#dadbod monster

[monstersandmaw]

Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case. 

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough… 

__

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[mammaonii]

Kinktober List 2024

Yan!König with autistic reader

Hivemind! 141 with Chubby S/O

*Possible pt2 too that if it does well*

Fluffy dadbod!Nikto with touch starved reader

Alone with monster fucker reader

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

i am a simple man with simple needs: a monster man in his mid 40s (or the equivalent for his species) who is twice my size with a dadbod to affectionately call me "kiddo" and cuddle with me and spend hours just talking to me and giving me advice and making love to me like neither of us has ever felt affection before and watching movies together and going on hikes together and having nice dinners with each other and rail me and just sit in silence together on rainy days

.

[konigsblog]

I always have thoughts about my bbg Toxic!dadbod!price.

Price who has the biggest shit fit when you beg him to bond normally with his son. Not just watching sports, trying to teach him stuff and other bs. But no, thats the womens job. Not hisss

Or

Dadbod ghost and price are fucking you and Ghost is soo kind, and sweet, until price makes him mean

Idk ngl price yasnt infected my mind latelyn

misogyny

if he was being honest, he felt as if his son was becoming an inconvenience. not that he hated him, he adored him, you believed it bring you two together - yet, like always, the football, beers and cigars came first rather than you, his wife. all it was another reason not to divorce, believing he'd change.

from your leaky tits to your constant nagging, asking him to hold his son for a couple minutes while you unloaded the washing, folding his clothes on the couch. he paid no attention to his son's babbles, occasionally chuckling as he grabbed his hair, pulling it slightly with his tiny hands. but, other than that, he was no help for you.

even if it was about bonding, he'd throw a hissy fit about how this is an inconvenience in his life. he'll only do it when you begin crying from frustration, your baby more concerned than him. finally taking his own kid while you tried to calm down and shower. “fuckin' woman's job, not mine.” he uttered under his breath, playing with his son's small fingers, accidentally scaring him when a goal was scored.

amd dadbod!ghost fucking you gently? being friends with john, slowly turning him evil with his cruel and unforgiving beliefs and opinions, expressing them onto simon. it was heartbreaking to see the sweet man turn into some monster, barely caring about your needs and only giving you one orgasm, if any, and leaving his seed oozing out your hole.

you miss the days were you'd wake up cuddled into him, or those intimate dates you'd have out. instead, cooking dinner while he talks to price about football and what not, your heart sinking at his words; new opinions on women's rights.

it actually does make me really sad to think about.. like, you were so kind before, loving 'nd everything.. and now you've ruined everything for your own benefits. i want soft!dadbod!simon!!!

[saggingvasquez]

Patreon is turning this JOCK BOY into a NON-STOP GROWING FAT SWOLLEN EX-JOCK BEAST!!!! Come join in the fun and help fuel my growth to become a THICK BEEFY MONSTER!! 😈🐷💪

Pics + more! 🐷💪😈 🩲 🍆 . . . . . . . . . . . .

#weightgain #bulk #beerbelly #exjock #musclepig #musclegrowth #muscle #bellybloat #bellybulge #bellystuffing #belly #bloated #tightclothes #bulking #swollen #pig #overeating #beergut #fittofat #fit2fat #jock #beef #mass #dadbod #gettingfat #gainer #overfed #bodybuilder #gaymen #gaining

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Coild we get some asgore prey prompts specifically to some big hungry human men?

Yeah, why not, I got a couple ideas.

A.sgore had finally decided to try dating again now that he was on the surface and his options seemed so much wider. It was surprisingly easy to find humans who didn't mind that he was a monster, but a few dates go by and he doesn't really...well, feel anything. At least until he met a human much like him--a larger man, thick muscles hidden just under a bit of plush fat and a large belly that made him seem huggable. A.sgore and him had hit it off well, and he thought things were going great. So he was excited to go back to the man's home to continue their date after dinner. After a night of fun in bed, A.sgore was content drifting off to sleep next to the human. The human, however, had an extra plan for that night. he licks his lips as he pulls the king a bit closer to himself. Dinner had been fine, but not nearly filling enough, and A.sgore was just the right size to be one hell of a meal. The human's drooling maw opens wide as he guides the sleeping monster's head inside, horns and all. He's slow and careful while devouring him, not wanting to wake the king up. A.sgore seemed like a nice enough guy, and if it wasn't for the fact that he'd been hungry, the human might've kept him around. But once he got that first taste, there was no going back. Soft, steady gulps work A.sgore deeper and deeper down the hatch, the human getting to enjoy tasting over the soft dadbod the goat had. All the while, A.sgore slept on peacefully, exhausted after the most intense sex of his life. He doesn't even stir as his feet are slurped up and his entire body is curled up in the human's gut. The man belches into his fist then lets out a soft chuckle. He pats his gut a few times and settles back in bed. "Gonna have to try more monster after all...hope they're all as sweet and filling as you." The human slurps over his lips and drifts off to sleep alongside A.sgore, whoc continued to sleep blissfully through his own digestion. Only one of them would wake up the following day, the human grumbling to himself as he waddles into his bathroom. "Dammit...I didn't think magic would be so fattening..." He squeezes his gut in the mirror with a soft frown. It'd doubled in size thanks to A.sgore, not to mention the damage to the man's thighs and ass. Maybe he'll cut back a bit on monster after all. But at least he got the tastiest one of the bunch.

A.sgore drops to his knees, exhausted. He has to use his trident to remain upright at all. The human who had come through here, looking for a way out, had proved far stronger than A.sgore thought. He doesn't even have the energy to fire a bit of magic at him anymore. "I suppose...this is it then," A.sgore says, lowering his head. "To get out of here...you'll have to take my soul. You've won so...please...go ahead. I think I'd like some rest." He heard the human approaching him and figured that he was going to be struck down with the final blow. But then his head is lifted up, letting him look right up at the human. The human is large, clearly an adult who ate well. He ate...very well, A.sgore would realize, as he watches those drooling jaws open wide. Everything goes dark as his head is engulfed and the human begins to devour him. He doesn't have the energy to fight back against it. All he can do is let the human work hi down, armor and all. For a moment, he wonders if any other monsters were sent down the very same path, but he doesn't ponder it for long as he begins to spill into the human's gut. A.sgore can feel his predator moving around, eventually realizing that the human must have sat on his throne. By then, he's only a pair of legs hanging from the drooling human's maw, and with a wet slurp and a few more gulps, even those are packed away into the tight gut. The human licks his lips and pats his gut a few times. He lets out a crass belch, sending A.sgore's crown flying out of his jaws. It bounces off his gut and makes the king shift a bit. It'd been a big meal--one he wasn't even sure he'd get done--but the human found that A.sgore had been too easy to slurp up. Like he'd always been meant to be food. The human relaxes there, his guts roaring to life as it gets to work on melting the king down. He rubs over his stomach, occasionally belching up a piece of armor as A.sgore is melted right out of it. The protruding bulges steadily sink back in, letting the human's gut get rounder and smaller as the goat is processed. A.sgore didn't resist for a second--he'd lost, fair and square, and now he was being given the chance to rest like he wanted. He closes his eyes and relaxes, his softening body falling apart into a thick slurry. The human belches deeply, sending his chest plate flying out to lay in the flowers with the rest of his armor. That's all that would be left of him by the time anyone came by, the human long gone with A.sgore little more than some added heft wobbling on his midsection.

[thenixkat]

3 potential fic thoughts post read (will I work on any? who the fuck knows) 1. idk about anyone else but King Laios looks thicker in the epilogue to me. Something something introspective about my guy developing a kingly dadbod and growing into the whole leading a country thing/dealing with his curses

2. Falin is still on decent speaking/writing terms with their parents. Her inviting their parents to the palace for a special event and just folks dealing with changes. maybe some regrets

3. My guy Laios should get to be a bit monstrous as a treat. But not like a kind of monster anything like his ideals (thinking something between a folkloric vampire, a wolfman, with a dash of vampirism/lycanthropy as demonic possession). Something along the lines of Laios somehow catches a parasite from eating an illusion of food in teh magic paintings. Something something grappling with elation in the changes vs the inconvenience of them during a time-sensitive mission of the Falin rescue adventure. (if i do work on any it'd most likely be the 3rd one)

the first two would likely only happen after a few rereads. And I likely will reread cause it was a fun story. Most likely will start the 3rd one as soon as I fully design what I'm giving my guy I know that I wanna have some fun with the monster eating (maybe talking on some minor aspects of critters eaten but not becoming a cool chimera) and I want it to be something that fucks up his ability to think clearly when transformed (a clear downside given man's got responsibilities and folks to look after)

gonna turn that boy into a bootleg beastman with zero of the aesthetic sensibilities he prefers

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

SERIES NOW COMPLETE! The Dad Bod Monster series is available now + FREE to read in Kindle Unlimited!   Brace yourself for a wild ride as your favorite authors sharpen their claws and unleash a ferociously fun series. Get ready for burly, grrrowly, furry mayhem, proving the best things in life often come with a little extra bite. Dad Bod Monsters...   Start the series today! https://amzn.to/4bmyCop   #DadBodMonster #monstermates #fatedmates #dadbod #paranormalromance #seriescomplete #kindlebooks #givemebookspr

[trtyutr]

Jacob accepted a gift. In a dream he meet a man of glowing light, who offered him love, beauty, power, and wealth. He thought that saying yes wouldn't mean anything; it was a dream after all. For thirty day, nothing all that excited seem to be happening besides him noticing gains from the gym that filled out his clothes pleasingly. The thirty-first day however, the restaurant he was a waiter at did their first ever catering gig, and he was going to deliver and serve it. He went because it was some big business meeting, and he hoped he would get some big tips. The total catering order was massive. it took ever inch of free space in his truck. He went in early, and some assistants helped him set up the buffet in the large conference hall. Men streamed in expensive suits, some young and fit, others older with fat bellies. The room's seats were filled with over a hundred men. Dozens of PAs buzzed around the room, fetching notes or water. Speeches were given, mostly just a lot of buzz words and economic nonsense. When they broke for lunch, it was a grateful break in Jacob's boredom. Then came to his table, and he served them dutifully. The odd thing was that he was the only member of the help that the talked to. They were practically chatty. They kept complimenting him, but progressively more and more comments were about his looks. Then they turned sexual, but then they started tipping. First fifty buck, then hundreds, one gentleman put down two thousand, so he kept his mouth shut. Everything was going fine if uncomfortable until some grabbed his ass. Everything was a blurry dream after that. Recalls taking every man there. Hands either supported him or were wrapped around a cock. His mouth and ass had dick in them at all times. His cock had hands, mouths, or an ass wrapped around it. Everything became bigger when he touched it. The hunks became hunkier. The dadbods grew bigger guts and larger fat covered muscle. An ass that he fucked ended up looking like two watermelons. A dick he sucked became a foot long monster. Everything grew. Months later he's standing in a villa trying out a pair of pants. They don't fit. They rarely do, but he knows how it drives his lovers wild when he tries on something that he outgrew as they ordered it. His harem of men took good care of him. The wealthier ones spared no expense on him. The assistants turned supplicants preform any request he gives them. Sure he's approaching the size of a barn with his growing brood, but that just means there's more of him to be doted upon. His attendants were ever growing as more men came to be his lover, and because their own forms were growing. Tt was hard to find a head that did not break seven feet, a manhood that did not make normal men envious, bodies to be craved, and as is becoming apparent, wombs carrying the gift of life. Made by the request of @bigmpregnm

A few months later...

[snacknite]

Portrait for @cleancarousel of his demon character Eosphoros (in Greek: Morning sun)

Follow me on twitter for more art | See post on twitter

[monstersandmaw]

Little new year sneak peek for you while the monthly story is awaiting a final edit. Oats the single-father, dadbod kelpie meets his reader again at a time when she least expects it and most needs it...

[mrdrawinglover]

So this is something I wanted to do this for a while. and now I finally done it. And I'm really proud

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

i have many monsterfucking fantasies (werewolf dilfs, dragon dilfs, alien dilfs...i have a type) but one consistency between all of it (beyond middle-aged dadbod monster men) is the worldbuilding surrounding it. i just love creating different ideas for settings and worlds to build these fantasies in.

the fantasy alone is hot as hell, but when i can fully immerse myself in the story im creating in my head it takes it to a completely new level.

in an alien mood? well lets first figure out what scenario im in to where i'd even encounter an alien. perhaps im in a time where intergalactic travel is as easy as driving down the highway, my own ship (analogous to a car) and all. is it one massive intergalactic nation? or more of an alliance between different groups?

maybe i need a werewolf? okay is it more of a traditional werewolf setting with werewolves in hiding and being worried about getting caught and hiding in the shadows and all that? or is it a more harmonious world were werewolves and non-werewolves live openly? can i walk out of my door and see my werewolf neighbor in a tartan robe absentmindedly watering the grass while drinking his morning coffee? if it's the latter, what sparked this development? how does it resemble our irl cultures and how does it differ?

i like to jot these ideas down for future reference. so i have a bunch of documents on my computer that is just a bunch of lore and worldbuilding that i came up with just cause i wanted to suck monster dick.

.

[grismavessel]

LOOK AT THEM✨💕💖🥺

I have no skills in consistency so here's how Konrad & the Shadow currently look in super exaggerated & very different styles, at that♡

& a full ref for the Shadow in all his fuzzy-wuzzy & ultra creepy sorta glory?

[saggingvasquez]

So did u want watch the full pics 😏🍆 and this vid, go now to my Patreon

GROWING FAT SWOLLEN EX-JOCK BEAST!!!! THICK BEEFY MONSTER!! 😈🐷💪

💪😈 🩲 🍆 . . . . . . . . . . . . #weightgain #bulk #beerbelly #exjock #musclepig #musclegrowth #muscle #bellybloat #bellybulge #bellystuffing #belly #bloated #tightclothes #bulking #swollen #pig #overeating #beergut #fittofat #fit2fat #jock #beef #mass #dadbod #gettingfat #gainer #overfed #bodybuilder #gaymen #gaining

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A post shared by javier Gorgona (@muscle_encourange2)

[devilsbiggestmistakeblr]

Blue lock hcs part 2: Because I’m bored and don’t wanna study.

-Ego has a foot fetish.

-Anri having to take care of Ego constantly is one of the biggest reasons she no longer wants kids.

-Sae has never regretted anything as much as a he regrets giving Shidou his number. 

-Bachira might never admit it, but he has on occasion jerked off to his monster(don’t @ me, I know what I said).

-Actually, never mind, he would admit it.

-Nagi owns a pair of......crocs(somehow this is the most embarrassing thing on this post).

-Isagi has two sides and anyone who’s read the entire manga knows this, he may seem like a chill guy on the outside, but on the inside if you dare get in the way of what he wants, he will literally rip you apart. Chapter 62 is simply just proof of this. 

-Nagi forgot to tell his parents he was going to join Blue Lock. They genuinely believed their son had been kidnapped for a good two weeks or so until like Reo’s family called them and informed them of their son’s whereabouts. Either that or Nagi lives alone(idk it just makes sense in my head, even though he’s what sixteen, I forgot their ages).

-Kaiser....I have legit nothing to say about Kaiser.

-Noel Noah and dadbods go together. (But like he doesn’t have it right now, I’m just saying it was made for him, just the vibes you know).

-Now this isn’t a hc, but who else thought Reo was a redhead. Am I just really stupid, cause I went through like 140 chapters thinking he’s a redhead or something and then bam Reo fanart smacks me in the head.