some extra wood around I think I'mma try to make a few more like the boxes I bought from the market!” eleonora smiles as if she were expecting to hear you randomly bring up your recycling duties. 

“ony’, can't you n’ eren build those boxes f’[  ]? I strongly believe lil’ ol’ her shouldn't handle all dat’ wood . . .” you internally blush deeply at the innuendo and take the final bite of your slice of the loaf. eren speaks up, “y'sure right on we can, els’ . . . y'okay wit’ us helpin’ y'out ma?” he takes a quick glance up at ony, locking eyes with him who also lets his stare above you burn into your scalp. “s– sure, I don't mind!” you mutter out lightly and eleonora gives a jolly clap, “well ain't that just darlin’! the day's young, y'all can get started right now!” you have to hold your breath to avoid your last sip of lemonade going down your larynx. the two men mentioned how they're not busy the rest of the day and wouldn't mind before you can even collect yourself. somehow, coming over to eleonora always results in you being roped into another scheme of hers.

and just like that, you found yourself on a quiet . . . and awkward walk back to your ranch with the two young men following closely behind you. anxiety bubbled in your stomach, clamping your lips shut to avoid letting the insecure feeling from escaping your lips. the nerves were getting to you with every second that passed by. “s-so, uh– wassup wit y'all ‘round here?” they both walk up to match your pace. “oh, well, ony here prefers to do all the technical shit like– fixin’ cars n’ all'at.” eren shoves his palms into the pockets of his overalls, walking up ahead where he could look back at the two of you while talking, he maintains glances with onyankopon that you just don't seem to understand. “I prefer to stay on the ranch n’ watch the animals– y'got any besides that horsie?” 

“oh– yea i've got m’ horse, mary-lou, two wolfies: bentley n’ buttercup.” a sweet smile stretches on your face, tummy warming a bit. “oh! and I've got names f'all my fish in the pond, my little lambs– oh they're just the cutest! a–and my fluffy cows! they're lovely,” you clasp your hands in excitement, eyes following your footsteps, sputtering happily over the animals. “gosh, n’ I'm tryin’ out a little butterfly area in my front garden, but m’ not the best at it, can’t tame butterflies y’know— they pee on ya’ too! that's fuckin’ crazy,” you reveal with a giggle. as you look up to ask the two a question, you can't help but blush, embarrassingly at that. eren and ony stared at you with pleasant smiles, deeply dimpled too. “oh my, m’ sorry for my ramblin’ how rude of me–”,”no. no, keep talkin’ pretty.” ony's deep voice encourages you and you peer curiously at him: trying to figure him out. he turns away from you licking his lips and spares eren a look before he starts walking again. it urges you both to continue onto the ranch as well, eren shakes his head with a chuckle; he thinks he’s got a handful on his hands. 

“y’got a boyfren’ ‘round here, [  ] ?” eren brushes hair over his shoulders, asking the question calmly whilst maintaining a look up the path, ony’s arm brushed yours as he walked close by. “well– no, what about you?” you melt your lips together before stuttering out,”wait, not– i mean, girlfriend . . . well– i don’t care–!” ony barks out a laugh while eren turns around to give you a bright smile, all three of you burst into giggles. “nah, no girlfren’ or boyfren’, ma’.” ony speaks up gently, “but, uh– me n’ E’ might be lookin’ for a third to make us official, i dunno.” your eyes widen but ony gives a nonchalant shrug, handsome face glowing with a smug smile like he didn't just drop #thebomb on you. it reminded you of his grandmother, you look to eren who’s looking back at you and onyankopon with just a slight grin and your breath catches in your throat. “oh! there’s the ranch just up ahead,” you blurt out and skip past eren, scurrying over to unlatch the gate to your front garden as the two followed you in.

now your heart felt like it could melt. like– like a huge strawberry ready to burst! what did ony’ mean by that?  oh, how you felt like a dizzy little dove. luckily the dogs rushed up to you, excitable and ready to meet the new visitors who they eagerly sniffed. ony’ and eren were happy to roughhouse on sight laughing with the dogs and complimenting the patch of primula's you were trying to grow, the pretty pinki-ish flowers were just beautiful. you lead them through your home, overly conscious about each step you took while they surely eyed every nook and cranny of your decor. “um- y'guys need anything? I've got some snacks . . .”, “nah, we're good,” eren mumbled, sounding obviously distracted by their nosey observations of your living space. you hear the tone of your dryer going off just as you unlatch the netted back door that served as another layer next to the already opened wooden one. 

“holy shit,” ony’ whispered, your organization of the backyard was impeccable. clean and solid fencing around the cows, plants on the left with storage on the other. you left the two to walk out into the cold breeze that passed by as they observe the surroundings and the pile of wood waiting for them; all while you quickly rushed to the laundry room nearby to dislodge your clothing and stuff them into a basket. you hurry back out to join them.

“so, here's one of the other boxes i made,” you gesture to the dirty box filled with planted Spanish thyme, “i know it looks kinda wonky but, hopefully you guys can do better,” you offer an awkward laugh and sit on the back steps, legs crossed. 

eren and onyankopon share a look, then grab some planks bringing them more into your line of view with some of the tools nearby and sitting in the grass. even in your own home, you felt a little out of place. in silence, eren and ony’ shared alot of chemistry you didn't understand. despite this, what ony’ said on the way here never left your mind. “y'guys got alot ‘f experience . . . relationship-wise?” you scratch behind your ear. they worked separately lining up wood and nailing them into place, muscles working diligently. “mm, yea. ‘guess y'can say that ma',” eren glances at ony who hums low and offers you a small smile.

“it's jus’ that– ‘m thinkin’ ‘bout watchu said earlier . . .” you blink, fumbling, “unless that was like a joke ‘r somethin’—”

“i wasn't joking.” onyankopon confirms calmly, his jaw tight. you allow the silence to continue for a few beats, eyes flickering back and forth between the two and your hands petting the dogs that came to lay beside you. “we don't expect ya’ to jus’ trust us like that, missy,” eren offers gently, shoving his curls into a small bun and you nibble your bottom lip. 

ony's brows furrow and he's hammering the last few nails into his box before he speaks up. “how c'n we get to know you ma’? me n’ E’ been . . . chillin’ for over a year. since college, actually, n’ we been watchin’ y'too. w’dont expect you to feel the way we do in 10 minutes or even in a day. let us get t'know you.” you squint a little.

“y'serious?” your chest feels a little hot and you're praying to the gods you don't fuck this up. “c's i don't intend on gettin played wit’ ‘specially not out here, y’hear me?” and you don't mean to raise your voice a little, the sounds just flow out. “hey, hey now,” eren pushes his finished work aside and stands, tugging his overalls up, hands resting on his hips. “we don't got no bad intentions, sugar, chill wit’ us,” and you blink up at him, unmoved.

“m'kay, let's just say i decided to ‘chill’ wit’ y'guys,” you stand up, fold your arms and start, “what exactly are we g'nna do, hm?” you look back and forth between them, not missing the way your buttercup whines on the steps where she lay, evidently fed up with all the chatter. “y'got 3 seconds n’ don't say sex. one,” 

“who said anythin’ ‘bout sex?” ony’ joins you two as he puts the tools down, “two,” “yea, y'better shut that shit up. let's bake sumn together, show us around y'day, hang wit’ us at our ranch, talk about shit. fuck y’mean sex?” you stubbornly stay silent and stare. eren’s jaw bone pokes out with the way he clenches it. “we're not lookin’ for sex. if we wanted sex from you we coulda seduced you a long time ago, sugar,” he shrugs with a smile and you lick your lips, sighing. “okay, ‘m sorry. I’–I'm such a bad host,” you mutter out, “y'all want anything to eat? or some water.” you hear a low ‘okay’ from ony’ so you shuffle away to the kitchen to grab some bottles for them.

you tried to focus on the coldness of the bottles on the way back as a way to cool your temperament. “i moved out here wit’ intention ‘f startin’ fresh n’ shit.” you start, tossing them bottles before plopping yourself beside buttercup who nuzzled her cold nose into your thigh. the two men were sitting once again, evidently having spoken to each other in your absence.

your voice was shaky as you took a deep breath, garnering the courage to speak up for how you felt, “i'm tired of gettin’ dogged out, n’ played wit’ n’ allat bullshit.” you pout.

“‘m not exactly sure how gettin’ involved wit’ two handsom’ fellas is gonna help me figure out to– to i dunno, regulate m’ emotions.” you frown and shove some braids back behind your ear, “s’ like i damn near avoided it– i moved back t’the country damnit.” a sigh, “i cant just figure out how to adore n’ love– people again or if i'mma be able t'dish it out as much as before.”

“you get what i mean?” your ramble ceased as you finally look up from your focus on your knees and look back and forth between ony and eren. ony chuckles softly while eren offers you a smile and speaks up.

“we'll take it slow, you'n gotta ‘love’ anybody yet, mama,” ony nods at his words, “gotta build a friendship wit'chu first, we not playin’ ‘round.” 

♡

a week or so passes in which life goes by as normal. you spend your days busying yourself with gardening and grooming your animals, baking treats and new concoctions. the only exception is eren and onyankopon have somehow easily squeezed themselves into your life.

on your deliveries you hear, “howdy, ma',” they chase across their lawn and hop across the fence to drag you inside and sit you down in the warm house where the two eagerly pester you to try the . . . ‘shrimp alfredo’ they whipped up. 

thus, the two would end up in your kitchen, breathing over your hair whilst you instructed them on the proper technique. “naw, i don’ told E to do all'at,” onyankopon protests. so too do they pester mary-lou and your dogs, roughhousing and giving them baths much to their dismay.

through many experiences you learn, onyankopon isn't particularly fond of being tickled, or of wearing shirts. he stays shirtless almost all twenty-four hours of the day and you can only avert your eyes. eren is obsessed with overalls and has an array of them: gray ones, distressed ones, short ones, and he never buckles them properly.. on the ranch, the two gorgeous white haired horses were named armin and reiner, two friends they shared from college. sparkling like diamonds as you're given the opportunity to ride them each around the boys’ ranch in the golden sun. you'd also learned that the two were sexually . . . fluid, they'd called it. vaguely, they'd mentioned their sex lives and based on what they said you couldn't help but assume they were talking about each other. who else was there out here except you?

“yeeehaw! can't catch up, can'ya’?” eren howls and shouts as he trots across the ranch on his horse, ony lagging behind in the chase. here you sat on a wooden little bench near the steps of ony' and eren's ranch; clad in a simple white cropped tank and blue jeans with a chunky belt, your cream coloured cowboy hat sit pretty atop your head. a pretty calico cat licked at your bare feet and nudged you for pets. 

at this point, you felt yourself slipping. it was obvious by now you'd grown to enjoy each other's company and serious conversations were imminent.

what were we, how will the dynamics work, what would they expect from you? just then you felt a tap to your forehead.

“heya, girlie,” eren squats down before you to grab your attention, “watchu, thinkin’ ‘bout,” ony’ mumbled, toying with a toothpick between his teeth. 

you smack glossy lips together, “jus’. . . ‘bout us three y'know? how- like, where do we go fr'm here huh?” your eyes flutter, cheeks warming. you feel the silence actually, eren and ony’ are doing that stupid thing where they talk to each other with their eyes. 

butterflies flap their wings about, joyous as ever. it makes you smile a little, as you're beginning to grow nervous. “let's talk inside ma’,” onyankopon suggests, stepping past you into the house where eren follows. 

“me n’ ‘ren c'n take care ‘f each other n’ you, know that?” 

you all shuffle onto the dark gray couch in the living space. ony’ and eren's ranch had a deep modern aesthetic. dark oak accents adorned both the outside and inside, complimented by gray and brown shades of furniture. 

“i know that . . . ,” you pout, 

“so wassup,” eren stares you down, the emerald swirl of his eyes warmed your belly yet you couldn't maintain eye contact with him for long, eren just had that kind of stare without realizing it himself.

“‘m g'nna be frank, ion wanna impose on nothin’ y'folks got . . . n’ my past relationships ain't been the best.” you huff and continue, “‘m jus’ puttin’ that out there. i feel like we've been talkin’ for a while n' I'm fond of y'all.” 

“i jus’ don't wanna be the one to mess things up,” you finish in a whisper. 

onyankopon hums low and eren plays with his lip ring, “n’ das’ all, girlie?” he asks and pursed his lips, dimple deepening at that. you give a nod and a small ‘yup’ while intertwining your hands onto your knees that were pressed together. “y’ talk to us, we talk to you, got that? if it's an issue y'got: don't hesitate to let us know,” ony’ iterates.

eren makes a noise of agreement, “y’communicate everythin’ wit us, sugar, we're serious,” and you nod slowly. “‘kay . . . i get that,” your eyes feel a little wet with emotion, ones you're not too sure of yourself.

you were happy to hear them affirming their commitment yet still anxious for the future. regardless, you couldn't help but lurch forward, you grab the back of eren's neck to press a sweet strawberry jelly flavoured kiss to his cheek, leaving a baby pink glossy print on his cheek along with a loud ‘mwah’ as you smiled. similarly, you crawl over his lap to do the same to ony’ who only bit back a grin, gold capped teeth glistening in the light much like the glossed smudge on his face.

♡

inevitably came the days you'd call the ‘honeymoon’ phase in a relationship, except it lasted what felt like forever.

these days you preferred to be cuddled up in your bedroom, legs being warmed by a black, gray and white blanket you were committed to crocheting. with a couple dark, gloomy days where the usual creamy clouds frowned down on you, the animals often retreated to their pens and little beds of hay to seek warmed from stormy weather. buttercup and bently invaded each others personal space in their dog beds down at the living room, you smile a little at the thought.

“yeen gotta be like that, ony’,” you hear eren groan in a mischievous pout as the two men exit your bathroom smelling of your bath soap. onyankopon mumbles something of ‘’s a stupid idea’. you giggle under your breath, hands hard at work weaving and looping the thick yarn for the blanket. 

“ [  ] , watchu’ think, sugar?” eren plops himself onto the bed, “hm?” still fixated on your progress, ony’ huffs from his seat on the ottoman, lotioning his chest and arms then turning back to rub some excess onto eren's foot. “i told ony’, let's take the horses f’ a ride, ma’, he talkin’ bout ‘oh it's rainy’, i think it'll be chill,” he smiles big and winks expecting something of an applause for his great idea of fun.

“ion mind whateva’ y'guys wanna do, jus’ once we shower ‘gain after, ‘fore we get sick,” you shake your head at the thought. ony’ smacks his teeth, “c'mon, don't support him.” 

“what, playin’ in the rain is fun, baby!” you chuckle, eren simply props his head on his palm, enthralled by your meticulous work. regardless, he nods mindlessly in agreement at the discussion.

just like that, cowboy hats and boots were thrown on and you head down to the stables to round up the horses. ony’ and eren raced each other down to them before you could even get a word in. the thought reminded you of buttercup and bently who currently settled and slept with one's head atop the other.

the fresh rain smell hits your nostrils quickly, smelling of the humidity off the grass and pitch of the street. you could audibly hear the wind bristling about the bushes as it cooled your skin. all you wore was a thin white tank top, jeans along with your classic pink-brown boots to match your hat. eren and ony’ warmed up the horses, encouraging mary-lou to shake out her mane and trot a little. onyankopon was seated by reiner, rubbing at his legs to warm him a bit and doing the same to armin. of course, you stare unabashedly, his muscles (unclothed) bulged with each motion, waistline visible amid his jeans.

you stare so much so, that you don't even notice eren come up to your side to press a wet kiss to your neck, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives your ear a kiss too, “starin’ at my man, girlie?” he laughs boyishly and you swat him, “dat’s m’ man too, freak,” he gasps falsely at the insult and you speed off to grab the harness for mary-lou; ony’ pretends he didn't hear the bickering and mounts his horse.

“s’ not rainin’ all too much now, see?” eren comments, scooping his hair back into a low bun under his hat. the three of you clicked and clocked through the damp grass and onto the street, letting the drizzle of rain moisten your skin with each speckle. you gnaw at your bottom lip, lost in thought as you trail behind the two men. at the same time, another cold gust would brush past you three, drying your skin again. yet, as you flinch when a particularly large droplet mands on your cheek, the rain picks up again and you smile.

sometimes moments like these felt so good, connecting with nature and taking in the beauty of the weather. it didn't stop you from being distracted, eren's white wife-beater was getting soaked. the tattoos creeping up his side peaked through the material and stared right back at you. you bitr back a groan and cover your warming face with your palms, wiping it clean of rain, while eren and onyankopon fall back on their horses. the peaceful silence with nothing but the ‘tock’ of the horses’  hooves kept your mind wandering. 

now drenched, you could only imagine peeling off these clothes, a strap of your flimsy little tank top blew off your shoulder, and you felt the material sticking to the bulge of your breasts nestled in your black bra that now stood out ten times as much. god, you felt like a fuckin’ pervert. you couldn't even bring yourself to look down at your own chest, feeling scandalized enough. something about thinking of yourself in . . . near erotic situations such as this made your clit thump like a sweet little rabbit's nose.

nonetheless, you ignore it and allow the rocking atop mary-lou as she walks to distract you. onyankopon rides his horse nearer to yours and eren does the same, you gasp under your breath when ony’ nudges you. “wassup,” he murmured, “nothin’ ‘m jus’ distracted.” you comment plainly and eren huffs out a laugh beside you. 

all you do is stare down at mary-lou and pet her mane, the pulse between your legs pushed to the back of your mind. “y'so bad at lyin’, know that?” eren laughs, you blush and groan, “no ‘m not, shut up,” 

“chill, chill,” ony’ whispers, in his stupid, sexy, amazing, deep voice and you let out a big shuddering breath. as you're riding you feel ony's wet bicep brushing against yours. this had to be the end of you.

ony’ reaches an arm behind you, stretching to meanly pinch eren's shoulder. you're not sure what that meant but you didn't care to know. “where we ridin’ to?” you ask, rubbing glossy lips together. “mm, let's jus’ head to me n’ ony's ranch,” 

“kay,” you settle with that, sweet n’ soft.

“wanna race, jaeger?” ony’ slips in lowly, pulling ahead and looking back at you two with his. . . stupid handsome smile, “h- hey now, let's not–” and you're interrupted by shouts, “let's go!” eren pulls off.

you groan softly, hiking up mary-lou’s harness a bit as you begin to gallop behind the two men. the raindrops stung against your skin and you whined trying to catch up to the two and your breaths harsh. with each hard breath you let out you couldn't help but let it bubble up into laughter, you just felt so good. 

you felt giddy, blinking away raindrops that attacked at your eyes and racing past the two men, who yelled and called out to you, “yo, ma’ we gon' catch up,” ony's cowboy hat flies back behind his head, held up by the string beneath his string as he pulls the white horse forward chasing after you.

the three of you speed past grunge fencings and rosey bushes all bowing their heads now from the deluge. your tank top was completely soaked, and you imagine so was eren's when you pulled in the gates of their ranch and headed around back where you could free mary-lou to run around in the fenced horse enclosure.

you sit on the ground and linger near the side of the house by some plants, boots kicking about scattered hay and picking up sticky mud. eren and ony’ pull in the same time, wet chests heaving and eyeing you as they quickly hop off and lead their horses to the enclosure. “you win, watchu want?” eren huffs out, swinging his hat off and tossing it to the side, letting the rain seep into his curls. “hm?” you moan while rain kisses you, “i get a prize?” 

he nods and slumping down against the wall next to you and propping his arm on a plant. you take the time to stare at his pecs . . . light brown nipples peaking through at you. eren catches you staring, it forces you to look away quick and brush a wet braid out of your face just as ony’ arrives.

“yall chillin’?” 

“yea . . . mama's chillin’ alright,” eren smiles up at ony who lays in the grass beside you. “she baskin’ in her– win,” eren laments, reaching forward to tickle you and you bark out laughter lurching at him. his fingers pet your ribcage and you grab eren's shoulders, “what the– fuck! eren!” you squeal and wrangle with him. ony’ sits in the wet dirt beside you guys with his hands resting behind his head, basking in the rain and ignoring the shoves and pushes nudging him.

“i swear t’ god ‘ren, you– ack!” eren flips you on your back and you land hard with your head on ony's thigh while he wrangles your hands above your head. digging your feet in the ground for leverage couldn't help with the mud slipping beneath you. onyankopon only hums in amusement, watching you stop struggling beneath eren, your chests bouncing with gasps of air.

“you . . . y'know that's not fair, eren,” “i know what's not fair, sugar?” he stares you down, grip on your wrists tight with his chest pressing against yours. the swell of your breasts popped out of your tank top, glistening and sticky when it touched his skin. “mmm, you want somethin’?” he sucks his lip rings into his mouth teasing you, eyes wide and glossed over, throat drying. you lick your lips and slip from his grasp, sitting up and leaning your back onto ony's chest. just as you make that decision you swallow hard feeling his wet chest through your thin top. you wipe some wetness off your forehead evidently applying some mud that was on your arm to the spot.

you catch your breath, rubbing dirtied arms onto your shirt to clean them as best you could. you felt filthy but god, your fat little cunt ached laying in the dirt. 

“onyan'” you call out to the man behind you with your eyes trained on eren who simply sits back smiling impishly at you, “yea, sugar?” 

“wan’ m’ prize,” it comes out in a whine.

“yeah? ‘n what's that gon’ be,” he murmurs low in your ear, eren still hears him. you let out a ‘hmph!’ deep in your throat. then, you drag dirty hands against your tank top before peeling it off you and above your head, tossing it into some grass elsewhere.

crawling on your knees, ass arching in ony's direction, you gesture to eren with a finger, “come here, c'mon,” and you grab the back of his neck, kissing up his sweaty wet throat licking and sucking up anything your mouth touched. you press your lips to eren's, cold wet metal between you two when you let his tongue into your mouth, sucking it up when your lips lock hot.

eren groans into your mouth, hand gripping at your ass concealed by your jeans and he falls back into the mud. you reveled in the slick sound of your lips separating from each other, tuning out how soaked your jeans were getting in the rain. the ambient pelting sound on the rooftops only edged you on further, sitting in eren's lap.

“fuck, you're nasty,” eren mumbles against your lips when you pull away for a second, fingers toggling with the buttons on his jeans. he resists a big smile, elbows resting in the muddied dirt to hold himself up while you roughly tug his jeans down a bit. just enough room for you to reach his dick.

“see how she treatin’ me, ony'?” eren wipes rain off his nose, locking heavy-lidded eyes with onyankopon then down at you, “she roughin’ me up ‘cause she won,” he grumbles and you pull his cock out.

eren flinches when his dick is exposed to the rain, tan-brown tip oozing pre mixed with droplets. your knees dug into the mud beneath you, ass arching up. you stare shamelessly at eren's dick, letting the saliva build up about your tongue while you press a few kisses to the tip. his breath shudders above you, leaning his head back for the rain to fall on his face. “c'mon, pretty, do watchu want,” you grip him tight, feeling like your palm could memorize the girth and veins that popped out. then, tugging him up slightly, you slot your mouth in the gap between the bottom of his dick to his balls. sucking on the skin, you let you built up salivation drip down his balls, slurping the heavy sack onto your tongue.

you suck eren's balls into your mouth, swirling your tongue around mounds and his mouth drops open revealing his tongue ring. he grins, giving you a loud shameless groan, he was certainly showing off for ony’ who sit behind you watching. “suck it like dat, yea,” eren mumbles to you, licking the rainwater off his lips. he lets you have your way a bit more, focused on your features: the way the rain made your eyelashes clump together, the droplets sliding down your nose, to the spitty goop around your mouth all over his balls.

“c'mon, c'mon,” he pulls your mouth off him with a hand gripping the base of your hair, licking the splittle off your chin then kissing it into your mouth and swallowing your whines. “y' fuckin’ nasty, jaeger,” onyankopon mutters lowly behind you and eren bites back a smile. “filthy ass, take that shit off,” you up off your knees, flopping back on your ass where you fiddle with the buttons on your jeans. 

your cheeks burned, both eren and ony's eyes grilled into you and everywhere you touched got streaks of mud in it after having your hands dig into the sopping ground. on your arms, your boobs, eren's shirt. slowly, you shucked your jeans down, slipping them past your ankles along with your boots. your panties were stuck up your ass when you sit in some wet patches of dirty hay, tossing the jeans aside realizing you wore significantly less than the other two men with rain beating all over you.

eren and ony’ share a look then eren's the first to lurch forward gripping your legs with his muddied hands, pushing you back to lay in the dirt and kissing about the clear parts of your belly. he nips at the swell of your breasts in your bra, sucking and kissing wherever he saw fit. “er– eren,” he's prying your legs apart, pushing them ‘till your knees were besides your ears. “eren, stop–,” then he's plucking your panties out your ass and sliding them up your thighs, he stretches the thin little things beyond repair to sling them off your ankles. “what the fuck,” you whisper, eren's fucking unreachable n’ you're both staring at your fat puffy cunt. he takes a second to look to the side at ony’ before returning his attention to your pussy, sprinkles of water sliding down, yet the blubber of slick collected between your lips was noticeable.

the pretty thing was so fat your hardened clit could barely peak through. eren dips his tongue deep, digging at your hole then dragging his tongue through your folds illiciting a low gasp. the cold metal bar in his tongue nudged at your clit. he curled his tongue around the bundle of nerves, giving it a few flicks before spitting and licking another strop up your cunt. “feels– fuckin’ good, eren, oh,” you whimper, his gentle motions paired with the ambient beating of rain against your skin had you on a high. he shakes his head side in your cunt, arousal making sticky strings beside his cheeks as his nose nudges the fat of your pussy. “holy shit,” you press your head into the soft ground beneath you, eyelids fluttering shut when eren suckles softly on your clit. you hum and moan, licking your lips and feeling your head spin, “‘ren . . . oh my god,” he slurps noisily suctioning his mouth over your pussy, sucking hard over and over and over again relishing in the throb of your clit against his tongue.

“he knows, baby,” ony’ murmurs and your mouth drops open with a loud moan, his voice just did something for you. you felt the muscles in your legs twitch, itching to close them with each swipe of eren's tongue and swirling pleasure in your tummy. your hands dig into the dirt behind you, legs quivering.

“tastes fuckin’ good don't it?” he's mumbling and eren's groans into your pussy sends shockwaves against your clit, he nods vigorously. “ohh– shit,” you sit up on your elbows digging in the mud, hair soaked and heavy and your legs only spread wider; your eyes trained on eren's tongue making sloppy circles around the fat mound in your pussy.

eager, you slip your hands into eren's wet curls, stuffing his face into your cunt, “eren, eren– yea-ah!” his groans rumble in his throat and here came the fucking waterworks. your climax comes hard along with several slick kisses to your clit, beads of sweat and rain slipping down between a furrowed brow and a guttural moan ripping from your throat.

eren's mouth releases its latch onto you, your legs flopping into puddles of dirt beneath you. “prepped her f'you,” eren licks his lips and looks to onyankopon who sits there with a fat bulge beneath his jeans although unbuttoned.

“mm yeah?,” you both shuffle over to the wet patch of hay ony’ sat in, slightly less soaked albeit equally as muddy.

onyankopon gestures to eren with two fingers as he lifts himself up, brushing water from his face and allowing eren to take a seat against the wall. your eyes flicker between them, sitting with your butt resting on the heels of your feet feeling exposed. it doesn't help that eren reaches behind you to unhook your bra, your cheeks feel hot. nevertheless, you slip them off your arms.

onyankopon shucks down his jeans just below his ass,  “ [  ], come right here,” walking on your knees you shuffle forward to ony’ who puts a hand above the swell of your ass, pressing his bare chest to yours. ony's gaze is something serious, he bends his neck and clasps his lips to yours. it's slow, methodical and hot. onyankopon breathes deep and groans into your mouth. your body goes limp a little: drooping in his grasp and relaxing against his body as his tongue gently guided yours against his own. “mhm, okay . . . okay,” he presses a few kisses to your lips with a squeeze around your throat as he weans you off his mouth.

“turn ‘round,”

you whine, “w'nna look at'chu,” 

ony's unmoved, he swallows, “look at ‘ren, baby,” and he guides you as you turn in the slippery mud to arch your ass up to him, his palm glides down the small of your back deepening that arch while your head rests on your folded arms before you. the position makes it hard for you to focus properly on eren, you peep at him through your eyelashes.

your cunt is sticky, swollen lips bound together by the white film of your arousal after the orgasm eren gave you, and you feel ony's hands kneading your ass. he spreads them, watching your pussy lightly spread open with it. you hear his belt buckle jingle slightly as his hands continue to massage your back right along with the downpour. ony’ grips his cock in his hands, tugging the thick thing lightly a couple times. he catches eren staring as he pumps it harshly before pressing the fat tip against you. 

“fuuuck,” ony’ slaps his cockhead at your entrance letting it get coated by your arousal before slipping the first inch in slowly and already you're speechless. “holy– shit,” your cunt stretched to accommodate the girth and ony’ grips the curve of your back for leverage, letting out a guttural groan while slowly inching into you. 

he sits in it for a moment, allowing you just a moment to familiarize yourself with the fat pipe he just lay in you; then, he's pulling out slowly and pushing in again and you whine. “what the fuck,” you feel ony’ lean his weight over you, and you gasp as he starts smacking his hips to your ass.

paired with the wetness of the rain, his hips leave a stinging slap against you and you're faltering with your tits mushed against the mud. eren left your pussy sloppy, your cunt whipping up loads of cream slick around ony's cock and your mouth is just ajar. jaw tightening with shallow, whiny moans cascading past your lips, ‘ah's and ‘oh's are all the men hear. “mm, ony’,” you try to murmur, body giving way fully to the mud beneath and ony's grip on your tightens,”watchu’ want, hm',” he grumbles.

oh how he knows nothing of the way your clit throbs everytime his heavy balls slap against your cunt.

“wan'— wan’ it deeper, please,” and you gasp hard when ony’s hand comes up to your ass, digging his thumb into the curled rim of your butt before bringing a foot to the ground for leverage; his ankle beside your ear, you eagerly grab onto it. “got fuckin’ good manners, don't she?” he grunts out, and the other man nods. 

onyankopon gives you two warning strokes, pressing his cock to the hilt and curling his thumb inside your ass and you feel overwhelmed. then, you gasp in a loud sob  as ony’ starts drilling his cock deeper into you, his hips smack you hard and his weight presses you everytime he drives his cock in. “fuck, fuck–,” you're squealing, hands draw digs into the mud as you can't help but writhe against the mud. “feel good?” you all but whine in response, “feel fuckin' good?” “ye- yes!” you mewl out. ony’s muscles contract and you can see it in his leg, intent on keeping you from sliding away from him under the soaked muddy slop.

the noises are . . . obscene. pornographic bursts of air shooting out amidst the stirring up of your melting cunt and your cheeks burn with embarrassment along with fresh tears streaming but you're breathless. “so fuckin’ loud,” ony’ mumurs,  his lips curling into a smile when he hears the noises you make.

“m’– fuck, m’ sorry,” you weep and your walls squeeze ony’ tight. you feel a glob of slick collect at the tippy top of your cunt, the fat bulge of your clit and stickily drip down onto the ground with each rock of your bodies. “takin’ m'shit fuckin’ good, sugar,” onyankopon drawls low and you sob.

you hear him whistle above you and with  a quickness eren's pants come into view. he sits, legs spread with his groin in line with your face against the ground. he scoots forward enough so he can lift your head and replace the mud beneath your nose with the musk of his balls. “‘ren, ‘ren, ren,” you're chanting, itching for your orgasm approaching with each quick and sloppy drag of cock in you. “m” right here, girlie,” ony's pummeling you from behind and your drooly mouth now has eren's pretty tanned cock slapping against it. “holy– fuck, hng- shit,” you mutter out before you're latching your lips onto eren's tip, inviting him into your mouth. he controls it, gripping your braids and rocking your head onto his dick.

“c'mon, c'mon, takin’ that shit s'fuckin’ good,” eren praises when he starts to snap his hips into your mouth, matching ony's strokes. he strokes your soaked hair gently, juxtaposing the nasty aggression each rock of his hips brought. you gagged, muffled, globs of spit streaking down your chin as you relaxed your throat for eren's dick. in the same way, you're making a mess on ony's cock, coating his length in hot creamy release that trickled down your own cunt. “she's fuckin’ creamin' on it, E',” and you moan when eren laughs cruelly above you, “cream on y’fuckin’ cock, ma’,” he grunts.

each drag of cock against the ridges of your cunt, the slosh of your mouth had you moaning in a frenzy. “was’ ya’ problem, huh?” eren groans out, and onyankopon knows exactly what your problem is.

“mama's bout to fuckin’ nut, huh?” he can feel the extra squeeze around his cock and rolls his neck to let some rain coat his face and distract him from his own ache. they listen to how you squeal around eren's cock, hands grabbing at his jeans and ony’ pumps his thumb into your ass consistency. 

“mmm, fuck,” onyankopon hums, angling himself so the curve of his cock digs at you just right, and he smiles: satisfied when you start to squirm and fuss beneath him. eren pulls you off and you sob, coughing a little to clear your larynx. you whimper as eren all but ruts against your face. “keep her right fuckin’ there,” ony’ groans and you grasp onto eren's jeans, cunt twitching with each movement yet eren forces your shoulders back to keep your body where ony’ wants you: daggering his cock into you with a forcefull quickness that eren's rutting mimics. 

“ohmygod, oh!” you blubber out, chanting ‘shit, shit, shit's

“gon’ leave you fuckin’ gapin’, quit playin’,” and you weep.

your hips twitch and you feel the knot in your stomach stiffening, “wan’ you're cum, want y'all's c–cum, fuckkk,” wail into eren's skin and take his cock back into your mouth just as your cunt spurts and your ears feel clogged from the rush of blood to your abdomen. “take it, take it, take that cum, baby,” eren groans. you felt light-headed, stars twinkling at you around the edges of your vision as your eyes rolled and soon you were forced to blink away the brain fog to swallow the thick loads eren gushes into your mouth. 

he whines, unabashedly and onyankopon gives you a couple more strokes before his cock is digging into you to bury his surge of cum into you with a hiss.

eren falls back, letting you catch your breath and stroking rain away from your face. ony’ pulls out quick before you start to get sore, giving your cunt a few wet slaps before eren's pulling your limp aching body onto him to give you some relief. “gotchu’, gotchu’.” he consoles.

“c'mon, E,” ony’ rushes, “huh?”

“gotta’ get out the fuckin’ rain,” he puffs out a laugh before he's lifting you off eren. they both try not to slip in the mud, hurrying off into the ranch for long hot showers.

[nayafanfic]

Can you do rotb Optimus (Or whatever bot you feel like) x platonic human single mom reader? Reader moves to the countryside and tries to start a farm to feed herself and her five-year-old kid. She notices strange happenings around the woods, like large footsteps, and strange vehicles driving on the roads, and has a feeling there's something in the woods (maybe just the bots trying to hide from humans). One day, reader looks away just for a second and her kid wanders off, getting lost in the woods. Reader looks for her kid desperately and her kid wanders too close to a cliff, ending up falling, but Optimus saves the kid just in time. He then carefully returns the kid and reader is confused when her kid constantly talks about 'Mr. Truck', making a drawing of this giant red-blue robot. However, reader then starts to believe in the possibility of Mr. Truck being real and one day finding Optimus with one of his injured Autobots. Reader is not scared and helps fix his friend, even offering them to stay in her barn. Then maybe that's just the start of a beautiful friendship?

(Sorry, if this is a bit long. You are free to ignore it.)

(platonic) Optimus prime x single mom reader

You lived alone, even though a few years ago it seemed impossible. Completely hypnotized by love, you hadn't seen the red flags. Always on the couch, yelling at you for any little mistake or letting you do all the chores.

The final straw was the slap on your face during one of many arguments, that night you left with a bag on your back.

Now 5 years later, you live in a small house with your adorable son and your 2 dogs. The little house is in the middle of 2 field of various vegetables (Tomato, cucumber, carrot, lettuce, wheat and recently, spinach). At the back of the house, is the mini farm with some animals.

But, even though you were fulfilled and exhausted from your new life, you noticed a strange event.

1- There are very few cars that pass in front of your house, but when there are, they are always the same ones. A large red and blue truck, another yellow, a pink motorcycle and another blue and white that drives like crazy (he already ate a stick, because he was driving fast and almost hit one of the chickens).

2- You noticed Mr. Truck's huge footprints? Finally, that what your baby boy has been saying since he got lost in the forest.

This day you will remember for the rest of your life. Everything was going so well, he was playing outside while you were fixing your old truck and in a second he was gone.

You spent the day looking for him, shouting his name and even sending your dogs at him. Until night fell and he reappeared out of nowhere. Never before you had cried, been relieved and angry at the same time other than at that moment. When you started to go home, he started talking about his experience with a big smile.

-Mom, when I fell in a water, a BIG robot picke me up!

-When did you fall? Where did you fall darling? And a big robot, that must have been so impressive! As a mother, you played into his game (thinking he was just talking nonsense).

After that day, he didn't stop talking about him, drawing pictures and dreams of the big Mr. Truck.

At first you thought it was just his imagination, young people have an extremely overactive imagination. But, It became so intense that you started to believe it.

So for good measure you installed fences all over your home (as if it would protect you, but also to prevent your son from returning there after his 5th attempt to run away).

But now you know it is real, because what is in front of you is the same thing in his drawings.

You had heard loud noises in the forest, so you went there and thought that one of the cows had run away again. Your son had already been sleeping for a good hour so there was no chance of him waking up, you took the shotgun, put on your boots and go outside.

Optimus didn't mind seeing you, he had been watching you since he meeting your little sparkle, but only to protect you of course. And usually at this time there is no more light in your home otherwise he would never have come near your home.

But now with a wounded Bumblebee, and no other protection he wasn't sure if you were a bad person or not, you were armed after all.

He didn't know how to act, should he talk to you or say nothing? The only thing he was sure of was that not a single bolt in his body moving. And you, damn it, you didn’t move more than an inch either.

the gun is held tightly in your hands trembling from the cold and the fear.

Your eyes were fixed on his glowing blue orbs until movement behind him caught your attention. The yellow bot was starting to lose consciousness due to his loss of blood. The larger robot turned towards him and tried as hard as he could to stop the bleeding while keeping his eyes on you.

Seeing what is happening in front of you, you remembered what he had done for your son, so taking a deep breath you gently placed the gun on the ground and began to walk towards it.

-My son, talk my about this day. In fact he doesn't stop talking about this day. Your laugh caught the attention of Bumblebee who hadn't even noticed you were walking towards him.

-He told me that you saved him from a fall, no? The cliff north of my house, the one overlooking the lake?

Now with the two of them looking at you closely and this close to the yellow robot you can see his wound, a hole on his cables. It looks quite serious, as a strange substance is coming out of the place in big quantities.

The big blue had all his attention on you again. -Yes, it was me. His serious and deep tone made all your body vibrate with fear? no, with surprise? You don't even know how you feel about yourself at the moment.

So, as a normal and intelligent person, your first action was to take off your shirt and place it as delicately as you can at the level of the hole and putting pressure on it. Then in a sure and calm voice you reassured them.

-So it's my turn to help your family now, Mr. Truck, everything will be fine.

[bettyfrommars]

Welcome Back to The Nightmare Factory

Steve's Version

m a s t e r l i s t

Blurb 1

Nightmare!Steve x fem!Reader

word count: 2.2k

18+ONLY, lurking monsters, night terrors, star-crossed lovers

Author's Note: Hi, I've missed you. Until now, we've only explored this world with Nightmare!Eddie, but it's time to throw Steve into the mix. Different reader, of course, and I plan to jump around to random scenes as this progresses; it shall not be a linear experience. Nightmare Steve is a biker Steve hybrid that will often cross over into the world of Hawkeye that I created for my biker!Steve au.

Also, you do not need to have any knowledge of the original Nightmare Factory or biker Steve to enjoy this xoxox

You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting on the bench under the bus stop awning, but the sun was sinking on the horizon and the air vibrated with the promise of rain.  A drizzle dotted a few fine pinpricks on the sidewalk, yet you could feel a damp chill seeping in through your bones as if you were already soaked.  

Across the street between monochrome, saltbox roof houses, stood an old brick building.  A flickering neon sign out front had the outline of a purple hand on it, palm out announcing Psychic Readings in a mustard yellow that rivaled the melting sun beyond. 

You looked down at your wristwatch, only to realize you weren’t wearing one, and then checked up and down the empty street. Just when the thought occurred to you that there were no other humans around, the flutter of a curtain in one of the houses across the way caught your eye.

Maybe the buses stopped running at dusk and you’d missed the last one.  But then, how would you get…to wherever you were going? 

“It’s never on time,” a voice next to you spoke up, making you jump.

You were certain that there had not been anyone sitting on the bench with you a second ago.

“The bus, it’s never on time,” she repeated. The woman had short, dark blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a spray of freckles across her nose, and a restless smile tugging up the side of her mouth. “There is always a lot of traffic at the factory on Fridays.”

“The factory?” You cocked your head, trying to understand. 

The last offering of fuchsia in the sky flickered and was gone in a blink, erupting a sudden fear in your gut at the loss of light. The fresh blanket of cold made your toes cramp, as if they’d met with one of those icy pockets in sunless, concrete corners.  

The woman kept the side of her face to you at all times, never turning to look at you straight on.  You had this crazy notion that perhaps the other side of her didn’t exist.  

The sight of a motorcycle approaching warmed your heart and your guts for some reason, and you hoped that the bus was not far behind.  The rider inched to a halt at the curb in front of you, stomping one booted foot down to steady himself, engine grumbling.  In the amber glow of the single streetlamp, you were able to get a look at him.

Wearing sunglasses at night, he raked a big hand through his head of thick, unruly hair, and reached up to light the smoke that was held between his lips.  The lighter’s flame let you see the square line of his jaw and that the tattooed lettering on the knuckles of one hand spelled LOVE.  He wore leather and denim, with a red shirt, and he tipped his chin to you before turning to the other woman on the bench. 

Behind him, the neon psychic sign blinked furiously as the bus in question crawled into view.

”Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the other one on the bench, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth. 

“Of course,” she stood to button her coat.  “Beers are on you this Friday.”

“Remind Eddie if you see him, I might be running late again.” He hadn’t gestured to you, but somehow you knew that you would be the one to make him run late.

The bus rattled closer; it was filled with blue light and odd, dark shapes.

“Are you ready?” The man on the motorcycle tossed the smoke to the pavement and extended his hand to you.  “Jump on.”

You got to your feet and hesitated, trying to figure out where you knew him from.  

“But I’m waiting for—-”

At that, the air brakes on the lumbering passenger vehicle hissed, coming to a stop, and a cloud of fog billowed up around it.

“You were waiting for me,” Steve tipped his chin at you. "I made a promise."

At another glance, you saw through the windows that it was crowded in figures wearing black shrouds, shuffling forward at the sight of you.  They were moaning with unspecified longing that somehow translated into the creepiest sound you’d ever heard.  Gasping, you took his hand, and he pulled you close, urging you on the seat behind him.  

“I got you,” he whispered.

On the bench, Robin filed her fingernails with an emery board, blowing a pink bubble with her gum like she hadn’t a care in the world.  

You held onto Steve’s leather jacket to swing your leg over the bike, zipping your torso flush to his warm back.

Behind Robin stood an endless sea of the same shrouded creatures, clustered dead still in the night as if being actively born from it.  Some had antlers, some had hunched backs, and others were impossibly tall and thin. Lining up front to back and shoulder to shoulder, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, collectively withering one long, low growl.  

You hugged him frightfully close, squeezing your eyes shut to bury your face in the back of his neck.  He smelled like warm summer rain, damp earth, campfire smoke, and a zest of vanilla spices.  Safe, I'm safe.

He revved the throttle and told you to hang on tight, but you wavered, checking to find that the army of faceless ghouls were right there—they’d been yards away, but now they were within arm's reach, hovering.

But then you were in the wind, head forced back by the velocity, choking on a scream, whimpering unintelligible pleas into the leather of his jacket.

He shifted gears and it felt like you’d entered some type of warp speed, engine humming between your legs.  Eyes shut tight, you swore you felt sharp swipes of skeleton hands at your back and heard the shrieking wails of defeat as the masses lumbered to catch up.

The flap of enormous wings sounded as a few took to the sky, but Steve shifted again, lowering his head.  “Don’t look,” he begged.  “Soon they won't be able to touch us.”

Back at the bus stop, the door to the bus squealed open, and Robin did not look up from picking a piece of skin from her cuticle.  

“Good luck with the next one, Dickie,” she said to the driver who hulked in his seat like Mothman, one clawed hand clutching the wheel.

Dickie looked from Robin to the road ahead and back a few times, trying to understand what was happening, before sinking his wings with a sigh.

“Do you need a ride, sugar?” His voice was usually deep and bellowing on the job, but just then it came out in a comically high-pitched southern accent.  

—---

The first time you met Steve, he’d been waiting in the corner of your bedroom.  

Waiting for you to go to sleep.

But you were up late watching Ewoks: The Battle for Endor on the small, VCR combo TV that was perched on your dresser.  The violet crescents under your eyes hinted to the lack of sleep you’d been getting the past few months.  You’d been having a bad rash of nightmares, and if you didn't know any better, you’d think you'd been specifically targeted somehow.  

This was not the first time you’d unknowingly had a movie night with shadow Steve, but it was the first time you’d felt his presence.  He was nothing but a dust mote of a glimmer, but still, you stared right at him, and asked if anyone was there.

Had he made a sound? Had he accidentally snickered a bit too loud at the giddy Ewoks? Or were you starting to sense him though the cosmic barrier that kept you in different worlds?

It made his heart stall for a second, mouth agape, and a hand outstretched, ready to come clean.  To let you know that he wasn’t just some creep off the street, that he was just doing his job—but of course you couldn’t see him.  If he ever got the chance to explain it all to you, he’d let you know that the two of you were on different channels of reality.  Like switching stations on a radio, he could tune into you, but you didn’t know how to tune into him.  

So, there was no way that you could…

“Back again I see,” you hummed, turning to face the screen from where you sat propped up against the headboard in your pajamas.  “Where will you be hovering tonight? On the ceiling or at the foot of the bed?” 

Were you talking to him? As far as he could tell, you were the only two in the room.  

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, defiantly.  

Did you really mean it, or were you trying to convince yourself?

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” but even as he stepped forward, he knew the effort was fruitless.  

The sound of a barely audible whisper made you turn the volume on the tv down.

Okay, before you’d been bluffing, but that time you really heard something.  

Flinging the covers off to jump out of bed, you spun around, wielding the remote out in front of you like a weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.  No one. Just you and all of the nightmares you’d been having about paralysis demons pinning you down and sucking out your soul.

A horrifying thought occurred to you then that maybe they’d followed you out of your dreams and into the waking world.  

You tossed the remote back onto your bed, spinning around to address the room.  “If you have something to say to me, do it now.  Don’t be a fucking coward and wait till I'm asleep.”

Your declaration was met with nothing but the garbled conversations on the TV.

It took a while for you to finally get to sleep, but once you did, that’s when the rattling on your closet door started.  It was just a few scratches at first, coming from the inside, but then the doorknob wiggled.

Steve stepped out of the corner and walked—nay, floated.---around to the other side of your bed to act as a barrier between you and whatever was coming out of the closet.  The beeping on his watch told him you were entering a deep sleep; he’d also draped an invisibility layer down just in case you did happen to wake up during the confrontation.

The closet door creaked, opening an inch, just enough for three long and meaty, hairy fingers to curl into sight.

“Wrong room, genius,” Steve said curtly.

The door propped ajar just enough so that one big, milk white eyeball could peer out.  “Steve?” A garbled voice whispered.  “I thought you were at the abandoned hospital with Hopper tonight?”

“I was,” Steve answered.  “But now I’m here, asking you not to bother with this one.”

The big eye twitched, blinking a few long blinks.  “Whatever you say, dude. I’ve got better places to be.”

Whispers tickled at your ears, as if someone was having a conversation nearby, but not close enough to fully comprehend the words.  

You heard the name Steve.

So then you muttered it outloud: “Steve?”

Shocked, he spun around, staring at your parted lips.  But then a snore escaped from the back of your throat, and he eased back.  

“I won’t let them bother you,” was what he said, and you believed him.  Whatever that meant.

—-----

The motorcycle began to slow, and you took the opportunity to check behind you, slumping with relief to find that the highway was empty.  Lined with evergreens on either side, the road shot straight out behind the two of you into ominous, smoky oblivion, as if there had never been a town or a Psychic sign or a bus stop.  

Steve knew he was cutting it close, his time with you would be over soon, but he wanted to take you out and show you something cool, maybe even impress you.  He’d told you about the crimson-colored lake before, about how you could see Mermaids and all manner of sea creatures.  It didn’t make sense that they were all in a lake, but still, there it was.

“Have you ever seen a mermaid in real life before?” He asked over his shoulder, shouting above the wind.  

You hadn’t, not that you were aware of, anyway. Everything felt so real, it hadn’t even occurred to you that perhaps you weren’t even in the real world.  

“Well, don’t talk to them, and don’t look at them for very long,” he warned.  “They’ll bite your face off as easily as wink at you.”

You nodded, taking in that information.

“I want to show you where—-”

But then the road dropped off at an abrupt cliff edge that appeared to jut straight down into a sea of stars.  It was like a reflection of the sky above.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—” Steve yelled as the bike caught air.

You were going down, falling into the ether of nothingness, and you couldn't tell if the blood-curdling scream you heard belonged to you or someone else.

You clung to Steve while you plummeted down through the infinite space of some unknown universe, about to crash and burn. 

Was this it? Is this how you die? 

In bed, your eyes flew open with a jolt, clutching a pillow to your chest like you might’ve once held onto a boy for dear life.  The pillow smelled like warm summer rain, campfire smoke, and vanilla spices.

After a few blinks, you realized that was the first time you’d slept all through the night without being forced awake by terrors in a very long while.  

-----

Thank you for reading, and much love to those of you who have enjoyed this world from the start. Now that I'm writing again, I'm working on a very special chapter for Nightmare Eddie as well that I can't wait to share with you.

[yellowjacketsfashion]

If you haven’t already, can you pls do teen Nat’s leather jacket? Ty

Sure! I haven’t been able to find an exact match for it but here is what I’ve been able to find:

Something that I think is important to consider is that the jacket Natalie wears is consistent throughout the entire show. This is crucial because a lot of clothing items from the Pilot (especially things worn in the plane crash) were later switched out in future episodes. I bring this up because in the Pilot the costume department used vintage pieces and I believe that Natalie’s jacket is one of those vintage pieces.

The jacket Natalie wears is definitely worn and distressed so I think that it’s more likely caused by years of use (like a vintage jacket would be) rather than it being something the costume department did to a modern jacket (especially as Marie Schley said they used one of the costume designer’s old combat boots for Natalie in the Pilot rather than actually distressing a new pair due to time constraints).

Plus the diamond zippers Natalie’s jacket has (seen in the picture above) were a lot more common in vintage jackets than it is today (the only modern ones I’ve been able to find with them were ones emulating vintage styles).

Hers also seems to be lined with an orange or yellow lining as seen in the photo above (look inside the cuffs and just beneath the collar).

Out of all the kinds of leather jackets, those from the 50s-60s seem to be in a style that most resemble Natalie’s.

Here are some examples of some Close Matches:

Above: 1950s Guide Master by Wolf of Boston "Steerhide" Leather Biker Jacket.

This one probably looks the most similar to Natalie’s, the pockets match up and the liner is the right color. The belt is different and the shoulder detailing also seems to differ from that of Natalie’s jacket.

Above: vintage "Sears Roebuck" Fraternity Prep Leather Steerhide Motorcycle Jacket.

Just like the Guide Master jacket the zippers and linings of this jacket match up with Natalie’s. The belt and shoulder detailing also appear to be different. I don’t have a picture of the back of Natalie’s jacket to compare but I think the bottom of it is also different.

Above: 1950s grais leather motorcycle biker jacket.

This jacket has the right lining and zippers but has an extra pocket as well as different shoulder detailing. The belt is also a little off.

There’s other jackets that also look similar but these were just a few I found online. I’ll keep my eye out to for the exact one Natalie has but hopefully this helps in the meantime! (Also sorry this took a while it was initially hard to narrow it down).

[incorrectbatfam]

Who would get snapped by Thanos?

(also on Ao3)

Of all places, he was buying fucking cigarettes when it happened.

Jason was digging through his wallet when the woman behind him suddenly screamed. He whirled around and—

Hang on, didn't she have a kid with her? He could've sworn there was a toddler whining about candy just now. But when he looked, his eyes were met with a pile of dust and the lady staring at her hand, face pale.

Behind her were a group of teenagers. The shortest one—couldn't have been more than 14—turned to the others and said, "Guys, something's wrong." But before anyone could react, his skin cracked and he crumbled to pieces, leaving his friends scrambling.

The cashier dialed the police. Someone demanded to know what was going on. Without his helmet or guns, it wasn't as though Jason could say he got this all taken care of. Cigarettes forgotten, he slipped away from the crowd and called Bruce.

No answer. So he tried again, and on the third time he left an expletive-filled voicemail before hopping on his bike.

He zipped past the changing signals and swerved around the three-car pileup forming as he tried Dick's number. But all he got was that godawful singsong voicemail that Dick recorded years back.

That was two down already.

No.

No, he wasn't gonna think like that. Those two knuckleheads were fine. Hell, with a family of detectives, they were probably cracking the case as Jason broke a red light.

He picked another number.

It clicked.

"Roy, are you—"

"Jason." Roy's ragged breathing almost made his words unintelligible. "It's Lian. She—she..."

"It's happening everywhere," Jason said. "I don't know who's behind this but I'm gonna keep you updated."

There was nothing on the other line. Not a breath or panicking keen. His heart dropped.

"Roy?"

After several attempts, he had no choice but to hang up.

He didn't even wait for his motorcycle to stop completely, dumping it next to the others.

"Guys?"

The Cave was far, far too quiet. Jason grabbed his domino and a batarang lying on a bench.

"Hello? Anyone?"

He stuck a comm in his ear. It crackled to life.

"Guys, we have a situation. Is anyone reading me right now?"

Silence.

He spotted a familiar wheelchair in front of the glowing Batcomputer and let out a sigh of relief.

"Oracle! I'm glad you're—"

But there was no red hair or keyboard clacks to go with it. A steaming coffee cup was tipped over, soaking a case file and dripping onto the floor.

Alfred had to be okay. He's Alfred.

Jason raced upstairs, almost missing the three piles on the couch with purple, yellow, and orange video game controllers buried among them. In the cat bed is another one. His lunch crawled up his throat, but he swallowed it down and moved to the next room.

"Alfred?" His boots echoed through the halls with each step. "Anyone here?"

He checked the kitchen, but it wasn't Alfred he found. Rather it was Damian, staring at his ash-covered fingertips just like the lady at the store.

"They were right here." Damian's voice trembled. "Me and Cain and Pennyworth, we were talking and... and..."

He stumbled forward. Jason caught him.

"I got you. I got you." He wrapped his arms around the kid.

"Akhi?"

Something about it made Jason's blood run cold.

"I don't feel so good."

"Don't say that. You're fine." He squeezed tighter.

"I—I don't want to go. Not again." Damian's fists—oh God, they're so tiny—clung to Jason's shirt.

But all the pleading in the world amounted to nothing as the atoms of his baby brother slipped through his fingers. And even though it felt like everything was bubbling to the surface, he couldn't scream or cry out. All he could do was kneel there, numb, wondering who would have the audacity.

After who-knows-how-long, he felt Ace nuzzle against his ribs.

"You're still here."

"Arf!"

"You're right." Jason swiped the tears from his face and stood up. "Fetch me my guns. There will be hell to pay."

[mrowtastic]

Ok I had a cool Idea about a dp x dc au that i want to throw out here.

The story takes place after the show. Everyone is in their early-mid twenties, (I'm thinking the Trio is around 22-23 and Jazz 26-27, depending), Everything that happened in the show happened here. It's been over five years now and Team Phantom is a well-oiled machine of ghost kick-assery.

The Drs Fenton are retired from the ghost hunting business. Inventing new gadgets and theories is their game and they enjoy it. They have gladly passed the torch to their two kids that they are so so proud of. (Maddie insists that they call at least once a week to chat).

Everyone has stuck together. Amity is healthier (ghost-wise) and is particularly peaceful. The gang goes to the same college (take your pick, i prefer Gotham thanks to ghosty biz), and realize just how much their ghostly know-how is needed outside of Amity. (Maybe Gotham calls in a favor and asks them to [spiritually] clean up her streets to help with the strain of everything?).

Team Phantom comes out of retirement to address the spiritual turmoil, hunt down naughty ghost, help the dearly departed to the other side, and steal mementos, haunted artifacts, and other dangerous occult items best left to the dead. The more morally-grey parts of the job force the Team into stealth mode. They work mostly at night but can work during the day depending on the mission. In order to stay anonymous they have motorcycles (with their assigned colors, the sporty kind) with helmets. (I'm imaging so many motorcycle chasing scenes. Maybe the Fentons invent a ghost whip that snags ghosts mid-chase? That sounds cool).

It's easy to get what they need between Sam's and Danny's wealth, Tucker's programming skill, Danny's engineering skills, Jazz's organizational skills, and Sam's ability to see the big picture. It's just like old times.

In a sense they make themselves a superhero group. To everyone else, however, they have come out of nowhere and are way to skilled to be newbies. It has the bats and other heroes scratching their heads. Shenanigans ensue. Constantine loves them and loathes them in the same breath. The Bats are running in circles because How do they keep getting away?

Everyone gets a superhero identity:

Danny: Sticks with Phantom. I know, boring, but no one outside of Amity really knows about him. (I'm thinking an info blockade from the government like in so many fics). He specializes in all the ghostly, magical parts of their exploits. Anything that needs to be done regarding ectoplasm and weird symbols is his business. Also is the only one able to make chemicals needed for their weapons and handle a hammer for repairs to equipment. I imagine him in either a black trench coat or motorcycle jacket with combat boots, black jeans, and regular black t-shirt. He wears goggles like Maddie's. (Like mother, like son). They make him look unhinged.

Sam: I'm leaning towards the name Thorn? She's the sharpshooter. The muscle. She can and will crack your head between her thighs and possesses 90% of the trio's impulse control (in most situations). I imagine her in knee-high, laced up, goth boots, leggings and killer skirt with a leather jacket and crop top. Her colors are still black, purple, and green. She is SWOLE. I love her.

Tucker: Now, I'm not sure what his name would be but he's basically the field tech. Having an on-site hacker is super useful. He's got twenty ways to get into every building. Security means nothing to him. He's great at stealth (not counting Danny cause ghost powers) and is great at thinking on his feet. His color are black and orange. Instead of wearing his red beret and yellow shirt duo he wears sneakers, tech glasses, a motorcycle jacket with a hoodie attached.

Jazz: Prophet is her codename. She's the lady in the chair. Tucker may make the programs that run the computer, but only Jazz can run them efficiently. She gets them where they need to go, gets them out of tough situations, gets info, assists Tucker, and so much more. Also, I want her to fly a ghost jet. I dont know why but she would be so cool doing it.

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

ELLOOoOOO!

Coming in cause I got very curious about asking this, what if everyone had a pet companion? What would they assist on? 🩷

CAINE: yellow Indian ringneck parrot (BananaPhone) He's even more of a companion than Bubble. At least he's down to party and doesn't sass Caine anywhere near as much. Caine can yap about whatever and Banana chills with a treat.

POMNI: golden retriever (Cade) He keeps Pomni calm. Best therapy dog in the digital world. He also distracts her with play.

RAGATHA: blue and purple beta fish (Button) The little fish knows all her secrets. She doesn't go to anyone with her problems, so she talks to her fish. Button swimming around without a care in the world is relaxing.

JAX: ferret (@#$&head) This feral noodle rat is the biggest pain in his ass, but he wouldn't trade the stinky living slinky for anything. The ferret is just as much of a troublemaker as Jax.

GANGLE: white cat (Hana) The most chill cat. Little ball of fluff that loves to cuddle in Gangle's lap and purr contently. But ONLY Gangle. She runs from everyone else, including Zooble.

ZOOBLE: pancake tortoise (Pancake) He eats. He sleeps. He gets shell scrubs. Zooble is envious of this simple existence. She wishes her head could be empty sometimes.

KINGER: All of the insects in his collection. They used to be Queenie's. He promised to take care of them and grow the collection like she did. He collects insects from almost every track.

GUMMIGOO: gummy snake (Tucker) The only thing he brought with him when he was taken from the Candy Canyon track was his pet gummy snake. He's blue and green. He doesn't do much, but Gummigoo's reminder of where he came from. (In a good way)

LOO: white mouse (Sprinkle) She found this little creature wandering the garage and nibbling at her shoe. The little thing was just hungry. She fed him straight from the dining table and the mouse stuck around. It rides around on her shoulder. They like to feel tall.

SETH: tortoise shell cat (Eve) He came across this cat on a track he was stalking to go after Kinger. She kept rubbing against his boot and wouldn't leave him alone. He put her on the front of his motorcycle and raced against Kinger with the cat clinging for dear life. He thought that would be enough to scare her away, but she didn't leave. He respects her gumption, and stole her away to the in-between.

ABEL: giant African snail (AJ) He had one of these in his real life. The only pet he could ever make time for. It's hypnotic to watch AJ eat his little bits of food, the way he consumes by overwhelming and taking small bites.

[onlyseokmins]

biker!wonwoo who revs his motorcycle's engine at 3am every. single. morning. in the new apartment complex you moved into.

it's a sputtering annoyance, pain in the ass, and a total nemesis for you who has to wake up at 5am for work. you thought moving closer to the city and lessening the commute would allow for more sleep but you were sorely mistaken.

but you can't move out because this is only a recent thing! everything was fine and dandy for a whole month and you cannot believe you were duped like this.

so, after the third week of being woken up by an engine rather than your alarm two hours later and occasionally missing your phone going off altogether once you fell back asleep again - you decide to do something about it.

after getting home from work, you stomp over and knock on the door that corresponds to the motorcycle parked outside it before you lose your nerve. there's no answer and wonwoo, the owner himself, darkly watches the way you play with your jewelry nervously while waiting on the porch from his smartphone.

"who's that pretty thing?" vernon teases, leering over the man's shoulder only to laugh and walk away when the older man flips him off, middle finger's black nail polish all chipped.

a couple hours later, he leaves the rowdy bar with a smirk still on his face after having watched you flounce away - but not without slapping a hand resolutely on his door one last time. strolling up to his building, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, wonwoo's tongue pokes his cheek playfully at the bright yellow sticky note left behind.

"I figured you might be asleep given how late you're out and about at night. however, I ask if you could please try to be more considerate of your neighbors sleeping - kindest regards :) "

he hangs it on his empty fridge.

and you think it worked. it's been nice and quiet at night, able to wake up significantly well-rested and in a better mood. even your coworker seungkwan is surprised when you don't snap at him for talking about his third kid on the way.

until two weeks later and you're awoken rather rudely not just by one revving motorcycle - but many. repeatedly. and you're shocked you're the only one annoyed by the unnecessary interruption and looking worse for wear from the lack of sleep.

on friday, you're prepared. even though you worked all day, you watched one of your favorite kickass dramas just for the moment at 3am when you heard the engine fire up. flying outside, you point accusingly at the dark figure throwing a leg over the bike to straddle it.

"wow, was it too hard for you to be quiet?!"

wonwoo's head flies around, thankful he actually put his contacts in tonight - yes, he sometimes rides without them but shh, don't tell anyone - because he can take in your appearance rather than whatever you're saying about how he should buy a new motorcycle.

you had been in bed like a normal person so of course you were wearing a comfy t-shirt and very obviously - no bra. wonwoo's throat dries up despite his drooling, noting your bare legs for free viewing before he tosses back, "aren't ya bein' the loud one, sugar?"

with that, he's quick to use the heel of his boot to flip up the kickstand and drive away when you angrily turn around at his condescending tone. the sneak peak of black lace - of all things - when your shirt rides up causing him to harshly grip the handlebars and try not to veer off the road. but not without glancing in the mirrors to sure you make it back inside safely.

wonwoo apologizes to you in the morning.

you think nothing of the man with messy bangs and thick glasses standing outside. not until the smell of motor oil hits your nose when you open the door, a familiar leather jacket matching the material of the fingerless gloves that cautiously wave hello, and the low drawl of "hey sugar, sorry 'bout last night. and the nights before that i s'ppose."

ofc you're highly tempted to slam the door in his face but kevlar boots hold it ajar while he smirks. "Our side of the city can get a little dangerous even with our territory expandin'. don'tcha think it's best to stay in my good graces?"

he thinks it's a shame that no one told a sweet thing like you about the dangerous stand-off between rival gangs in the area. your family had warned you about the motorcycle riders but most outside the city believed them to be an urban legend. but no, here you are in the middle of the crossfire and likely pissed off one of the big guns.

but wonwoo's actually quite fond of you. you slowly learn this and how dangerous he is after he begrudgingly takes you to see his leader - shooing nosy vernon who is hoverig. you're searching for your darn landlord to try and haggle a way to move out. somewhere safer.

"sweetheart, the safest you'll ever be is by jeon's side," seungcheol laughs with smoke billowing out of his mouth and you honestly think he's just fucking with you. "there's a target on your back and they already know what you look like."

well, shit.

"oh and don't bother about your landlord, my men wiped that bastard's existence off the streets for scammin' my boys... and people like you, i guess."

and so here you are and here you stay. surprisingly wonwoo doesn't push himself on you. instead, he exists like a stoic and quiet guard dog that lurks in the background that you just keep around. offering the smallest of smiles whenever you toss him a bone of attention that has your heart thumping and your gut twisting.

he hangs around the complex a lot more often, driving his bike a tad less which leads to a reduction in noise pollution and more sleep. though you start picking up the unforgettable hum of its engine whenever he casually shows up, close enough to watch over you getting off work but putting enough distance out of respect and to not rouse the rival gang's suspicion or intentions.

"besides," he tries to explain in a lazy drawl one night when you tentatively offer a beer and sit with him on your porch to ask. "you'd need to learn how to ride my bike and you have to get comfortable 'nough 'round me first to do that."

little do you both realize how wrapped around his finger - the physical one you just finished applying a fresh coat of black paint to - you are and vice versa.

you've lowered his high walls with your kind but spitfire nature and keeping his fridge filled with proper food/drinks and littered with more sticky notes. and he's pried open yours. not just with the fingers you'd disinfected, bandaged, and kissed easing gently in the wet heat between your legs that he has dreamt of since that fateful night and memorizing which spots make you moan the loudest. but also the quiet man who prefers the company of books rather than the fist fighting brawls he's always having to assist his gang brothers in.

but they are also his family, bonds forged by the blood spilled together rather than what runs in their veins. You can respect that, hands running across part of the gang symbol tattoo on his shoulder that will eventually reflect the back of his leather jacket - a matching one in the works for you, courtesy of seungcheol's partner.

you'd asked when he would get the rest of the elaborate design finished and he promises - with a kiss to your forehead and the dingy ring he'd given you (that's really a key ring twisted into a more flattering shape to fit your finger) - he would after saving up for few more years. lowkey, you still feel bad for yelling at him to buy a new motorcycle when he's so hard on money. by now, you've gotten used to the sound of the engine and the ride - of both the vehicle and the man.

for now, wonwoo is more than content with just your nails marking up his back instead and the warmth of your cheek pressed against it when he zooms through the city. although for his birthday, you put in a few extra hours and surprise him with a new bike - one that's engine roars obnoxiously loud!

yeah, he's completely in love with you and makes sure to baptize it with a mixture of your arousal and a couple cumstains that very night you gift it to him. the spot under the bridge, near the library that only you and him know about.

"when i first saw you all dressed up so cutely like you were going to sunday brunch with those bingo grannies, i thought there was no way you'd stick and stay around. but fuck, now you're all mine, huh sugar? never gonna leave me. under all those pretty layers is nothing but my sweet, desperate cockslut. hm, what on earth father joshua think of you spreading your legs and letting me bend you over my bike all the time? should i let you go to service next sunday with my cum soaking your panties and dripping down your legs?"

[leathercollectionus]

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Miguel Oliveira Yellow Motorcycle Boots Winter Test 2022

[rory-multifandom-mess]

I’m working on a Murder Drones biker au. Includes Vhad. Here’s a snippet. It’s a little spicy so fair warning

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.

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The drive wasn’t long, maybe about twenty minutes. Thad had been looking out the window, watching the cars and trees speed past as they drove along. As he zoned out, something caught his eye as they came to a stop at a red light.

A motorcycle. It was a Kawasaki Ninja H2, colored bright yellow with black stripes. His green eyes traced the ridges of the motorcycle, then looked at the rider, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

She sat up on her motorcycle and leaned back, putting her hands on the fender behind her. Her helmet had the same yellow shade as the bike with a black background. It was neon, lines of yellow exploding from the visor. The visor itself was black with a yellow gradient from the bottom.

The rider’s outfit was… mesmerizing. She wore a cropped leather jacket rolled up to her elbows due to the hot summer air, white leather gloves secured to her hands. Under her cropped leather jacket was a black bodysuit, the collar stopping in the middle of her neck. She wore long jeans and combat boots, along with the necessary protective gear to keep her safe.

Thad found himself staring, admiring the way she looked so elegant on that motorcycle. He wondered what such an amazing girl like that was doing all alone.

Suddenly, she turned her head to him, her attention caught by his staring.

He tensed, not expecting to be noticed. He nervously chuckled and waved his hand.

Her shoulders shook like she was laughing, placing her hand over where her mouth would be and extending her arm to blow him a kiss. Then, she made a V with her fingers and put them in front of her mouth.

Thad’s heart skipped a beat and he turned away, his face warm and deep red. Just then, the truck started to move again, the light turning green.

[swan-of-sunrise]

A Night on the Town

Summary: Steve and (Y/N)’s first date, as told through the eyes of an extremely nervous ninety-seven year old super-soldier and a lovestruck historical-fiction novelist.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! Today, we'll be getting a little look at Steve and Booksmart's first date after the Battle of Sokovia but before the last chapter of Age of Ultron, and I'll warn you now that there's so much freaking fluff in this one-shot! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

A Night on the Town May 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

Ever since taking the super-soldier serum in 1943, Steve Rogers had grown accustom to dangerous battles filled with death-defying stunts and adrenaline-inducing action. He almost never experienced pre-battle jitters and now that he was cementing himself in the twenty-first century alongside a team of other similarly super-powered people, he knew that there was no need to be nervous with his fellow Avengers fighting at his side, no matter if they were battling aliens from the opposite end of space or murderous androids controlled by artificial-intelligence. But as he parked his motorcycle on the street in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house, Steve’s heart pounded in his chest and after switching off the engine, he was forced to wipe his clammy hands off on his dark jeans.

“It’s just a date, Rogers…” He reassured himself, getting off the motorcycle and reaching into the back compartment to retrieve the bouquet of pink roses he’d carefully picked out for (Y/N). “A date with a woman who’s completely and utterly out of your league.” When his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, he nudged the compartment closed and withdrew the device to see who was texting him on his day off, only to heave a sigh when he saw that it was Natasha.

Nat: Go get her, super-soldier 😉

Nat: You’d better give me all the tea tomorrow, or else I’ll decorate your shield with stickers.

Nat: Have fun!

“What the hell does ‘the tea’ mean…?” Steve murmured to himself as he shook his head at the spy’s eccentricities and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He took a moment to make sure that the roses hadn’t begun to wilt on the drive over and when he was satisfied with their appearance, he made his way up the driveway by the familiar yellow Volkswagen Bug and stepped onto the porch; nervously swallowing and wincing at how dry his throat had become, Steve ran a hand through his hair before pressing the doorbell and taking a step back, a smile making its way onto his face despite the anxiety fluttering away in his stomach.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal (Y/N) and the breath was instantly knocked out of his lungs at the stunning sight. The historical-fiction novelist was dressed in an off-the-shoulder green blouse, short black jean skirt, sheer black tights and dark brown ankle boots, and her (Y/H/C) hair was fixed in the same intricate style she’d worn to the party at the Avengers Tower. Silver hoop earrings and a delicate book-shaped pendant accentuated the graceful slope of her neck, and her subtle touches of makeup brought out the sparkle in her (Y/E/C) eyes. While Steve stared in stunned disbelief, the hints of apprehension written across (Y/N)’s face melted away into a sweet, red-hued smile that he couldn’t help but return tenfold. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, (Y/N). You…You look so beautiful.” The historical-fiction novelist mumbled a bashful word of thanks and Steve held the bouquet out for her to take. “These are for you. I, um, I remember you saying in one of your emails that pink roses were your favorite.”

(Y/N) beamed as she accepted the bouquet of roses and took in their sweet-smelling scent. “They’re stunning, Steve, thank you! Let me just put these in some water-”

“I’ve got it, Booksmart.” A smirking Sam appeared at the doorway with his roommate’s purse in his hands, swapping her for the bouquet and giving Steve a look of exaggerated sternness. “Good to see you, Cap. So, you two’ve got a fun night planned; you’re gonna have her home at a respectful time, right?”

“Hi, Sam. I-”

“You don’t have to answer him, Steve, he’s just being a smart-ass.” After flashing Steve a smile, (Y/N) shot her best friend a glare and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a Friday night than annoy us, Birdbrain?”

Sam dramatically sighed and shook his head. “Sadly, not all of us are lucky enough to snag a date with a super-soldier, but I might meet up with Nat later and go to that new bar that just opened downtown. You two have fun, but not too much fun!”

They stepped down off the porch and made their way down the driveway to Steve’s motorcycle, and (Y/N) waited until the front door closed behind Sam to heave an exasperated sigh. “He’s a real character, isn’t he?”

“He’s certainly one of a kind, that’s for sure.” They both chuckled as he reached into his bike’s back compartment and withdrew the spare helmet. “I haven’t been out to very many restaurants here in D.C., so I was hoping that you’d know of a good one we can eat at tonight. Whatever you’d like, I’m game.”

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up in excitement as she fastened the helmet’s strap under her chin. “In that case, there’s a great food truck downtown that serves, hands-down, the best Mexican food. How does that sound?”

Steve straddled the motorcycle and waited for the historical-fiction novelist to lower herself onto the seat behind him before switching the engine on. “I’ve never had Mexican food, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try.”

“Trust me, you’re going to love it!” She exclaimed over the engine’s rumbling, and Steve smiled a little to himself when he felt her arms wrap around his waist. “1560 Wilson Boulevard, you can’t miss it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve shot her a teasing grin over his shoulder and reveled in the feeling of her arms tightening around him as he peeled away from the curb and sped down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated side-by-side on a brick planter box a little ways away from Pa’ Tortas El Papi’s bustling food truck, (Y/N) and Steve enjoyed their plates of street tacos and ice-cold Coca-Cola’s and fell into easy conversation as Tejano music played in the foreground and string lights twinkled in the tree branches above. (Y/N) was pleased and a little relieved when Steve told her how delicious their dinner was, knowing how different Mexican food was to the super-soldier’s usual cuisine, and there was a proud grin on her face as she watched him eagerly finish his second plate of tacos and regaled him with stories of her many trips to the food truck with Sam. With Steve, (Y/N) felt completely at ease and all of her worries – about the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, about the legalities surrounding her breached studio contract, about Ultron’s defeat – were put out of her mind by the super-soldier’s comforting and near-addictive presence.

“I like this song,” Steve stated after they’d lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them enjoying the last of their sodas while they people-watched from their secluded planter box. “It has a nice melody.”

“‘Amor Prohibido,’ released as a single in 1994 from the album of the same name and sung by the incomparable Selena Quintanilla…or just Selena, if you prefer, sort of like Beyoncé or Cher. It’s about forbidden love and wanting to be with someone despite everyone else’s misgivings about their relationship.” When (Y/N) glanced up from her empty glass bottle and caught sight of the awestruck expression on the super-soldier’s face, she felt her own face begin to warm in embarrassment and she awkwardly cleared her throat before continuing. “Anyway, it’s a very good song…one of my favorites of hers, actually.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “Sometimes I forget just how knowledgeable you are when it comes to music, and then you go and knock me onto my ass with a pitch-perfect summation of a random song’s background and details. It sounds cliché, but I don’t know any other word to call it other than incredible, (Y/N).” His azure eyes were shining as he spoke, and (Y/N) knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant every word he uttered; her lips curved into a smile before she wordlessly pressed a kiss onto the smooth skin of his cheek and scooted closer to lean her head on his shoulder, smiling even more when she felt his large hand gently wrap itself around hers. “My Spanish is a little rusty, but I’ll bet that there’s a music expert around here that could translate some of it for me.”

“‘Aquí solo importa nuestro amor, te quiero…’” (Y/N) quietly sang along to the impassioned tune and gave Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze as she translated. “‘All that matters here is our love, I love you…’”

Although they’d finally confessed their love for one another just two weeks prior, saying those three simple words aloud again sent a warm tingle throughout (Y/N)’s body, and she was reminded of the super-soldier’s breathtaking grin and the feel of his soft lips caressing hers as they stood in the deserted hangar of the old S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier.

Instead of replying, Steve simply closed his eyes and hummed along to the melody of the song as a light blush dusted over his cheeks, and (Y/N) seized the rare opportunity to study her distracted date; his handsome face was fully free of the guarded expression he’d continuously worn when they first met, making him appear younger and resemble the ninety-five pound man he’d always been before his recruitment into Project Rebirth, and her heart warmed in her chest when she realized her role in helping him open up and slowly but surely join a world that he once believed that he would never belong in. Not many people are lucky enough to see the man behind the shield, (Y/N) thought as she rested her head back on Steve’s shoulder and smiled to herself, but right now I feel like I’m the luckiest person alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Doc, uh, are you tellin’ me you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

“The way I see it, if you’re gonna built a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?”

The auditorium echoed with chuckles of amusement at Doc Brown’s reply and while the time traveling car suddenly blazed its way back onto the screen, Steve bit his lip to hide his disbelief from (Y/N), who was engrossed in the ongoing film right beside him. When he picked a 30th Anniversary screening of Back to the Future for his and (Y/N)’s first date, it hadn’t occurred to him that it was a film revolving around time travel, and the irony of being a man out of time taking his incredibly modern girlfriend to see it was definitely not lost on him. It was a fun film that took a more science-fiction route in regard to the time travel aspect – and as someone who’d gone from 1945 to 2012 in the blink of an eye, it was a nice change of pace seeing someone go from present day to being a fish out of water in the past – but Steve started to feel slightly uncomfortable when the high school-aged George McFly was introduced.

Unsurprisingly, Steve was the furthest thing from popular in high school; he was short, skinny and interested in art and the few girls who’d acknowledge his presence were only interested in fishing for a date with Bucky. The only real difference between him and George McFly was that, despite his abysmal success rate, he always fought back against his bullies instead of cowering from confrontation like George. However, it was George’s infatuation with Lorraine that struck Steve; like him, the high-schooler was hopeless with girls and had a difficult time expressing himself around his crush, something that Steve still struggled with over eighty years later. It had taken nothing short of a world-ending threat for Steve to finally confess his love to (Y/N) and when the adrenaline of the Battle of Sokovia finally wore off, so too did his forwardness.

Bucky always made this sort of thing look so damn easy, Steve silently bemoaned and swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the screen as he contemplated whether or not he should wrap his arm around the historical-fiction novelist’s shoulders. He reached into their shared bucket of popcorn and sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers suddenly brushed against (Y/N)’s; when he looked over at her, she was smiling at him and he felt himself smile back as she tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth that was accompanied by a flirtatious wink and returned her attention back to the screen.

It wasn’t until George and Lorraine’s much-anticipated dance in the school’s decorated gymnasium that Steve found the opportune moment to make his move. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he moved his arm up and slowly lowered it to rest around (Y/N)’s shoulders; he was careful to avoid the bare skin of her shoulder and curl his fingers around the silky material covering her upper arm, but the respectful gesture didn’t stop him from feeling the warmth radiating off of her or detecting the subtle uptick of her heartbeat at his careful touch. Steve’s own breath hitched when the historical-fiction novelist not only scooted closer to his side, but also rested her head on his shoulder; he didn’t bother fighting the smile that stretched across his face as his body relaxed and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, feeling nothing but love for the woman sitting beside him while they both watched George and Lorraine finally share a sweet kiss.

“Earth Angel, Earth Angel, please be mine. My darling dear, love you for all time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon was shining high in the darkened sky when Steve finally took (Y/N) back home. After the movie, they’d spontaneously decided to visit a nearby ice cream parlor and enjoy their frozen treats while strolling around the block arm-in-arm, and it wasn’t until they noticed several bars beginning to close for the night that they realized just how late it was; they were having too much fun eating their ice cream and laughing at (Y/N)’s many attempts to teach Steve how Instagram filters worked, but they were mainly just enjoying spending time in one another’s presence. The rumbling of the super-soldier’s motorcycle ceased when he parked in front of (Y/N) and Sam’s house and switched off the engine, and silence settled over the street as he gallantly walked alongside her to the porch.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” Standing on the porch, (Y/N) gave Steve – who was nearly eye-to-eye with her from where he stood at the base of the steps – a teasing grin. “You sure know how to show a lady a good time, Captain Rogers.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Yeah, well, you’d be the first lady to ever think that; most of Bucky and mine’s double dates usually ended with my date forgetting that I existed and both gals trying to make a move on Buck.”

“I suppose it’s their loss and my gain, then.” While Steve’s cheeks turned pink at her compliment, (Y/N) shrugged off the leather jacket he’d insisted on letting her wear when she started to shiver during their stroll, cringing at the cool night air on her flushed skin but handing the jacket over to him; she took a moment to admire the super-soldier’s muscular physique while he slid his jacket back on and was forced to clear her throat before continuing. “Well, I…I should probably head in; Sam’s probably spying on us as we speak and waiting to interrogate me.”

“I’m sure he’d be at the window if he hadn’t fallen asleep while watching reruns of NCIS.” A teasing smile of his own curved his lips upwards when (Y/N) furrowed her brow in confusion. “Good hearing’s just one of the many side effects of being a super-soldier.”

Sometimes, it was easy for (Y/N) to forget that the man standing before her was Captain America, a bonafide superhero who could lift a ton without breaking a sweat and who miraculously survived being frozen in ice for nearly seventy years. To her, he was just Steve Rogers, a handsome man who strived to learn as much as he could, who had a dry but witty sense of humor and who made her feel well and truly loved. “I meant what I said earlier,” (Y/N) quietly admitted and reached out to hold one of Steve’s hands. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in…well, a pretty long time.”

Steve’s azure eyes softened as he nodded in agreement. “Me too. I wish it didn’t have to end.” When she arched a brow at that, his eyes widened in panic and he stammered out, “T-That’s, um, that’s not what I meant, I wasn’t trying to…not that I don’t want to, you know, but…I swear, I’m not implying that you and I should…” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck and let out an embarrassed groan. “Ninety-seven, and I still can’t talk to a beautiful woman without gettin’ tongue-tied.”

(Y/N) giggled. “That’s true…” Smiling, she brought her free hand up card her fingers through his hair before gently cupping his smooth jaw. “But it’s also one of the many things I love about you.”

Steve gave her a breathtaking grin and leaned forward, his impossibly-long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his soft lips met hers; the gentle and passionate way that Steve kissed her made her feel cherished and while his hand moved to rest on the curve of her waist, she couldn’t help but marvel at how the highly-trained super-soldier’s touch was nothing short of reverential when it came to her. His kisses were addictive and as they finally separated for air, she found herself moving forward to press one last lingering kiss onto his swollen lips before pulling away far enough to meet his hooded gaze. “That was…”

“Scandalous? Inappropriate?” (Y/N) jokingly offered. “Something that would’ve ruined both our reputations in the 1940’s?”

“Incredible.” Steve finished, and the tender gleam that filled his azure eyes as he looked at her caused her own cheeks to flush. “You’re incredible, sunshine.”

That was the first time he’d ever called her something other than her given name, and the added emphasis on the term of affection certainly wasn’t lost on her. In the back of her mind, she resolved to ask him about it one day but in that moment, she all but glowed and bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide her bashful grin. “I know how busy you are with the move to the Avengers’ new facility and the fallout of the Battle of Sokovia, so I’m not sure when we’ll be able to go out again but I hope it’s soon.” After Steve nodded in agreement, (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss onto his cheek and with a small pang of reluctance, she pulled away from his arms and finally let go of his hand. “G’night, Steve.”

“’Night, (Y/N).”

They shared one final smile before turning away from one another, (Y/N) to unlock the front door and step inside and Steve to walk down to where he’d parked his motorcycle. She gave him a wave once she saw him sitting astride the bike and stepped into the house, but the brief chime of her cell phone forced her to quickly lock up before checking her unread text messages.

Steve: I don’t think that there’s an adequate enough way to thank you for such a wonderful night, sunshine, but I was hoping I could take you out again tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner and another movie?

While her heart practically burst out of her chest with happiness, (Y/N) typed out a brief but enthusiastic reply and tiptoed into the living room to wake her sleeping roommate, but not before giving the vase of pink roses sitting on the kitchen counter an appraising smile and taking note of the fading rumble of a familiar motorcycle outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: And there we have it! What did you think of their first date?? Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ @groovyqueer​​​​​ @ljej95​​​​​ @innersublimefury​​​ @prettysbliss​​​​​​  

[shibaraki]

THE JOYRIDE ┊ MIYA OSAMU

tags: SFW, GN reader (called ‘baby’ + ‘pretty’), newly established relationship, hobby motorcyclist osamu, motorcycle riding (back passenger reader), fluff and some PDA

wc: 1.7k

Every other Sunday, Osamu would close the restaurant early after the lunch rush and take his motorcycle out for a ride; a hobby he picked up from his late grandfather. There were secluded spots on the outskirts of the city he liked to go where riders and enthusiasts would gather, bonds forged through shared love and camaraderie.

When he if you would want to join him all those months ago you’d been equal parts excited and apprehensive. At first he let you get a feel for the bike. Painted black with copper aluminium trim, it is long and sleek yet supple in the right places; the shape reminiscent of a peregrine falcon.

Admittedly, you hardly remember a word he said— just the heat of his palms through your shirt as he supported you, perched on the seat, already held safely in place by the support stands fixed to both wheels. You had simply nodded along as he listed off the specs, his thumbs moving in slow circles at your waist, fingers splayed across your stomach.

“Y’look good,” Osamu murmured, smoothing over your hip and dipping to meet you in the middle. “Wanna take you out and show ya off”.

And that wish was solidified the day he sheepishly handed you your very own helmet. A shiny white finish, black visor and a small sticker of an onigiri with legs on the outer shell. Endeared by the deep blush crawling up his neck, you had pulled him into a feverish kiss, the gift caught awkwardly between your bodies.

You graduated quickly from the passenger safety belt. In the beginning you would lurch and lose balance, but now the muscles in your abdomen clench tight as you lean, synchronising with each turn. It was exhilarating.

Though you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it— the way your bodies cut through the wind, how your centre of gravity shifts, or the intermittent roar beneath your thighs.

Your leathers fit snug, like another skin, but thick and heavy around your frame. You take a breath and flex your interlocked hands, heart beating wildly in your chest. You’ve been smiling for so long that your cheeks hurt, anchored tightly around Osamu’s waist, straddling the back seat of his motorcycle.

He must feel it, because he lets go for a moment just to squeeze your wrist, rubbing back and forth over the armoured knuckles. You wish you could talk to him over the blaring noise. The padding in your helmet presses against your skull as you lean the visor between his shoulders and crowd closer.

The road takes you through a dense forest. You are surrounded by tall, sylphlike trees, dewy afternoon sun drizzling through the gaps between their cedar fingers. Blurs of verdant green and yellow sharpen as the bike slows. The engine dwindles into a soft purr and the horizon clears at the next turn in, canopy parting as the treeline ends.

There’s a long lay-by to your right; usually it is used for families to park somewhere on their visits to the woodlands. Now, motorcycles of every size and colour are lined up side by side. Dramatic, arcing handle bars, heavy off road suspensions, multi coloured spikes and bold stickers.

Heads turn when you pull in; some giving a short nod of approval. Osamu reaches behind to squeeze your thigh as he rolls into an empty spot, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. You cling to his back and he glances over his shoulder, flicking up the visor on his helmet.

You melt under his gaze. His eyes are unbearably warm and crinkled at the corners, smiling despite the lower half of his face being covered by a thin black scarf.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice bright with excitement and loud while his hearing readjusts. The answer waits on your tongue as his face scrunches in an abrupt frown and he turns to flick your visor up, too.

You blink against the sunlight and he says, “There. Much better seein’ your pretty face”.

People are scattered around, some sticking to their own rides while others step away to mingle. It isn’t too crowded, but just enough to make you nervous. You notice there’s a food truck pulled up at the far end where a larger group has gathered.

“Not gonna be so pretty when I take this off,” you grumble, knocking on the outer shell of your helmet. A sweaty mess underneath it, you’re sure. He hums a fond sound and watches closely as you dismount on unsteady legs.

Osamu kicks down the stand before getting down. The light glints against the gold trim and upper fairing as the bike leans at an angle. In a moment of appreciation, you find yourself patting the back seat, as if to praise it.

A familiar pair of gloves land’s unceremoniously on the curved tank pad, startling you out of your stupor. Two fingers hook into your chin strap. Reflexively, you press your tongue flat to the roof of your mouth to avoid any pinching as Osamu unclips the buckle.

“‘Samu—!”

You whine as he takes the helmet into his hands and drags it up. The padding squeezes tight to your skull until it sits on top of your head like a crown. Tepid air clings to your damp neck and you glare up at him.

The feeling that swells in your throat supersedes your irritation. His own black helmet hugs the top of his head, scarf pulled down to pool around his collar and hair laid wet to his forehead. You knew he looked unfairly attractive in his leathers but the view still sparks something in your belly.

A two piece matte black suit with silver and gold stripes on each outer leg and a triangular symbol in the centre of his chest that reminds you of a fox. The material fits him well— too well. Bulky around broad shoulders and thick at his biceps. Osamu isn’t lean by any means; stockier than his athlete brother with lingering definition from his volleyball days. Heaving a breath he unzips the jacket, earthy eyes tracking the movement of your tongue across your lip.

“Thirsty?” he teases knowingly.

“Shut up,” you huff, setting your helmet on the bike seat and relieving the pressure around your scalp. At the same time, Osamu bends gracelessly to catch your mouth in a long, chaste kiss. You sink into it and amusement vibrates behind his lips, tickling your own.

A suggestive wolf whistle cuts through the noise and he straightens with a final peck to your cheek.

“If it ain’t our boy Osamu!”

You turn toward the new voice. Adorning a worn leather jacket covered in vintage patches, an older man approaches with arms outstretched. Osamu sets his helmet beside his gloves before being yanked into a friendly hug.

“Glad to see yer still alive and kickin’, Daigo-san. Heard you earned a few more scrapes last week”.

“You know me. Just a spill,” Daigo gives a hearty laugh and slaps Osamu on the back. “Should’a told me you were comin’! Thought ya preferred that spot out by the mountains now”.

“Ah. Well,” Osamu rubs his neck and glances toward you with a proud grin. Heat prickles under your skin as Daigo appraises you. “It’s our first proper ride out together. Just stopping to stretch our legs and we’ll be headin’ off”.

Daigo crows, “Finally got yourself someone special, eh, ‘Samu?”

You self consciously pat the front of your leathers, bowing your head towards Daigo. “It’s good to meet you”.

“Sweet thing, aren’t’cha?” the older man steps forward and the gravel crunches beneath his feet. He takes your hand firmly, gloves tough and hard against your palm, and shakes it. “Pleasure is all mine. He better be takin’ good care of ya out on them roads”.

There is fondness in his voice. Grandfatherly in a way. Soft around the edges, wrinkles prominent around his thin mouth and kind eyes— arguably the youngest part of him. You smile, “Don’t worry. He takes good care of me on and off the road”.

Osamu rubs at his cheek, meeting your gaze over Daigo’s shoulder. “Love you,” he mouths.

“Happy to hear it. We all need a bit’a love in our lives,” Daigo declares, relinquishing his grip and turning to Osamu. He knocks him on the shoulder. “M’sure the others would want to see you— both of you, if you’ve got time”.

“We ca—”

“We would love to!” you quickly interrupt. Osamu blinks in surprise, expression softening into quiet appreciation when you nod at him.

Daigo leaves with a pep in his step. “Alright then! We’ll come find ya in a few”.

This was the furthest you had been on his bike. The plan was to take a quick break at the halfway point before heading home. Osamu never wanted you to feel overwhelmed by his hobby, or obligated to participate in this part of his life. What he failed to grasp was how much you wanted to; seeing this side to him only made you love him more.

The sun outlines him in dewy gold. You reach to card your fingers through his dark hair, which is stuck up in every direction. “Ya sure about this, baby?” he murmurs, turning into your touch and kissing your inner wrist. His hands run idly over your hips, sliding to your lower back.

“They’re my pops old friends, so they’ve got a few screws loose”.

Breathlessly, “They’re important to you, right?”

He nods.

“Then I’m sure”.

A thrill tingles down your spine as Osamu crowds you carefully against the bike. Chest to chest, you guide him into another kiss. The air is crisp and you can hear it dance through the trees. Osamu cradles you closer. You fist the lapels of his jacket, cursing the thick material between your bodies.

“How’re you so perfect…” he mumbles between breaths, taking your face in his hand, thumb and fingers on either cheek and squeezing. You snort as he begins to press harsh, short pecks to your protruded lips. “Want ya to come with me again next time. Yeah?”

Your jaw aches but nevertheless, you grin.

“Yeah. I’d love that”.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: November 22, 2024

Reworked Character #2: Tarma Roving

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to underage drinking, crime, an unhealthy romance, death, and torture.

Real name: Tarmicle Ignacio Roving III

Alias: Mister Nice Buddy

Occupation: Captain of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Open a motorcycle shop, develop reliable cybernetic prosthetics for hospital use, and start a family

Special skills: Proficiency in Slugs, heavy duty firearms, and resource management, robotic engineering, weaponsmithing, mechanics, and bivouacking

Hobbies: Customising motorcycles while listening to rock music, drawing detailed blueprints for weaponry and vehicles, collecting action figures and scale models of military machines, looking for cool bugs and rocks, and camping

Likes: Beautiful women and men, hugging people he cares about, solitary journeys on his motorcycle, spending time in the great outdoors, and the toy version of SV-001 that Marco gifted him on his 22nd birthday

Dislikes: Social isolation, his frequent nosebleeds, shallow and rude people (such as Gimlet), feeling powerless when preventing his friends from getting injured, and insults that feed into his insecurities about his academic intelligence

Favourite food: Rice prepared with fermented soybeans, mustard, boiled eggs, and scallions

Sexuality: Sex-favourable, straight-leaning bisexual

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB+

Weight: 227 lbs. (102 kg)

Design: He’s a 5’ 11” (180.34 cm) Japanese endomorph of American and Mexican descent with a partial beer belly, rigid muscles, broad shoulders, and sienna skin. He has sunburst green-hazel eyes and fingernails that are painted a dull gold. He has maroon hair with medium-length parted bangs, featuring two distinctive ahoge cowlicks in the centre, alongside sideburns, a neatly trimmed goatee, and subtle curls. Like Marco, he bears nasty battle scars: badly burned flesh from the right side of his neck to the left deltoid; multiple lacerations crisscrossing his back, forearms, and thighs; his left ring finger is partially severed; a couple of bullet wounds are visible just below his left lumbar region; and a scar snakes down from the right side of his forehead to the middle of his left cheek. He has a horizontal scar in the centre of his neck, a result of a sleepwalking incident involving Marco, who nearly slit his throat with a kitchen knife.

His right forearm was replaced by a cybernetic prosthetic, crafted from ultra-durable, lightweight metal plated and reinforced with tungsten nanotubes. Vein-like fibres of superconducting nanowire mesh enable seamless integration with his nervous system. The prosthetic features a retractable plasma cannon that fires two types of projectiles: yellowish-white ionised energy blasts that deliver intense electrical discharges; and metallic purple-green goo, a highly corrosive and acidic substance capable of burning through virtually any material. Beneath the plasma cannon, a nanotech-enhanced, razor-sharp blade retracts seamlessly into the cutting-edge prosthetic. Forged from a nearly indestructible alloy, the gilded blade is micro-serrated for optimal tissue and armour penetration.

His military gear consists of red-tinted sunglasses, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, a walnut brown T-shirt with ripped sleeves, a rusty orange fingerless glove on his left hand, and a burgundy leather belt with a snap-on gold buckle. He wears a saffron-yellow vest with four pockets, featuring an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back. He also wears citron army cargo pants tucked under burgundy paratrooper boots, a sheath for his combat knife, and a gun holster for a handgun he rarely uses. He once ripped the right knee of his cargo pants, but Fio mended it with a patch of butterscotch-hued fabric. The pockets of Tarma’s vest carry around an old cigarette box, a silver lighter, the key to his first customisable motorcycle, and a toy version of SV-001.

Over his T-shirt, he dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His forearms are wrapped in dirty gauze, and he wears two dark brown bandoliers: one drapes over his left shoulder, holding sticks of dynamite, while the other wraps above his belt, holding bullets for his handgun. Tarma carries around a citron load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, mechanic tools, a flame shot, two machine guns, an enemy chaser, and a laser gun. He has three piercings: a gilded septum as well as a silvery vertical curved barbell and a ring adorning his left eyebrow.

Tarma acquired a stolen katana called Murasame, renowned for its unique ability to self-cleanse its blackened steel blade, allowing it to remain razor-sharp. The katana features a distinctive wave-shaped hamon, a tangerine-hued handle wrapped in gilded cord, and a hexagonal silvery guard. The katana's crimson hardwood sheath features a golden straightened carp design, while the blade itself bears the Japanese inscription “血液洗浄” (Ketsueki Senjō), meaning "blood washing" in English, elegantly written on the right side.

His beloved motorcycle, built at just 15 years old, is a custom black and flame-coloured Harley-Davidson 42WLA. The bike's gas tank showcases a stunning design: an azure Japanese dragon wrapping around a bronze eagle with outstretched wings. He extensively modified his first motorcycle, integrating a missile-firing launcher between the handlebars and installing two 12.6mm calibre Vulcan cannons (similar to those found on the SV-001) towards the front. Additionally, he fitted a bulletproof carrier at the rear, coated in a durable silvery dark grey paint, which houses a shotgun and thirty corresponding shell holders.

Character summary: He often pokes fun at the overly serious Marco, much to his annoyance, yet still holds him in the highest esteem as a heroic soldier. Whenever he's away from Marco and can't contact him, he starts to worry about his safety. But when Marco returns safe and sound, he's instantly relieved and overjoyed to see that he's okay. The idea of Marco going missing or dying an untimely death would leave him feeling deeply melancholic, empty, and lonely. Tarma is fiercely loyal to Marco, willing to put his life on the line for him and offer comfort during his darkest moments. They share a remarkably harmonious relationship, rarely engaging in conflict or brotherly banter, as Marco is thoughtful of his emotional sensitivity.

As a flirtatious and affectionate individual, he frequently tries his luck with women and men who catch his eye, regardless of their faction affiliation. Although his advances often end in rejection, he doesn't let it discourage him and won't pursue them aggressively, viewing them as minor setbacks. Although his advances are rarely reciprocated, when they are, the encounters tend to be brief and sexually intimate, and he’s comfortable with that.

He has very strong romantic feelings for Fio, but struggles to express them. He enjoys spending time with her, sharing stories about his day and telling jokes. However, he occasionally comes across as a bit awkward in her presence. Once he and Fio enter into a romantic relationship, he exudes greater confidence in his feelings for her, leading to a deepening of their emotional connection and a profound level of intimacy and supportiveness. He adores it when Fio showers him with kisses, praise, and loving compliments, and he happily returns the affection. He sometimes gets into debates with Fio over what they should or shouldn’t do, but he always remains calm and tries to find a mutually beneficial solution that they can both agree on. He holds Marco dear as his queerplatonic partner, a bond that strengthens when Marco joins him and Fio in a polyamorous relationship. He feels at ease sharing his dorky side and vulnerable emotions with Fio and Marco, finding comfort and acceptance in their presence.

He genuinely cares about Eri and strives to treat her with kindness and respect. However, her tendency to socially withdraw from him, coupled with her constant belittling and physical confrontations, makes it challenging for him. Fortunately, Marco and Eri's team of Ptolemaic defectors frequently intervene to stop these confrontations. Due to Eri's animosity towards him, he harbours a deep-seated fear of her and tends to distance himself from her, particularly when she's intoxicated or near Fio. He wants to tell her that he ended their relationship years ago because she was using him as a distraction from her own problems and to fulfill her own self-centred needs, but he's hesitant to express his feelings, fearing it might escalate her hatred of him.

He's a loyal, clumsy, and fun-loving hothead with an adventurous spirit and a readiness to put up a good fight when necessary. He has a breezy and slightly sarcastic attitude, paired with a great imagination that shines when designing innovative weapons and vehicles. He has a clever talent for stirring up distractions and sparking moral self-reflection in those around him. He’s emotionally intelligent, going to great lengths to ensure the happiness of his friends, comrades, and loved ones. Tarma has a great sense of humour, often cracking jokes that span various comedy genres to diffuse tension in most situations, but it can become annoying at times. He has a hearty appetite, which becomes particularly evident after completing gruelling missions involving intense combat. Due to his strong sense of justice, he’s a vigilante at heart with protective instincts. If someone he loves is harmed, he will stop at nothing to ensure they receive the justice they deserve, showing no mercy to those responsible.

He has mild ADHD, which sometimes leads to spontaneous and curious thoughts and questions that he openly shares with those he trusts most. He feels deeply hurt and frustrated by Gimlet's mocking comments about his neurodiversity and physical differences, which escalate into intense confrontations. The mere mention of the Great Morden War triggers severe anxiety, culminating in violent panic attacks, vivid flashbacks, and haunting night terrors that disrupt his sleep. However, beneath his nonchalant and optimistic facade, he struggles with insecurities about his intelligence and mental slowness. Despite his enjoyment of being lively and a tad mischievous, he can't shake the feeling that he's a nuisance. Whenever he feels like he's about to cry, he quickly runs off to find a hiding place, fearing that others will mock him for his sensitivity. Tarma will only cry in front of others when he's feeling completely overwhelmed and people are aggressively yelling at him.

He's very patient, but sometimes his patience wears thin, and he snaps when he's feeling reasonably irritated. Although he isn't hesitant to assert himself respectfully when misunderstood, threatened or emotionally hurt, there are times when his approach comes across as rude and crass, leaving him feeling remorseful. He's incredibly passionate about vehicles, weaponry, and cybernetic prosthetics, often enthusiastically sharing his knowledge when asked. However, he's also fiercely protective of his interests and can take offence when someone criticises or disrespects them, particularly if they're models he's personally built or repaired.

He’s fiercely protective of his friends and comrades, willing to stand up to bullies and threats with a serious and intimidating demeanour. However, his strong sense of loyalty can sometimes lead to physical confrontations when pushed beyond his limits. He's generally humble and becomes slightly flustered when praised for his work and being a good friend, but occasionally exhibits overconfidence in his tactical abilities and creative projects. He can be quite reckless on the battlefield and during stealth-oriented missions, which occasionally puts his friends in potentially perilous situations, yet he always manages to keep them safe and unharmed. He strongly opposes racism, fat shaming, and the stigma surrounding mental health issues, viewing them as dehumanising obstacles to equity and healthy relationships.

He's surprisingly gentle and exceptionally kind to children, going to great lengths to rescue them from harm, ensure their emotional well-being, and provide companionship. When sleeping, he snores loudly and often talks in his sleep, uttering fragmented sentences during his most terrifying nightmares and pleasant dreams. He likes to drink with his friends after a long mission, but he often gets wasted and becomes silly, jovial, overly affectionate, and short-tempered.

He holds that morality is shaped by a combination of factors, including parental guidance, cultural influences, universal moral laws, and the capacity to establish ethical principles. He believes that everyone has inherent dignity that encourages them to follow ethical rules that are morally sound and logical. He thinks it's best to avoid contradictions and hypocritical behaviour by not following rules that are irrational and morally wrong. In his view, the morality of an action is determined by the action itself, rather than its consequences. Interestingly, despite being a soldier, he's a pacifist who believes that individuals can confront threats to peace in any way they deem necessary, even if it means compromising their personal morals. Furthermore, he sees life and death as fundamental opposites that are perpetually in conflict with each other.

Backstory: Tarmicle Ignacio Roving III was born on May 1, 2005 in Hokkaido, Japan. He was born into a large, diverse family. His father, Fabriclus Cristóbal Roving, is a distinguished Mexican-American military man. His mother, Koharu Nakabayashi, is a Japanese miniature painter and a retired army nurse who formerly served in the Regular Army. He has several siblings: Ildefonso, a firefighter and his older half-brother; Milagrosa, the lead singer of an alternative rock band and his older half-sister; twins Daisuke, a biochemist, and Ryōsuke, a medical engineer, who are his older brothers; and Calpurne, a fighter jet pilot who serves in the Regular Army and his younger sister. Fabriclus named him after his great-great-great-grandfather, Tarmicle Ignacio Roving Jr., to keep his legacy alive.

He often tells Tarma stories about the heroic actions of his namesake, who saved the lives of millions of innocent people from corrupt regimes and criminal exploitation. He also likes to tell Tarma stories about his experiences in the military, often mentioning a man named Alessandro Germi and describing the wars he had fought in. He taught his children to speak both Spanish and English and imparted valuable life lessons that they all embraced, including embracing failure and cultivating optimism. Tarma vaguely remembers Fabriclus sharing that he considered retiring after his first wife passed away from breast cancer complications. However, it wasn't until he met his second wife, Koharu, while she treated his injuries he sustained during a battle against high-risk criminals seeking to spark global anarchy, that he officially retired and started a new family with her.

He has a cousin named Achilles, who lives in Missouri, United States and owns a motorcycle shop. Achilles is notable for his habit of constantly combing his light orange pompadour and for sparking Tarma's strong passion for motorcycles. In contrast, his father fostered his interest in tanks, fighter planes, and the great outdoors, while Milagrosa ignited his love for rock music. He thoroughly enjoyed playing, exploring, and causing mischief with Calpurne, who matched his lively energy and vibrant imagination. However, their playtime wasn't without its challenges as she would occasionally take his toys without permission—though this rarely seemed to bother him.

At the age of 3, he met his childhood friend Tabomba when Tabomba's Filipino family moved in next door. Surprisingly, Tabomba sparked Tarma's interest in trains as well as cool bugs and rocks. Although they rarely see each other nowadays due to Tabomba's work as a marine biologist, they make an effort to meet up whenever they're both off work and on vacation.

His family frequently travelled across Japan, the United States, and Mexico, especially during summer and winter breaks, to visit relatives, enjoy the outdoors, and have fun. During a trip to Hiroshima at the age of 7, he met a girl named Chizuko, who was wearing an olive green bandanna. They quickly became friends after building a sand castle and finding worms under a large rock at a local park near the orphanage where Chizuko was staying. Sadly, they couldn't spend much time together because Tarma's family had planned to stay in Hiroshima for only two weeks and wanted to explore every attraction the city had to offer. Fortunately for the two, his family returned to Hiroshima a few times, once during a summer break and again to care for a sick relative.

At the playground and in elementary school, he faced bullying, responding in one of two ways: either he would remain oblivious to the taunts or burst into tears and rush to the safety of his parents or seek the teacher's intervention. He was bullied a lot at school because of his mental slowness, hyperactivity, and perceived "annoying" nature, and for not fitting traditional Japanese physical standards. Like him, Tabomba faced both racial and size-based discrimination, but found unwavering support in Tarma, who cherished their friendship. To combat Tabomba's isolation, Tarma would often keep him company, whether completing homework and assignments together or spending time together after school. Their favourite activities included playing video games, visiting the park, and watching action and comedy movies.

He had a couple of girlfriends and boyfriends in high school, but they didn't last very long. In high school, he started fighting back, engaging in fistfights and enduring street beatings as he struggled to cope with the constant bullying. He also began experimenting with building custom-made motorcycles as a way to initially impress those he was romantically interested in, and later found that it helped to calm his nerves.

Tragically, the bullying escalated to the point where Tarma felt overwhelmed and feared that reporting it to his teachers or parents would only create more problems and burden them further. So, he made the desperate decision to run away from home on his motorcycle, heading towards Hiroshima. Once there, he encountered Chizuko again, but she was different from the last time he met her. She was now the leader of a notorious street gang. Chizuko coaxed him into hanging out with her at their rundown hideout, where they drank beer and vodka stolen from a local alcohol shop. Tarma reluctantly agreed, but was thrilled to reunite with Chizuko after 8 years.

At the hideout, they caught up on each other's lives as Tarma had a couple of beers and Chizuko drank vodka from a bottle. Things took an unexpected turn when Chizuko got physically close to him, complimenting his appearance in a seductive manner. Their friendship evolved into a sexual relationship, which was Tarma's first. They spent many nights together, and he even participated in a few crimes with her, including theft and drug sales. Tarma would also start to develop a nicotine habit and, more positively, learn effective coping mechanisms and assertiveness skills to manage stress and stand up for himself.

However, their relationship was short-lived. Tarma ended things and returned home after discovering that Chizuko had been using him to fulfill her physical desires and distract herself from her trauma, while also advancing the interests of her gang. He would later reunite with Chizuko, now going by the name Eri, but she had become bitter, socially withdrawn, and aggressive, pushing him away.

After graduating from junior high school and enjoying the first week of his summer break, Tarma immediately enrolled in the Officers Academy of Special Tactics and Battle. In addition to his impressive engineering and mechanical skills, he achieved a notable feat at the age of 20 by rescuing President Marx, the CEO of a prominent defence contractor that supplies the Regular Army with weaponry, tanks, and other essential equipment. The Peregrine Falcons Squad took notice of this achievement and invited him to join the team, which he happily accepted.

Here, he met and befriended a lonely Marco after discussing their interests, reminiscing about their childhoods, and enjoying a couple of beers together. He would slowly develop a queerplatonic relationship with Marco, built on a deep appreciation for his company, a genuine desire to ensure his happiness and well-being, and a strong attraction to his physical beauty and intellect. He would also befriend Tequila, who imparted valuable mechanic skills to him and taught him specialised painting techniques for sheet metal, ensuring a durable finish that wouldn't chip, a lesson Tarma would always treasure. During the Great Morden War, he learned that Marco, alongside Tequila, was selected for the counteroffensive against Morden and quickly volunteered to join him, wanting to support his best friend.

During the Great Morden War, Tarma, Marco, and other members of the P.F. Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., and Regular Army were ambushed by General Morden and his soldiers. They subjected everyone to rigorous torture, leaving them with lasting mental and physical scars. The Rebel soldiers and Allen O'Neil mercilessly taunted him, exploiting his sensitivity during the torture. Like Marco, Tarma was forced to witness the brutal slaughter and torture of his comrades and friends, which was emotionally painful to watch. However, he devised a clever escape plan by distracting the guards holding the key to his prison and appealing to their conscience. This unexpectedly worked, allowing him to overpower them, rescue Marco, and help his best friend thwart Morden's plans for world domination.

During his escape, Tarma received an unexpected gift from a Rebel soldier known as Guil, designed to aid him in future battles: the mysterious katana Murasame, renowned for its self-cleansing properties, which the Rebel Army had seized during their invasion of Japan. Touched by Guil's kindness, Tarma expressed his gratitude, and this brief encounter challenged his assumption that all Rebel Infantrymen were ruthless and loyal only to Morden's ideology. Rumours suggest that the cleansing properties of Murasame may be attributed to the Martians or the advanced technology of the Tuatha Dé Danann. However, Tarma remains skeptical and dismisses such claims as mere speculation.

After the end of the fearsome battle against General Morden and the Rebel Army, he rose through the ranks to become Captain of the P.F. Squad. He played a key role in the suppression of the second coup, getting a chance to fight alongside Fio and Eri. Notably, he saved Marco from a laser blast by the Hozmi that could have been fatal, earning himself a reputation as a hero and the true linchpin of the P.F. Squad. During the conflict with the Arabian Infantry, Tarma bravely rescued a baby and several children who had been orphaned by Rebel soldiers. He subsequently facilitated their adoption, providing them with an opportunity for a safe and nurturing upbringing. He lost his right forearm during a fight against Allen O'Neil, which was later replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic that he designed and built with the help of Regular Army scientists and Pupipi.

Tarma's exceptional talent for building motorcycles, rivalling that of professionals, had led him to consider retirement. However, these plans have been put on hold due to the persistent and desperate pleas of his spineless superiors to continue his service in the military.

[bluemoonperegrine]

Ted's on First - Part I

This is the first scene (~1200 words) of the long-awaited Waffle House fic. It's taking me forever to get this thing written, but I'd rather take the time to do it right.

Although this is set in the Bittersweet Symphony universe, you don't have to have read any of it to follow this.

UPDATE: The whole fic is here on ao3.

Rating: Gen Characters: Elsa Bloodstone/Jack Russell, Ted Sallis (Man-Thing), original characters Word Count (eventually): ~3500 Warnings: Canon-typical violence (eventually)

Ava knew the pair was trouble the moment the plate glass door swung open. A gust of humid, marsh-scented air preceded two fit thirty-somethings whose dress better suited a pop culture convention than southern Florida.

“Mornin’,” Ava called over the din of her washing dishes behind the counter and the mess of eggs and hash browns Tom had sizzling on the grill. Between the late hour and their location on the outskirts of the Miami metro area, the two of them could run the Waffle House.

A swarthy, clean-shaven man of Indian descent nodded acknowledgement as his eyes swept across the nearly empty diner. Dried mud spattered his dark boots and the bottom of his black duster. The fact that his long coat was buttoned closed despite the warm night air outside suggested he was packing. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to cosplay Neo from The Matrix.

Ava glanced at Kendra, who perched on her usual stool at the far end of the counter. The big-boned woman with natural Black hair was watching the new arrivals as well. Kendra nodded, then returned her attention to the door.

Neo stepped aside to make way for his companion: a Black woman with her hair in cornrows. Her garb was similar to Neo’s with the exception of her medium-length leather coat. She also surveyed the nearly empty dining room, skipping over Kendra to linger on the customers sitting at the table on the right side of the door. Those two, an attractive older couple who’d been playing footsie under the table, wore motorcycle safety gear.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Ava told Neo and Trinity.

After giving her a cursory smile, the woman headed for the table on the left side of the door. Neo followed. 

Ava dried her hands, pulled her order pad and pen from the pocket of her yellow apron, and strode around the end of the counter toward the older couple. Kendra smiled and said quietly in Creole “I’m watching” as Ava moved past her.

Despite his back being to her, the tanned, forty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair sat up straight as Ava approached. After frowning over his shoulder in Kendra’s direction, the handsome man gave Ava a friendly smile. His companion, a fair-skinned, dark-haired woman who was beautiful even with her brows knit together, continued studying the single-page menu.

Ava prompted, “Need another minute or two?”

“Mi vida?” the man asked his probable wife. Neither wore a wedding band.

The woman frowned harder at the menu. “Nearly,” she replied with a light British accent. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” After glancing over his wife’s shoulder at Neo and Trinity sitting their table ten feet away, he turned to Ava and smiled. “The cheeseburger platter, please—”

Ava jotted it down. “Lettuce, tomato, pickle?” 

“Yes, please,” he said with a Latino accent. “And a cup of coffee. It’s late, you know?”

The man’s smile had grown bigger somehow. Ava felt herself returning it as she admired his green irises and how the corners of his eyes crinkled—

The British woman pointedly cleared her throat. “I’m ready to order.”

“Right!” Ava blurted. She felt her face heat up as she met the woman’s displeased countenance. Her husband chuckled, as did Kendra from her spot at the end of the counter. “What can…”

The Latino was looking over his shoulder again as if he’d heard Kendra. The notion was ridiculous, as was how something dark had seemed to move under the table. The couple was probably playing footsie. 

After taking a breath to compose herself, Ava addressed the British woman. “What can I get you?”

“The steak hash brown bowl,” the woman said frostily, “with jalapeños—”

 “Ahht!” the man mock scolded.

The woman heaved a sigh and leveled an impatient look on her husband. “Jack, I am not using that silly lingo.”

Jack’s face fell. “But you have to! It’s a rule.” He grinned at Ava. “Right?”

Ava gulped, wishing her customers were the usual ones who came in after the bars closed. Drunks she could handle. These two were weird and she still had to deal with Neo and Trinity. “Uh…”

The woman handed the menu to Ava as she shook her head at her husband. “You can,” she said, trying to withhold a grin. “You know what I like.”

Her husband’s smile became more of a leer, which made Ava blush and the woman chuckle. “Go on, and stop torturing the poor girl.”

Jack turned back to Ava with a polite smile. “She’ll have hers scattered, chunked, diced, peppered, and capped.” He grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes as the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“And to drink?” Ava asked them both because she had no idea who’d reply at this point.

“Tea?” Jack asked his wife.

The woman gave Ava a skeptical look. “Is it orange pekoe?”

Ava yearned for drunk patrons who only wanted coffee. “I guess? It’s Lipton’s.”

“Coffee,” the woman sighed, “black.” She looked fondly at her husband. “Bring lots of cream for him.”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. In a stage whisper he added, “Don’t mind her. She’s hangry.”

“I am not hangry!” The woman’s mouth snapped shut. She blushed as her husband chuckled.

Ava willed herself to not react and risk provoking the not-hangry British woman. “Back in a minute with coffee,” she said and retreated, catching Kendra’s eye as she walked past. Her friend followed her behind the counter as she called the order to Tom, a ruddy white man who looked older than his fifty years.

Grateful for the clanks of metal utensils on the grill, Ava murmured to Kendra in Creole, “He can hear you.”

Kendra looked his way. “Seems that way,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t see me, though.”

Ava put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee, leaving room for cream in one of them. “Untrained?”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied. She didn’t seem concerned. “Jack seems harmless. But he is keeping an eye on the other two. His wife is too. She’s using the reflection in the window.”

Ava took longer than necessary putting coffee creamer cups in a bowl for the Latino. “This really isn’t a good night for things to get interesting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kendra said, laying one hand on Ava’s shoulder. The touch had no weight, only a gentle coldness. “Don’t you worry.”

Ava nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s presence. 

As she picked up the mugs with one hand and the bowl of creamer in the other, she looked at Neo and Trinity at their table on the far side of the counter. With only stars and headlights from I-75 traffic lighting the night sky, the floor-to-ceiling window behind the customers acted as a mirror. Kendra, who looked about thirty, wasn’t there, of course, but Ava’s reflection was. They both were tall, but Ava lankier. Her black hair was in a multitude of thin braids, the bunch of them gathered at the nape of her neck with an elastic hair band. Her black T-shirt, pants, and yellow apron and visor were nothing to write home about. College tuition and bills had to get paid somehow.

Trinity and Neo must have felt her eyes on them. They glanced at her simultaneously.

“Coffee?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Neo said with a neutral American accent. “That’d be good.” Trinity nodded agreement.

Ava returned it as she headed for her other customers. “Coming right up.”

--------------------------

For anyone who's read "Past Is Prologue," Kendra is the same Kendra in that fic. 😊

Also, I was lazy in the Bittersweet Symphony fics and made Elsa American. She's British here because it's more accessible for anyone who hasn't read that series, and easier to differentiate her from other female characters when writing from Ava's POV.