#like he does with the regular bikers

[deceasedcryptid]

I just know Sonic from the first movie would go crazy if he saw Movie Shadow appear on his motorcycle.

[flowerakatsuka]

smoke break & a familiar customer

more fanart of @brofightiscancelled & @awittlebabbyboy's postgrad plan au! no matter what, i'll always be obsessed with kara and had to draw his au design. he's so cutes and weighed down by so much regret, i'm absolutely captivated by him.

also, since a certain someone rides a moped, i hope it's alright if they stop by his mechanic shop. 👉👈

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

-

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

-

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

-

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

-

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

-

just an idea.

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[fanaticalthings]

Give me crime lord!Jason who's actually on good terms with the batfam. Not only would it actually be helpful when it comes to missions surrounding underground/illegal operations (Jason would be able to retrieve way more insider knowledge) but also I think having a supervillain family member that you're chill with is just untapped comedic potential that needs to be taken advantage of.

---

Damian gets into a petty fight with Bruce, and the next day, instead of waiting for Bruce to pick him up from school, he calls Jason, who shows up in full Red Hood regalia and just rides off with Damian.

Of course everyone at school sees that Wayne's son just got snatched by Gotham's most notorious crime lord, so ofc when Bruce gets there, sees Damian missing, and hears a series of panicked whispers about a gun slinging, criminal biker riding off with a prince of Gotham, Bruce immediately knows what's up and just sighs, already anticipating the many publication companies he's gonna have to bribe to stay silent.

---

Sometimes, they need Jason's help with intercepting certain illegal trades within the underworld of, not just Gotham, but just common areas where shady businesses are most prevalent. And when Bruce requests that Jason brings evidence of said illegal shipments to the cave, Jason will smugly respond with "I can, but it'll cost ya"

And Bruce is all exasperated like, "Jason, please, this mission's been going on for a month, I just want to get it over with."

And Jason's just looking down at the crate of smuggled materials, recognizes that it's highly sought after by many rogues (maybe it's machinery parts or rare chemical substances, etc) and ofc Jason's about to be petty as hell when responding to Bruce:

Jason: I don't think you have any idea how valuable the stuff I have is. If I sold this myself in my part of the underground, I'd make a fortune!

Bruce: Jason

Jason: Butttt, if you're not willing to pay me for this, y'know, despite being a billionaire, I guess I could just auction this off to another willing client

Bruce: Jason

Jason: I hear Lex Luthor's been cookin' up something new for Superman. I wonder if he'd be interested?

Bruce: Son, please.

Jason:

Bruce:

Jason: I'll give you a family discount.

And it's just a back and forth of this EVERYTIME. And Jason only does it when he's collaborating with Bruce. None of the other bats have to deal with Jason demanding money.

---

There was one time, during a Wayne gala where practically ALL the kids (except Jason, dude's still legally dead), had to show up. And around halfway through, the Red Hood just crashes through the skylight and then just fucking kidnaps Bruce Wayne, in front of everyone. And of course the gala has to be cut short.

Meanwhile, Bruce, in Jason's custody: I CANNOT believe you, son. WHY of all times would you do this? You are GROUNDED, I don't care if you don't live with me anymore, this is just UNACCEPTABLE-

Jason, completely ignoring him, holding up a tablet with news article headlines about this incident: Bruce, look at this shot they got of me crashing through the ceiling, I look fuckin' badass

And then when the fam (in costume) come to "save" Bruce, in a blink and you'll miss it moment, Bruce catches Cass and Jason whispering something to eachother in the corner and them fist bumping before Jason books it out of there. He can already feel a headache brewing.

And generally speaking, I feel like the batfam could be way more efficient with this arrangement. You got the regular team of bats, investigating from above, as well as being able to infiltrate socialite environments as Waynes. Then you got Jason, who can keep an eye on all the lesser exposed and lucrative activities whilst he keeps the underground businesses under his control. I feel like it would be a win win situation that would be hella interesting to see explored.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Biker!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the ask here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Seeing Simon on his motorcycle is something that awakens a new yearning inside you, but when you get your own bike and start riding alongside him, the way he gets you hot and bothered makes it worse. You need him to fuck you on his bike and you hope your plan will make it happen.

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings:

The first time you ever saw Simon Riley perched atop his black motorcycle, in that moment some innate part of your brain was awakened and you were never the same. There was just something so incredibly erotic about the way those thick thighs straddled over the sides, the way his arms looked with their muscles bulging, straining his black short sleeved t-shirt wrapped around them as he leaned forward to reach the handlebars. Of course his helmet with the blacked out visor didn’t hurt either, not when paired with his sleeve of tattoos. He was a vision even more than usual and you were suddenly hooked. 

Then he took you for a ride along the open highway where he could really show you the power his bike had and that solidified your need to be involved in his hobby. Adrenaline, that was and still is Simon’s favorite part of being on the open road, his bike vibrating underneath him as the wind rushed past his body, and now that you had that first taste of it all, it was yours too. 

Whatever you needed to do to keep getting to look at him like that, to keep feeling that rush, you were more than willing to do it. 

Whenever he was on leave you two found yourselves on his bike, roaming the city on long night rides just to feel the wind on your skin and the rush of speed under your bodies. That was until he made an off-handed joke one day about getting you your own bike so that you could drive alongside him and then suddenly you were expressing how much you actually had been thinking about it. Sharing his hobby with someone, especially you, was something he has always wanted. To think you could experience the same thrills had him rushing to take you bike shopping the very next day so he could start teaching you.

You picked it all up relatively fast and before you knew it you had your license and regular drives have now become a part of your routine whenever your military man is in. Getting on the highway, opening the bike up as you go faster and faster, weaving through traffic with Simon always right by your side, there is something exhilarating about it all. And now you had the best view of that gorgeous specimen of a man.

Being able to see you on your own bike makes Simon have a taste of his own medicine because fuck did you look a goddamn beauty. Is this how you feel looking at him? The way it makes your back arch, full juicy arse just calling his name, has him salivating whenever he gets to see it. And he can’t help what it causes him to do; it’s not his fault when you look the way you do. The first time he ever pulled his little stunt, a ritual of sorts that he has to engage in every time you’re out driving together, you had a hard time focusing on the road after.

Bringing his bike close beside yours, he reaches out and runs his hand over the curve of your ass, making sure that he does it long enough that the other motorists behind you both can see him claim his hot biker vixen as his. You belong to him and he wants everyone that can see to know it.

And fuck does it drive him wild and have you reeling every time.

This goes on for quite a while, and all the times he’s touched you while riding have conjured up a new fantasy of yours and you finally decide you have to do something about it. Lately you’ve been thinking: what type of partner would you be if you didn’t return the favor? Simon deserves to be just as flustered too, right? It’s not because you need him to fuck you on his bike, nope, not all. 

Is it strange? Maybe. Will he go for it? You aren’t entirely sure, but one thing you do know is that you at least have to try. And if it works out, you know he’ll enjoy it too. On one of the last few nights of his leave, you decide that you’ve got nothing to lose and put your plan into motion.

“You know, it’s been so long since you took me on a ride with you,” you put your case to him tonight. “Like we used to. Me on the back of your bike, wrapped around you tight, you speeding through the lanes with the wind rushing past us. Remember that? I used to get so excited to see you just so you’d take me out with you.”

Those hazel eyes stare back at you curiously; of course he remembers. Christ, how could he ever fucking forget? Still, it’s intriguing to him why you would be bringing this up now. “What’s got ya all nostalgic sweetheart, hmm?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow. “Ya don’t like ridin’ beside me?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just thought it’d be nice to be close to you again is all, since you’ll be leaving soon,” you say as you bite your lip with a subtle coyness while you stare back at him with those tempting doe eyes that make him melt.

How can he say no to that? To his girl wanting to be near him? Absolutely fucking never.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he responds as he gets up while pointing towards the bedroom, “well, go get dressed then. Can’t say no to ya when ya look at me like that.”

Simon is already sitting on the bike out front ready to go when you emerge from the front door in a short skirt, tight tank top, and leather boots and once again he is reminded just how lucky he is to be with you. This just keeps getting better and better for the ol boy. 

Climbing on the back and securing yourself around him, helmets on and visors down, Simon takes off into the night. He can feel the pressure from your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing into his abs as you hold on, the warmth of your chest against his back, your thighs saddled up against his, and he wonders why you both don’t do this more often. 

The lights of the city sparkle around you, cutting through the evening like stars to illuminate your way as Simon drifts through the streets, making his way to the highway like he always does. Your heart is beginning to beat faster as you wait for the opportune moment to implement your plan and you silently hope that it works. 

On the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, Simon detects the first signs of something happening behind him. The movement is subtle at first and he almost misses that both hands aren’t pinned against his stomach anymore until he detects the warmth from your palm as it comes to rest on top of his thigh. He looks down through the visor of his helmet to where your hand lays as he wonders curiously to himself about the intentions of your actions.

Just what the hell is she up to? he thinks to himself as he turns his attention back onto the darkened road studded with streetlights.

The answer is quickly approaching as he feels your hand on the move again, now inching towards the middle of his broad thighs, moving and stopping, moving and stopping, to the crotch of his jeans and suddenly he understands just as you make first contact with the mass contained inside. 

A shiver runs up Simon’s spine and you can feel his back shudder against your chest as you start to rub over the swell, your touches heavy and full of purpose. Over and over again your palm makes purchase with his crotch and you can feel the muscles in his back tense. A part of him wants to pull your hand off so that can refocus, but it feels too damn good to get you to quit. Fuck, the pressure from your hand and the vibration from the bike has him so hard he can barely see straight. 

He needs to find some place to stop and fast; if he’s going to come in something it is not going to be his pants, it’s going to be you. 

Up ahead he sees an exit fast approaching and he quickly transfers over to the lane and takes it, not having a plan, but hopeful that he will be able to find something satisfactory enough. Brown eyes dart from one side of the street to the other frantically searching for something, anything so that he can pull off. The sign for a large parking garage is illuminated just up ahead; it’ll have to do. He won’t be able to focus for much longer; the pressure of your hand rubbing against his cock mixed with the vibrations from the bike leaves him gnawing at the bit with a need that he desperately has to satisfy. It wouldn’t be safe to keep going, not with the way his limbs are starting to tingle.

Simon drives through the first couple of levels and is glad to see it relatively empty save for a few straggling cars spaced far apart. Perfect, that means no one will be around to disturb him until he has had his way with you. He continues on a couple of levels that are completely empty as he puts you both more in the middle of the structure just to be sure you will be all alone until finally he drives to the back of the garage and pulls into the shadow, parking the bike and shutting it off. 

“Hop off,” he says and you immediately do as you're told, taking off your helmet and straightening your skirt as you make it to your feet.

You stand there close to his thigh as he removes his helmet and sets it on the ground on the other side of the bike, running his fingers through his short hair to fluff it up from being crushed underneath. As he sits back up his tattooed arm quickly reaches out behind your head where he grabs your hair into a ponytail in his fist, keeping your head locked while his opposite hand palms around your waist as he leans in with a smirk across his lips and a glimmer in those coffee-colored eyes. 

“Whatcha think you’re doin’, sweetheart? Playin’ games, hmm?” he asks as he stares back into your face.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, your tone playful and coy. You know damn well what you are doing and he isn’t dumb enough to think you don’t.

He glares back at you skeptically. “Right.”

“What?” you dismiss him. “I thought you didn’t mind a bit of touching when we ride? Always grabbing me; thought you’d enjoy a bit of fun.” 

There it is; this is payback for all the times he’s made his move while you were out cruising together. And fuck, has it worked to perfection.

Simon rips his hand from your waist and wraps it around your wrist so that he can pull your hand forward and place it right up against the stiffening peak straining against the zipper of his form fitting jeans.

“So this is whatcha fuckin’ wanted, yeah?” he asks, breathiness in his gruff tone as your hand makes contact with the rigid bulge. “Gettin’ me so fuckin’ hard I can’t even be bothered ta wait till we get back home ta fuck ya?” 

Can’t wait? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? God, you hope so. “What do you mean?” you ask, faking your ignorance as you rub your palm over the swell while maintaining eye contact. “We aren’t going home?”

A deep hum echoes through the atmosphere as he bites his bottom lip; you’ve started something that can’t be stopped now and the way your hand continues to stimulate him, he doesn’t think you want it to anyway. “No,” he says with a shake of his head, “ya wanted to start all this on my bike, that’s fine. Guess I deserve it. But now…I’m gonna make damn sure I finish ya on it.”

As you stand there silently waiting to see what he does next, Simon shifts back in the seat and helps you climb back onto the bike, but facing him so that he can lay you over the fuel tank. He plants his feet firmly onto the ground to keep the setup steady and pulls your body down, those rough hands pushing your skirt up off your hips to your waist as he forces your legs open wider so he can get himself between them. 

Thank God you’ve worn something easy to get into. Or was that your plan all along? Doesn’t really matter much now; he’s in.

Simon looks down and his eyes catch sight of a dark spot in the crotch of your panties. He presses his hand up against the mound of your cunt and the pressure makes you twitch, your back arching up off the tank as he feels what he had just suspected: you’re a little damp.

“Seems someone’s already stirred up,” he comments as his hand releases the pressure only to press in tight all over again in a pattern that matches his increasing heart rate. “Ya like it, don’t ya baby? The way tha bike vibrates ‘tween your legs? Like the way it hums against ya ‘till your clit is swollen?”

Simon’s hard-on throbs harshly against the zipper of his pants and into your naked thigh, tenting the fabric while he grinds it into the muscle as you wrap your legs around his hips; you have to hold on as you can’t stop the way your body jerks the longer his touch prods against those sensitive lips. Just the pressure alone after the drive is enough to make you whimper inside your closed mouth.

“Have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like this? Me fuckin’ ya raw while you’re on this thing?”

Releasing his hand, he walks those long fingers over the top of your clothed pussy to the waistband of your panties so that he can slip them inside and back down to the moist slit waiting eagerly for their touch and there it is, the unmistakable sound of his breath hitching as his hand makes contact. God, you always feel so fucking good. 

He uses his two middle fingers to part the lips of your slit and run them along the length to gather all the wetness he can on his digits so that once he finds your entrance he can easily slip up inside while the tip of his thumb nestles against your clit. You’re very warm, nice and hot and soft against his fingertips and a pleasurable hum he gives in response to the feeling.

“Ya know, I know why ya started ridin’ with me,” he says as you squirm. “I could see it in your eyes the second I pulled in to pick ya up that first time: ya like the way I look on my bike. Don’t ya?”

Your silence is met with a heavy jab with the pad of his thumb to that sensitive little button, holding it down until you are forced to answer as he thrusts his fingers inside you up to the knuckle. Your body takes them in perfectly, gripping tight around the digits as you suck him in. 

“Yes,” you say in a whine and buck as his stocky fingers give you a nice starting stretch. “You 

look so f-fucking hot on this thing that sometimes I d-don’t know what to do with myself. That’s w-why I n-need…”

“What do ya need, sweetheart?” he groans as he curls his rough fingers up against your G-spot as his thumb begins to stroke concise circles upon your clit. “Use your words.”

You swallow hard while breathing heavily out of your nose as you clamp your lips shut to stop from audibly crying out in ecstasy at that first contact he makes. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds as he pins his thumb down hard again. “Let me fuckin’ hear ya. Ain’t no one here ‘cept us.”

A desperate moan escapes your lips and echoes through the empty space as you let it all out. “I need you to f-fuck me on y-your b-bike,” you say as you vibrate under his skilled touch. “B-been daydreaming about it for a while. Didn’t know if you’d want to, but I’m desperate.”

Using a flick of his wrist, he begins to snap his fingers up into you faster and faster, those fingers vigorously working your cunt until your juices are starting to dribble down to collect on his palm and the sound of wet slaps reverberate off the concrete. 

“All ya had ta fuckin’ do was ask,” he says. “Ya know I’d do anythin’ for ya, luv; my pretty girl always gets what she wants.”

You look so beautiful sprawled over his bike like this, disheveled skirt shoved up to your ribs, his hand plunged into the front of your panties so that they are stretched tight around your hips ready to rip, back arching as he again strikes right at the exact point of pleasure, tiny beads of sweat sparkling over the exposed parts of your flesh as you burn for him in the warm night air. It’s an image he’s gonna have committed to memory; every time he rides now he will remember the gorgeous mess he made of you.

If he thought he liked his bike before, it is nothing compared to how he will feel after fucking you on it.

Minute after minute each stroke draws you near that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off. Your walls are fluttering around his fingers as they swell and become engorged the closer you get. Simon knows that it won’t be long now and his pulse races to feel it, that moment you come. But not like this, oh no.

He has still been chomping at the bit to relieve the pressure throbbing between his legs and now that he is sure you are ready for it, he isn’t going to waste time. You’re still in public after all, he doesn’t need this to end before you’ve both gotten off. Amidst your whimpered protests to keep going, that you are almost there, he pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, your lubrication dripping along his fingers and glistening in the harsh lighting inside the garage. 

You lean your head up as Simon pulls his fingers apart to watch the sticky fluid string between them before he brings them to his mouth and rams them into his lips to lick them clean, taking care of the mess he’s created from his touch. Just a taste to sait him, as if his face isn’t going to be plastered between those thighs later as he replays the memory of what happened here.

The sight of him sucking the lubrication off his fingers has you gasping for air. How can someone look so perfect doing something so filthy? You need him, bad. “Please,” you beg with a needy whine in your voice, “I want you inside me.”

Those words are like striking a match near a gas leak; suddenly he is scrambling to move as fast as possible.  Feverish hands are clawing at clothing at breakneck speeds as his flesh begs to connect with yours and complete this union. “Ya can shoot me dead if I ever say no to that,” he growls as he moves. 

Time is of the essence and so he quickly rips the soaked crotch of your panties to the side, securing them against your thigh and out of his way as his free hand ruthlessly yanks at the button on his pants to get it undone before he wrenches down the zipper and releases his cock that is throbbing and aching with his rapid heartbeat. 

“Gotta make this quick, yeah?” he groans as the caress from his hand over the tip is almost too sensitive to handle. He’s falling fast. “Don’t want no one seein’ ya like this ‘cept me.”

Leaning down, he places a brief, heated kiss with his warm lips to the exposed skin near your belly button before he has you sitting up so that he can get at those lips he yearns to feel against him as he enters you. The threads of your panties are beginning to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way so he can move his hips in as he aligns the head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole. 

Eyes closed and acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, he mutters a rushed “Breathe” into your open mouth as a warning while his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. The tip prods the opening before it pushes through and slides up inside, the rest following behind in one steady, fluid motion until he reaches the base and there is no more to shove inside you.

Simon shudders at the overwhelming euphoria hitting him all at once and now he’s burning from the inside out, his bulky chest taut with each heavy breath that he releases between kisses as the feeling of you wrapped tightly around his phallus drowns out everything else that surrounds him. 

You throw your head back, breaking the kiss to cry out as you are filled to the brim, being stretched to capacity with all he has to give. His hand grabs at the back of your head so that his lips can shoot back to yours as a tether to help you calm until your body can be allowed a little time to adjust; he’s not exactly small by any means of the word. 

It’s a few seconds before he releases your mouth as he starts to thrust, trying to go slow at first even though he is eager for more. Hips rolling at a steady pace now he pulls back to watch himself pump in and out of you. “Look,” he says in a breathless growl as the hand on the back of your head directs your eyeline down in between your bodies. “This what ya been fuckin’ fantasizin’ ‘bout? I think it looks even prettier on my bike.”

The way his swollen, veiny cock disappears as it slides up into you is mesmerizing. You can feel it but still seeing it has you questioning…where does it all fit? 

He keeps you close as he picks up the pace until the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the silent space. Panting into your face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Simon puts more into his thrusts so that even the bike itself begins to rock with you from the force. The longer he goes the more feral he gets, relinquishing any hold he had on his sanity for as long as he gets to have his body stay fitting so nicely into your cunt.

It’s building, the warmth in the pit of your stomach is gathering steadily as the epinephrine releases all those euphoric chemicals into your bloodstream. The risky nature of your endeavor, the stimulation he’s already produced with his fingers, the fulfilling of your fantasy, it all works together to fuel your passion and his strong thrusts have you ready to spill over the edge at any second.

Simon keeps his pace even as he is now struggling to keep it together. The excitement has gotten to him too so that if he lets himself lose control he is going to come and he can’t have that, not until you have. With each passing second, each pound of that deadly appendage inside you gets more and more desperate, until he finally hears those sweet, sweet words that make his heart skip a beat.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you beg, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to keep your volume at a reasonable level while he slams into you again. “So c-close…”

“Come for me, baby, that’s it,” he coaxes desperately through gritted teeth as he strains to hold on a little longer. Just a little bit more and you’ll finish and he can let go.  

That’s when an idea is thrust into his brain and he knows what he needs to do to bring this full fucking circle for the both of you; complete the fantasy and give you even more to dream about for later. Simon moves over top of you to force you back until you find yourself against the fuel tank again.

Reaching above your head, he cranks the key and restarts the engine. The motorcycle roars to life, filling the garage with its sound, and begins to vibrate until it is pulsating through his body as he thrusts into you harder and harder. It’s like having your own living dildo that only intensifies the stimulation the longer he plunges into your dripping hole; a few more seconds of this and you will be coming on his cock.

And then he revvs the engine…  

The stimulation is too much and suddenly you are forcibly thrown over that precipice as you come with such force, like a hot flash of white light, that your thighs clamp down around his hips as your head falls back. You cry out in choking gasps as your orgasm tears through you; so strong that you are shaking. Your walls are fluttering sporadically around his cock as your hips buck against him unrelentingly and he can’t hold back any longer. 

“Where do ya want me?” he pleads as his fingertips claw at your hips, stabbing harshly into the muscle as he holds on for you to answer; he is about to blow.

“In me, in me,” you whine as you clamp your legs down hard to keep him in. What else were you on birth control for other than this? 

He jerks violently as your pussy continues to flutter around him, making his limbs numb from the pleasure, and with a loud groan that is akin to the bellow of a wild beast, the pressure building at the base of his spine finally reaching its peak and he falls over the edge as he lets it go. His hips never stop, slamming into you as the thick, warm fluid coats the inside of your pussy.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv,” he repeats as he shuts off the engine while he milks himself dry, his thrusts slowing down after a few seconds until they stop all together and he stays with his cock still buried inside you to let your body finish off the rest.

An unknown amount of time passes as your unsteady breathing slowly returns to a more tolerable rhythm, all the while Simon just sits there admiring the products of his labor: the beautiful flush in your cheeks and the contented, glazed look in your eyes, until he can find his voice again once his heartbeat has settled.

“Ya know, I’ve gotten plenty a compliments about my bike, but I gotta say that you’re the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever rode, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls you in by the back of your head to press another breathless kiss onto your lips.

It is torture having to pull out of you, but even he isn’t delusional enough anymore to think that you can just stay like this for much longer. You’ll have to go soon and he needs to help you to redress as your legs are shaking uncontrollably. There’s no way in hell someone hasn’t heard the noise you’d been making.

“Was it everythin’ ya hoped?” he asks with a contented smile as he carefully moves you off the bike to your feet so that he can readjust your panties and pull down your skirt back around your hips.

You match his expression through the hazy afterglow of your ecstasy as he finishes you up and gets himself situated. A pretty sizable wet stain darkens the middle of his jeans, but he doesn’t pay it any mind; a risk of a good fucking time, that’s all.

“Better,” you murmur, satisfied.

Bringing his hand up he cups it against your cheek a second before he combs his fingers through your hair until he reaches the back of your head where he holds them wrapped in the strands. There’s one final thing he has to do before you get going and that is to give you one last kiss as praise for doing so well for him. With how strung out you still are from your orgasm, the gentleness of it makes your knees weak.

“Now how ‘bout we get back so we can go for round two?” he smirks against your mouth as he pulls away. “We can pretend I’m your bike and ya can show me how well I taught ya to ride.”

He gets you situated on the back of the bike, helmets and all, and restarts the engine. It bursts to life and that familiar vibration makes you squeeze your thighs together all over again. Simon smirks to himself before he turns to you with the visor still pulled up. He opens yours and leans in. “Keep your thighs tight. I want ya ta keep all that inside til we get back. I got plans to watch it leak out; I think I’ve earned it.”

With a mischievous chuckle, he closes your visor and his and takes off back out of the garage and into the cool night air. Good thing it isn’t far back to the house from here…if Simon doesn’t plan to take a detour first.

[meiieiri]

pretty woman.

he lives in the world of leather, grease and speed. he knows he's absolute trash, but what's a guy gotta do to have you, a pretty woman wrapped in silks, pearls and smiles, to spare him just. one. glance?!

pairings. biker sukuna x rich!reader

genre. opposites attract, fluff with slight angst-ish (you know me by now, pls skskdskfjskd), references to smut.

notes. yes, i'm still alive, please i haven't been here for months bc i've been so held up at work TT anyway, i thought of this while i was going home when i heard this busker singing "oh, pretty woman" by roy orbison~

He isn't sure how this happened. Maybe he smoked the wrong mushroom or some shit. It was supposed to a regular evening terrorizing the population of Tokyo with the sounds of their bikes revving to the goddamn afterlife or just until someone calls the police. But this is all his goddamn fault, parking in a gas station smack dab in Minami-Aoyama of all places where artists, celebrities, and pompous heiresses camp out at the jazz clubs here which Sukuna absolutely does not understand.

What's so good about a guy choking on some piece of metal that makes a sound similar to a dying seal? But oh well, pompous art for equally pompous people, I guess.

You walked out of that jazz club like you were straight out of a Hollywood movie, the kinds he used to steal from the local DVD rentals in Shinjuku. You were listening to something your friend has to say and your demure chortles invade the very air like the very melody could make the stars tumble to the ground out of pure jealousy because nothing could be quite as radiant - no, what the hell is he saying? He's a biker, not a poet. Even if he were, he's a shit one for using that stomach-churning cliché piece of word vomit.

Fucking gross. Sukuna stomps on his half-finished cigarette.

You were just hot - no, not quite the word - Sukuna scowls frustratedly - ah, there it is, pretty. Too pretty for you to even run around the same circles as him. The Dior mini bag you were carrying makes Sukuna postulate that you were probably born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you must have gone to an exclusive all-girls high school, afterwards, you must have been sent by your snobbyass parents to finish your studies overseas.

Even if he were to approach you right now, Sukuna grimaces at the thought, you'd probably run for Beverly fucking Hills.

Sukuna watches as you help your friend inside a taxi, waving them goodbye. "Please drop her off safely," he heard you say to the driver just as you shut the car door. Sukuna quirks an eyebrow when he spots you looking left, then right, and then left again before taking off your high heels, unafraid to look improper despite your pretty get-up. But your feet must be aching like hell after dancing all night to Roy Orbinson and Frank Sinatra.

You hurriedly head to your car that, as fate would have it, is parked in the same gas station he's hanging around. He doesn't say a word when you look at him a little fearfully when you approach your car that was parked just behind his Ninja H2, your eyes glaze over his leather jacket, his scandalously tight riding jeans, his pierced lip and tattooed face.

He tilts his head in a polite gesture that begs to convey: "Hey, I'm not gonna bite, kid."

Momentarily frozen, you had to shake yourself awake and you apologetically bow your head for staring too long. Slipping into the driver's seat, you fumble with your keys, struggling to turn on the engine. "H-huh?" you gasp. "Ah, no...no...come on..." You try to turn the key again and again hoping to get a reaction from your Benz but nothing happens.

Sukuna snickers slightly when he sees you mouth the word "shit" from his view of the windshield. For a pretty little thing, you seemed more like a spitfire than a delicate flower. You step out immediately going to pop the hood, struggling slightly but you somehow manage.

He watches on as you struggle to even look at what needs to be fixing. Finally, when he sees you tinkering around the parts, he speaks up, "It's probably the battery, miss."

"I...I don't need help, I'm fine," you insist despite him not offering. To be honest, Tokyo's a safe city so, even if you had to stay the night at this gas station waiting for help or the tow-truck - whichever comes first - it's not exactly an issue. The issue is havng someone...like him...hanging precariously around.

Now, you understand. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but if that book has everything your parents warned you about - tattoos, piercings, an unfriendly scowl - you'd settle for slowly putting it back on the shelf.

"The gas station has a power pack, you might wanna borrow it," Sukuna offers you some advice. "You got any jumper cables on you?"

"I'm sorry?" You blink obliviously. "I-I don't-?"

"Those bright orange things - ah, whatever - you probably have it in the trunk," Sukuna pushes himself off his bike. He's full of shit, playing knight in shining armor right now, but you look like you're about to cry. He slaps your hands away when you try to pull out the radiator.

"Ow! What are you doing?!"

"You want your car to explode or some shit?" Sukuna hisses. "Don't fuck around with anything else. I'll go see if I can borrow their power pack."

You look at him in disgust. Everything about this mystery man is just so infuriatingly vulgar, and he doesn't even wait for your permission, he's just stomping off towards a random gas station attendant, muttering under his breath about clueless rich kids and their cars. You scowl at his retreating figure, rubbing your hand where he slapped it away, lips parting in indignation at what you hear.

"Can't tell a spark plug from a bottle of champagne..."

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, you're excused, don't worry," Sukuna says as he returns, the power pack in one hand and a bundle of thick jumper cables in the other, the gas station's dim lights casting sharp shadows across his face, your nerves seem to fray even further.

Though, truth is, you're stuck between being grateful and horrified. If you don't make it back home, you weren't gonna hear the end of it from your parents about how Tokyo is dangerous and how you shouldn't be wandering around the city alone when you have bodyguards. But, it's all thanks to this stranger, a questionable-looking one at that, that you might just make it home tonight before your parents even notice you snuck out.

"Pop the hood," he orders, his tone flat but not unkind.

Your first instinct is to snap back. Just who the hell does he think he is? Assuming that you needed help when you had everything under control. That's obviously a lie, seeing as you were about to yank out your Benz's radiator. It'd be a nightmare explaining that to your parents and your insurance company. Surrendering, you uncross your arms, and pop the hood again.

It's infuriating how people always liked to assume that you needed help with everything. But that's just how it goes when you're an only child, and your parents had to undergo six rounds of IVF to have you because they spent most of their young adult life building their fortune that they forgot to have kids in the middle of all that. A spoiled brat - it wouldn't be a stretch to call you that. Still, it stings a bit because you never wanted to become one.

Nothing hurts you more than the thought of you growing up not knowing how to do anything for yourself.

"This happen to you often, princess?" Sukuna asks, his calloused and strong hands working their magic on your car, clearly, he's ressurected a lot of engines with the way he doesn't seem to flinch at the bitter scent of gasoline and burnt rubber.

"Don't call me that," you mutter. "And no, I don't make a habit of getting stranded since not all of us have experience with--" You gesture vaguely at the cables, his leather jacket, the bike, the car, and this entire situation. "-this."

Sukuna snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah, I figured. People like you don't get their hands dirty."

There it is again - people like you. The words grate on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but what stings more is the way he says it, like he's already decided everything about you just from your shoes, your car, your voice, where you like to hang out. It's honestly disgusting, but the truth always has an element of hurt hidden in it, right?

"Right, because you know everything about me," you mutter, a flash of hurt appearing on your features.

You don't know why, but the way he says it - so casual, so certain - makes your heart ache. He's not even insulting you, why would he have to? He doesn't know you, and you haven't done anything to offend him. He just...sees right through you and he's decided that you were just another shallow rich kid that doesn't belong in the real world.

And maybe you don't.

You're pulled from your thoughts by the sudden roar of your car's engine. Sukuna straightens, wiping his hands against his jeans before shutting the hood with a heavy almost contrite clunk. "There, good as new."

You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. Looks like this chance encounter is about to end. It's silly, feeling a little anxious at finally being able to go home which also spells that you'll probably never see this stranger again, but this demeaning and embarrassing situation happens to be your first encounter with the real world, the world outside the bubble your parents have confined you in.

And it hurts pulling away from it now and so soon too.

"Thank you," you say, quieter this time and you hate how small you sound and feel.

He shrugs, already walking back to his bike. "Don't mention it."

You watch him for a moment as he haphazardly lights a cigarette in the middle of a gas station, his face partially obscured by shadows but you manage to make out his frustrated frown when the lighter doesn't work. He's so focused on lighting the damn stick that he doesn't notice you bringing your own lit lighter to the end of his cigarette.

"Didn't think pretty girls like you were into bad habits like smoking," he exhales, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

"You'd be surprised."

For too much of your life, you've had to put up with reminders from your folks like don't sit like that, don't do this, don't speak like this, don't go there, it's unbecoming of someone like you. And you're getting fucking sick of it, if only your parents could discover the many cigarettes and scratchers you've collected over the years, then, maybe they'd piece together that you only went to a jazz club tonight with every intention to end up in a nightclub later on.

You're self-destructive, he's dangerous.

And this entire exchange could cause your high-strung parents to suffer simultaneous strokes.

"Yeah?"

"Really," you rub your eyelid. "So...why'd you help me?"

Sukuna pauses mid-inhale, his crimson gaze flicking toward you through the haze. For a moment, you think he might say something serious, something straight out of those Audrey Hepburn movies where the girl falls for the greaser. But, that's kinda gross anyway, so you're a little thankful when he quips.

"Hell if I know. Maybe I'm just a sucker for pretty faces."

You blush, your heartbeat stuttering. Before you can respond, he waves you off dismissively, as if the moment never happened and should never be spoken of again like most moonlight rendezvous's.

"Now get outta here before I start charging you for my time."

"Ah right, sorry," you are suddenly reminded of paying your dues, so you take out your wallet, handing him a wad of yen bills. "Tell me if it's not enough. I can run to an ATM."

Sukuna stares at the bill, a little insulted. But tonight seems to be about judgmental assumptions anyway. He laughs - a low dark sound that makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

"What the hell do I look like, huh? A roadside service?" His voice isn't harsh, but the edge of amusement makes your cheeks burn. "Keep it, you might need it later on when your tires give way. Don't tell me you don't check the air pressure on them too."

"It's not like that!" you argue. "I just don't want to owe you anything. Just take it, and go buy yourself a beer or something, and then, we can move on with our lives, okay?"

"Owe me, huh?" He tilts his head, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. His gaze locks with yours and you take a step back until your back hits the driver's seat door, and there's something sharp and deliberate in the way he says: "Fine. You wanna pay me back?"

You nod.

"Tell me your name. Since you nearly threw a damn fit when I called you princess."

"What?"

"Your name," he shrugs as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "Otherwise, I can help you continue pulling out that radiator of yours."

"Are you threatening me?! Just when I was about to change my opinion on you!"

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Sukuna feigns gratitude, placing his hand over his heart. "I didn't think you were that stingy with your name. Unless you don't have one, now that's just pathetic. Even trashy sons of bitches like me have one of those."

"Fine, it's Y/N. And go clean up that mouth of yours, it's like you can't go a full sentence without profanity."

"Pretty name," Sukuna says, ignoring your last remark. You blush at the way he says it - low and rough, like it's a secret just between you two.

Your breath hitches and you roll your eyes, slipping into the driver's seat again, shutting the door with a final clunk. "You're insufferable," you mutter, your cheeks still warm, as you begin to drive away.

"No, my name's Sukuna! Drive safe, rich girl. Can't have your fancy car breaking down again," he whistles, leaning against his H2, waving cheekily, a cigarette dangling between his slotted lips.

He smirks when you roll down your car window only to flash him your middle finger.

"She's pretty, but she's a damn bitch," he mutters, though this time, there's a faint hint of a smile in his voice as he slips on his helmet.

A week has passed and the memory of Sukuna is still clinging to you like the scent of a too-sweet perfume, the ones that girls like you pre-order months in advance before it's even launched. You feel like an idiot, craving to see him again, when absolutely nothing happened between you. But when your mind wanders over to that random biker with too many tattoos, too much attitude but too little manners, you just wanna ruin your mom's expensive Picasso collection in the living room before you could even admit it out loud.

You're now standing in the back of your mansion now in Denenchofu, phone pressed to your ear, talking to one of your drivers - sipping your favorite vanilla bourbon tea - your heart pulsing with mischief.

"I need you to do something for me. Go mess with the car's AC, as in, break the damn thing if you can."

The driver hesitates. It's the middle of winter. "Miss, you - are you sure? That seems a bit-"

"Just do it," you plead. "Please, I promise I'll be safe. And I already sent your Christmas bonus to you!"

You hang up before he can say another word, a grin curling onto your lips. This must be the dumbest thing you've ever done, but it's too late to back out now, but what the hell? Nowadays, it's do or die.

That night, when you're sitting in your car, researching on this biker's meet in Shibuya, you coincidentally drive by, stopping in front of am awfully familiar Ninja H2, its chrome glinting under the streetlights. Its driver, seemingly having just arrived, whipping his head around when one of his buddies taps his shoulder, pointing in your direction.

You step out of your car, perfectly-rehearsed. You instantly pop the hood, pretending not to see him. "Oh no, not again," you smirk inwardly.

Sukuna bites back a laugh at how ridiculously obvious this entire farce is, but he decides to play along anyway. "Already broke down again? You should just drive that shit into the bay!" he calls, voice laced with mockery and something else, something close to affection.

You glance over at him, carefully hiding your amusement. "Think you can help me? You were quite the hero last time."

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you, biting his lip at how you subtly play with your hair, the dark baritone of his voice making your heart skip. "You're pushing it, pretty girl. You think I'm just gonna swoop in and fix everything again when I've got a meet?"

You give him a dry look. "Not playing the hero today? Here I thought you wanted something more than my name this time around."

His eyes narrow, a flicker of something darker passing through them at the insinuation. "You do realize that if your AC's busted, you're just gonna have to freeze your little ass off since I don't know how to fix that." He brazenly pulls off the extra helmet on his buddy's bike, paying no heed to how his backpack glares at you and Sukuna, tossing it over to you. "Where you headed anyway? I'll just drop you off."

You shrug and he shakes his head, chuckling darkly. "Can't remember, huh? Then, let's just ride around for a bit until you do."

In the end, neither of you walk away unscathed. Your dainty Chanel tweed dress lays pooled on the floor of a random motel in Yokohama, right next to his leather jacket. In the end, you do remember where you're going after all, and that's straight into the inferno of Sukuna's embrace, even if you have to break your car a thousand times to get there.

[kooppss]

thirsty.

warnings: mention of sex and masturbation. Not actual explicit content. They are both idiots.

word count: 2.5K

Having Jungkook as a roommate wasn’t for the faint-hearted. 

It’s Wednesday night, sometime past midnight. You should be sleeping; you have an early morning meeting tomorrow. 

But you lay awake in bed, staring at your ceiling, limbs sprawled like you gave up. 

The noises from the room next to you are the cause of your irritability.

You close your eyes, trying to block it out, but each sound pulls you further from sleep.

It’s your roommate’s room. Jungkook’s room. 

The sounds coming from there filling the quiet of your own room. 

The slapping noises can’t be mistaken.

You shift uncomfortably, acutely aware of what is happening on the other side of the wall. 

It’s hard to ignore, and a part of you feels a mix of curiosity and awkwardness. The other part of you feel things you don’t want to think about.

You can clearly hear the sounds of his fist stroking himself. 

Occasionally, you can also hear a strangled moan or a whimper. 

You try to calmly remind yourself that everyone has their private moments. And Jungkook is just trying to enjoy his space. Maybe helping himself get a good night’s sleep. 

There is nothing wrong with this. 

Yet, the sounds linger in your mind. The situation creates a tingling sensation within you that makes it hard to settle down. You try to focus on your breathing, willing yourself to find sleep.

You can’t blame him for masturbating in his own room. And he is trying to keep quiet after all. 

This should be better than when you first moved in. 

Back then, Jungkook used to bring over girls once or twice a week, and the noise was on another level. He even had a really good week when you heard he had someone over three nights. You wondered if he might be seeing someone seriously. But then, on the third night, after the girl finished her business in Jungkook’s room, you awkwardly crossed paths with her. And it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t the one from the first night. 

You never complained to him about it. 

You couldn’t when you also brought your casual hookups to the apartment. Maybe not as frequently as he does, but you still did. It felt like an unspoken agreement between roommates; everyone has their own life to live. 

Who were you to judge?

It’s just a natural part of life; everyone has the right to handle their needs.

But this, this is new. 

It makes you wonder what has changed. You haven’t seen or heard girls around in the last few weeks. It’s odd. It could be a dry season for him. You doubt that. It’s Jungkook, after all.

He could be simply bring them home when you’re not around. Or perhaps he goes to their place for more privacy. That makes sense; it’s easier that way. 

So how could it be your first time hearing him like that? The walls of your apartment were always thin.

Maybe nothing changed in his sex life. He Just usually does it when you are not home. This is what you do.

So what is the urgency of doing it now?

Could he be stressed? Need help to fall asleep?

He seemed normal when you saw him earlier. 

You only exchanged a few words. You returned from your pilates class, and after a short mundane small talk, you went straight to the shower. You were all sweaty and stinky. You could feel your biker shorts and sports bra clinging to your skin. When you came out to make dinner, he was in his room. Nothing out of order of your regular roommates’ routine.

Right now, all these thoughts don’t help you ignore the fucking sinful sounds you hear. 

You should be sleeping, yet you are hot and bothered lying awake.

It’s frustrating how easily you get distracted by the noises. You try to shut your eyes tight, focusing on your work project, the subject of tomorrow's meeting. You replay the details in your mind, thinking about numbers and timelines, hoping to ground yourself in the tasks ahead. 

But to no avail.

Every attempt to concentrate is overshadowed by wet squelching noises and barely muffled moans.

A louder grunt from Jungkook that he didn’t manage to contain sends a shiver down your spine. More heat is pulling in your core, making it impossible to ignore the stickiness you tried to pretend isn’t there. 

The frequency of the slapping noises increases, and an unwanted image invades your brain. 

A shirtless Jungkook is sitting in his bed, back against the headboard. His horrible and amazing grey sweatpants and black boxers pulled down just enough. The band stretched against his thick thigh muscles. His dick is standing hard and tall, leaking shiny bids of precum, engulfed by his large palm. Tattooed bicep bulged with strain. A thin sheen of sweat covers his toned abdomen and pecs. Head tilted to rest against the wall. Face contoured in pleasure and concentration. His laptop lay open beside him, or he grips his phone in the other hand, watching some crude content. 

It makes you wonder what type of porn he watches.

Does he like home videos? Solo shows? Could it be some girl-on-girl action?

Maybe he’s into more rough stuff?

You used to hear a lot of ‘good girl’ or ‘you’re taking me so well’ accompanied by occasional slaps and harsh banging of his bed headboard against the wall. Making it easy to assume what type of sex he’s into. Can’t blame him. 

You strain to focus on the sound, hoping to catch a hint of what he's watching, but you don’t pick up any sound other than his own.

A loud moan from the other room pulls you out of your concentration.

You barely catch a whimper, followed by a gradual fading of the slapping noises until they stop completely.

You let out a sigh and roll onto your side, determined to push his image from your mind and redirect your thoughts.

You reach for your phone and scroll through cat videos, letting them cool you off until you finally drift off to sleep.

—---------------------------------------------------

You decided to go out for drinks with your friends. 

Despite being exhausted from the lack of sleep after Jungkook's late-night activities, today has been rough, and you need the distraction.

You examine your reflection, deciding on a micro mini black skirt paired with a black tube top and knee-high boots. You think you look cute, finishing the look with a touch of gloss to your lips.

You order an Uber on your phone as you make your way to the hallway, only to bump into something.

Your half-naked roommate. 

Of course.

“Oh shit,” you exclaim, your hand reach the wall in attempt to balance yourself. Jungkook just walked out of the kitchen with a protein shake in hand, wearing nothing but black gym shorts. His skin glistens from sweat, and his hair is a tousled mess. It’s almost too much—he’s too much for your sanity.

He smirks at you like he knows what this look does to women, what it does to you. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say, trying to mask your flustered state. 

He leans back against the door frame, taking a sip from his drink. “I just got back from the gym.”

No shit. 

"I’m heading out," you say, even though he didn't ask. You move past him to grab your jacket from the closet.

He follows you on your way to the door. 

“I can see that,” he says in a tone that makes you uneasy.

As you wear your coat, you turn around, seeing him eyeing you up and down shamelessly. 

You cock your eyebrow, “What?”

He mimics your expression with a smirk. 

God, he annoys you so much sometimes. 

“What do you want?” you bark, not in the mood for his games.

“Can’t I have a little chit-chat with my favorite roomie?” he teases, giving you a toothy smile.

“I’m your only roommate,” you deadpan. 

“And my favorite,” he replies in a sing-song.

Before you can continue this stupid conversation, your phone dings, signaling your Uber has arrived.

“Bye loser,” you open the front door and step out.

Jungkook calls after you, “Don’t come home late, don’t take drinks from strangers, and don’t kiss ugly fuckers!”

“You’re insufferable!” you shout without looking back, already a few steps away.

“You love it!” he replies, his voice echoing behind you as you reach the bottom of the stairs.

—---------------------------------------------------

You return home less than two hours later. The bar was lame, and the exhaustion hit hard, so you called it a night. 

As you enter the small living room a familiar scent fills the air —something musky and salty, slightly pungent scent.

It smells like sex. 

WTF was going on here?

You scan the space, walking past the couch, but Jungkook is nowhere in sight. 

The TV flickers with some show you don’t recognize, the volume nearly muted. On the couch, there’s only a pack of tissues beside Jungkook's phone. You’re about to head out of the living room to check if he’s home when something on his phone catches your attention. 

It’s not your fault; he left it unlocked with the screen facing up. You aren’t prepared for what you see.

It’s an Instagram page. 

Your Instagram page.

You physically recoil, taking a step back and quickly turning away. Heat spreads across your face and chest. 

Could he...? 

Was he doing what you think—

Before you can complete that thought, Jungkook strolls back into the living room. 

“Oh, you’re back,” he says, sounding casual.

You think you spot a hint of rosiness on his cheeks as he walks past you to sit on the couch. He quickly grabs his phone and shoves it into his pocket. He does it so smoothly that you might not have noticed his haste if you didn’t know what he’s hiding.

“Why are you home so soon?” he asks, looking up at you from his seat.

For some reason, his gaze makes your face heat up even more. 

“I’m just tired,” you shrug, trying to sound casual.

He responds with a noncommittal hum. Still looking at you.

An awkward silence stretches between you. You stand there, struggling to avoid his gaze, unsure where to land your eyes. 

You can sense that he notices your discomfort, yet he doesn’t seem fazed by it at all. If he knows what you caught him doing, he doesn’t appear to care.

In fact, he looks almost delighted by your awkwardness, a smug grin playing on his lips. His eyes remain locked on your face, not shying away the slightest. You feel like you're being tested. Like he challenges you to say something. 

“I’ll go to bed—goodnight then,” you say, folding first. Of course you fold first. 

Jungkook’s shit-eating grin only widens, “goodnight, y/n.”

This shitshow of a day is finally about to end. 

You half-assed your night routine, ready to be snuggled in bed. You’re about to slip under the sheets when your phone dings, an Instagram notification.

<@abcdefghi_lmnopqrstuvwxyz liked your photo>

What is Jungkook doing? 

You open the app to see that Jungkook has randomly liked a photo on your feed. It’s not a new upload from tonight; in fact, it’s one you posted a while ago. 

WTF is he doing?

You set the alarm for tomorrow morning and close your phone.  Ignoring whatever Jungkook is trying to do.

—---------------------------------------------------

It’s been a few days since the Instagram incident 

You haven’t said anything, and Jungkook acts like nothing happened. 

Yet, something is off. 

You can’t find peace in your own apartment; it feels like Jungkook is deliberately trying to torture you. The tension between you has doubled with each passing day. 

To make matters worse, it seems Jungkook has lost all his shirts. 

He’s constantly wandering around with more skin showing than not. Somehow, he’s always after a workout or after a shower. 

And it’s driving you insane.

This is why you find yourself in your bedroom one night, pondering how to bother him back, even if just a little. 

You don’t want to do anything too direct, to make an actual move. You want to keep living in this apartment. But you can’t do nothing. You know it’s a dangerous game, but he started it. 

So you start scheming, an idea starts to take shape—one that might also confirm if he was doing what you think he was doing the other day.

You glance at your phone screen, take a deep breath and press ‘post.’

It’s just a photo. A little suggestive bolder photo—what you might call a thirst trap. 

It’s a mirror selfie from your last vacation. You totally feel yourself in that photo. You’re a bit tanned, sporting that vacation glow with a flat tummy and a well-rested look. Sitting on your heels, turned slightly to the side, your back arches just enough to accentuate your curves. You’re wearing a cute pink lingerie set with lace and bows. From this angle, your ass looks amazing—you can’t help but think it’s your best asset. 

The (thirst) trap has been set.

Now you wait.

And you don’t have to wait long; you know Jungkook is in his room. 

Less than 10 minutes pass before you hear the unmistakable sounds coming from the other room. What’s happening is clear yet again.

Ha. You won this round. 

You can’t help but smirk to yourself—your plan has worked. He’s bothered enough to take matters into his own hands.

You’re unsure if you’re imagining it, but he sounds louder. Like he’s not trying to conceal what he’s doing. 

Like he’s putting on a show.

Well Shit. That has backfired quickly. 

You pull the blanket over your head. Not ready to admit defeat, but not ready to deal with this right now. 

You wait for the quiet of the night to return, and at some point, you fall asleep.

You wake up feeling all sweaty and hot. 

Everything is still dark as you reach for your phone. The screen brightness blinds you before you realize it’s only 2:30 in the morning. You’ve been sleeping for only a couple of hours. Your throat is parched, and you reach for the water bottle on your nightstand. It’s empty. You groan as you attempt to get out of bed, heading to the kitchen, your body heavy with sleep.

With your eyes half shut, you grab a water bottle from the fridge, not even bothering to turn on the kitchen light. 

When you turn, you jump at the sight of a figure at the door. 

Jungkook chuckles at your surprised squeal.

“I’m glad to see it’s not an intruder,” he says with a smirk. 

How does he have the energy to be an insufferable piece of shit at this hour? 

You notice his gaze lingering on your legs and you become very aware that you’re only wearing an oversized shirt—though not quite oversized enough to cover you. You wonder just how much of your ass is showing.

Of course, he’s only in his briefs. When does he ever wear clothes?

For goodness' sake, you can’t catch a moment of peace in this place.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” you still hold your chest, feeling your heart thumping hard. 

The little shit just laughs at you. 

“Sorry. I’m not used to hearing noises at these hours. I had to check that we’re not being robbed.” 

You cross your arms on your chest and tilt your head to the side. “And what would they take? Our 10-year-old microwave?” 

Jungkook laughs; it does weird things to you. You’re too tired for this. 

He sets his gaze on you and cock an eyebrow, “had to make sure you’re safe, you know.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, starting to walk back to your room. 

Jungkook follows behind you, “why are you even awake?” 

When you reach his room, he stops at the door, waiting for your answer. 

“Just thirsty,” you shrug.

For some reason, a shit-eating grin is now plastered on his face.

“Thirsty?” he says, his eyes steady on you. 

You tilt your head, brows drawn together in confusion, “yeah?” 

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

He looks back at you, and you see the mischief glimmer in his eyes.

As he steps into the room, before he shuts the door, he says, 

“Funny. You are the one making me thirsty.” 

[estellan0vella]

Tiny Tim Returns Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU Pt1

You’re standing behind the counter of the parlour, enjoying the rare quiet moment. The shop is filled with the faint buzzing of tattoo machines and the distant laughter of Megumi and Yuji playing in the corner.

Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, and Toji are out on a supply run, leaving you to watch over the place. As you glance around, ensuring everything is in order, the bell above the door chimes, signalling a new arrival.

Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the man stepping inside. It’s the same guy who attempted to rob the place just a week ago. He scans the room with narrowed eyes, clearly expecting to find the heavy hitters who usually keep watch.

“Megumi, Yuji, go to the back office and lock the door,” you say calmly, your gaze never leaving the intruder.

“But, Y/N/N—” Yuji begins, concern etched on his young face.

“Now,” you repeat firmly, cutting off any further protest. Reluctantly, the boys comply, exchanging worried glances as they disappear into the back room.

As the door clicks shut, Ren, one of your regulars and a biker with a heart of gold, steps out from behind a booth. He’s been chatting with you while waiting for the guys to return and watches the unfolding scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

“What are you gonna do without your guard dogs?” the robber sneers, attempting to sound intimidating but failing miserably.

“I have Ren,” you reply nonchalantly, nodding towards the biker who raises an eyebrow in response.

Ren chuckles, leaning casually against the counter. “Yeah, I’ve got a soft spot for Y/N and the kids. Not that she needs any protecting.”

The robber tries to assert dominance by stepping closer, but you hold your ground, unphased. “You might want to check the sign,” you say, gesturing towards the window decal that reads, ‘No Guns Allowed. Seriously, We’ll Laugh In Your Face.’

“That sign’s in your honour,” you add with a smirk.

Ren lets out a hearty laugh. “I remember when they put that up. Good times.”

The robber’s face reddens with anger. “Is it medically diagnosed as microscopic?” you ask, feigning concern.

Ren snorts, adding, “Did the girls laugh at you in school?”

Undeterred by the robber’s growing frustration, you continue with playful banter. “You’re a Freudian case ready to be studied.”

“Does the gun make you feel like a big man when you point it at a woman?” Ren chimes in, thoroughly enjoying the exchange.

“Let me guess your name. It’s Tiny Tim, right?” you say, barely managing to stifle a laugh.

“Do you need a hug?” Ren asks, spreading his arms wide.

“I’m sure we could get you laid down on the couch and give you a teddy bear,” you suggest with mock sympathy.

Before the tension can escalate further, the door swings open and Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, and Toji stride back in. Relief floods through you, but you maintain your composed demeanour.

“Well, well, well,” Sukuna says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he eyes the robber. “Look who’s back. Think you’re a big man because you waited until it was just my girl and two kids?”

“I had Ren here,” you point out, crossing your arms confidently.

Toji nods in greeting to Ren. “Nice to see you, Ren.”

“Hey, man,” Ren replies with a nod.

“Someone needs to learn their lesson,” Sukuna says, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Don’t hurt him, poor thing,” you interject with a theatrical sigh. “He’s just confused. Why don’t you make him pretty instead?”

The guys exchange amused glances before dragging the robber over to a chair. Gojo pulls out his piercing kit with a grin, his movements precise and almost artistic.

“I think he needs a few more holes,” Gojo remarks, piercing the robber’s face multiple times.

Sukuna, always the creative one, tattoos ‘I’m an idiot’ on the man’s forehead. “There, now everyone will know,” he says with a smirk.

Toji and Geto join in, tattooing crude drawings on the robber’s cheeks. You glance up from your magazine, a mischievous idea forming.

“How about ‘I cry in the shower’ written across his neck?” you suggest, a playful glint in your eyes.

“My girl’s a genius,” Sukuna praises, adding the new inscription with a flourish.

When they’re done, the robber is a sight to behold—a chaotic canvas of piercings and humiliating tattoos. Ren watches the spectacle with entertained fascination, leaning againt the counter. 

“You’ve got a free tattoo card to cash in whenever you want one,” Sukuna tells Ren.

Ren nods, a grateful smile on his face. “Thanks, Sukuna. I might take you up on that free tattoo one of these days. As long as Y/N’s designing.”

"Are you sure you don't want one of the guys?" You grin, gesturing to the robber. "They've done a magnificent job"

Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, and Toji all glance at each other, their mischievous grins widening as they take in the sight of the now thoroughly humiliated robber. The buzzing of the tattoo machines fills the air as they admire their handiwork.

“Well, babe, I’m glad your tits are okay,” Sukuna says, giving you a once-over with a smirk.

Gojo nods in agreement, his expression mock-serious. “Yeah, couldn’t let anything happen to those.”

“Priorities, right?” Geto adds, winking at you.

Toji just chuckles, adding his own line. “We'd be lost without them.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “My heroes,” you say, giving a sarcastic little bow. “What would I do without you?”

The door to the back office creaks open, and Yuji and Megumi peek out cautiously. When they see the situation is under control, they step out, their eyes widening as they take in the sight of the robber.

Yuji’s face lights up with delight. “He’s got willies on his face!” he exclaims, pointing at the crude drawings that Toji and Geto had tattooed.

Megumi bursts into laughter, holding his sides. “He looks so stupid!”

The adults can’t help but join in, the room filling with the sound of hearty laughter. The robber, now thoroughly humiliated and realizing the gravity of his mistake, squirms in his seat, trying to avoid eye contact.

Ren, still leaning casually against the counter, chuckles. “You boys sure know how to make a statement.”

“Only the best for our favourite customers,” Sukuna replies, giving Ren a friendly clap on the shoulder. “And for my girl.”

You smile at Sukuna, feeling a warm rush of affection. “Thanks, Kuna. You always know how to handle things.”

Sukuna grins back at you. “Anything for you, babe.”

Yuji, not missing a beat, runs up to Sukuna and hugs his leg. “Suku, that was awesome!”

Sukuna ruffles his little brother’s hair affectionately. “Glad you think so, kiddo. Now, how about we get some ice cream to celebrate?”

The boys cheer in agreement, their earlier fear completely forgotten. You shake your head with a smile, marvelling at how quickly they bounce back.

As the group begins to disperse, Ren gives you a nod. “I’ll catch you later, Y/N. Don’t forget about that free tattoo.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply with a wink. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Sukuna wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You handled that like a pro, babe.”

You lean into him, feeling safe and content. “Well, I’ve got the best team backing me up.”

“Damn right you do,” Gojo says, grinning. “And don’t you forget it.”

Yuji tugs at Sukuna’s sleeve. “Can we go now, Suku? I want chocolate!”

Sukuna laughs, scooping Yuji up into his arms. “Alright, alright. Ice cream it is. Let’s get out of here.”

As you all head towards the door, you glance back at the robber one last time. He’s still sitting in the chair, looking thoroughly defeated and adorned with his new, embarrassing tattoos.

“You should probably find a new line of work,” you suggest with a smirk. “Something that doesn’t involve robbing tattoo parlours.”

The robber groans audibly, burying his face in his hands as Toji and Geto haul him to his feet, escorting him out with a mixture of firmness and amusement.

"Make sure to leave a positive review!" Gojo calls after the man as he runs away.

"I need a drink," You say, stretching your arms above your head as Sukuna locks up the parlour. "That 50s diner place does boozy milkshakes right?"

Sukuna chuckles, nodding in agreement as he locks up the tattoo parlour behind him. "Yeah, they do. And they've got those ridiculous burgers too."

Gojo perks up at the mention of boozy milkshakes. "Count me in. After today, I could definitely use one of those."

"Let's go!" Yuji and Megumi exclaim, their eyes wide at the though of milkshakes.

Together, you head towards the dinger, ready to face whatever comes next, knowing that with your found family by your side, everything will be just fine.

taglist: @sad-darksoul

[highonmarvel]

You just let it happen

Bucky Barnes: After witnessing an ostensible but seemingly non violent crime in its outcome, you push it to the back of your mind, but the offender escalates.

An entry for Day 2 of the exciting @sintember challenge! [this is my favourite prompt, I hope you enjoy!]

Prompt: You just let it happen, ft [Biker AU] Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

“Bystander, victim or accomplice, perhaps you shouldn't have let it pass...”

warnings: dubcon!, robbery, violent crime, very mild ‘gore.’ 18+!

It’s not like you lived in the most dangerous of areas, but there’s not really a neighbourhood a reasonable woman would feel comfortable walking in alone after sunset. Despite the relatively warm air, you shiver slightly, pulling your cardigan tighter as you walk at a brisk pace down the cobbled pavement.

There’s only really one spot you’d say was explicitly ‘sketchy,’ for lack of a better term. You’ve heard a few motorcycles rev near a small gas station, but they didn’t really stick around for more than a few minutes every couple of days—you think they know the owner or something, or maybe the owner owes them something, but you’ve never really heard of them being violent—they may just very well be some regular guys who just happen to ride bikes, not every group of guys is a gang. Still, you’ve never been one for walking past more than two men at a time.

You stop in your tracks and sigh as you check your watch. It’s nearly eight, all the grocery stores are definitely closed by now, and you really need to pick some stuff up. You look up the small hill to the garage—there’s only one motorbike parked outside it, it probably doesn’t even belong to one of those guys.

You shield your eyes from the bright lights illuminating the road and gas pumps, but other than the loudness of the neon, it’s silent. The automatic doors slide open and the chill from the air conditioner causes a shiver to run down your spine as you reach to pick up a plastic basket. Unfortunately for you, you don’t notice the scene at the front of the store.

You grab a few things from the aisles, it takes less than five minutes, you anticipate being out of the store before eight strikes, but as you turn the corner to join the queue to pay, you freeze.

A tall man, broad shoulders, with his back turned to you is holding a gun up to the cashier, almost lazily, like he does this often and he’s getting bored of it. You gasp and nearly drop your things. Just as his head turns, you manage to duck behind some shelves, clasping one hand over your mouth, the other on your chest, as if you can somehow control your spiked heart rate by pressing down hard enough.

You hear the man make a curious noise behind you and cock his gun. You shut your eyes as you hear footsteps approach, like you’re a child who lives by ‘If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.’ Heavy boots come to a stop in the row behind you, and you hear a mechanical whirring of some kind. When he turns and the footsteps get lighter and lighter, you nearly want to sigh in relief, but don’t dare make a sound.

You’re not sure how long you’re hidden—realistically it can’t have been more than five minutes (robbers just wanna get in and out, right?) but it feels longer, and the hushed conversation you can barely hear over the blood thumping in your ears seems to last too long for a normal heist.

When you hear the ding of the automatic doors open and then close, you know he’s left. You risk a glance to the counter, where the owner (who’s working as the cashier) is dragging a rag across his sweaty forehead, and looking shaken, understandably so. But you don’t remember hearing the cash register open. Maybe your panic blocked it out, you could hardly hear anything with how harshly you were breathing behind your clammy hand anyway.

Should you say something? What could you do, call the cops? You don’t think he stole anything, he just had a gun, isn’t that some protected amendment in the US? Was a crime even committed? Maybe this could count as harassment, intimidation, but did you really see enough to make that call? The owner doesn’t seem hurt, just stressed out, maybe there’s other stuff going on, nothing to do with what just happened. You don’t even know what the guy looks like, and the owner isn’t making any moves to call the police, he’s not calling anyone at all, so it can’t have been that bad, can it? Maybe that guy didn’t even have a gun, and you were just seeing things because you’re tired. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes sense. It was probably nothing.

Although you’ve talked yourself into believing—realising—that you didn’t really witness anything, you still dart out the door, ignoring your name being called by the man behind the counter and leaving your basket in your hiding spot. When you get home, you shut the door firmly behind you and triple check all the locks.

***

The next day, there’s not a peep of what happened. No one in your neighbourhood seems to have heard anything about it: so you were right, nothing happened at all. Even if the cops weren’t called, you’re sure some gossip would have spread if it was a scene, but it wasn’t. You were right, it was nothing.

You feel a bit better as you go through your day, having tossed and turned the night before about whether you made the right call, but evidently you did: nothing bad happened! That is, until you’re walking home, and yellow tape is lined outside the gas station, cop cars and men with notepads gathered around the scene. You can’t help but walk up, feeling a sense of dread at what you might find.

The owner is laying on the floor in the middle of the parking lot, crimson bleeding from his head. You gasp at the sight and an officer whips around to see you. He shakes his head, tuts and sighs as he flips his notepad to a new page.

“Go home, lady,” he says, but he seems more tired than anything, almost like he was… expecting to find this. “This ain’t a safe place for a dame like you.”

You swallow hard and turn on your heel, trying to maintain a normal pace (that ends up being speedwalking, nearly running) as you near your flat. In the building, you all but fly up the stairs to get to your floor.

Oh, god, should you have said something? You can’t change yesterday, but should you turn back and say something to the cops now? Tell them what you saw, have them question you on why you didn’t say a word to anyone, let alone the authorities?

You’ve closed the door behind you and are safely in your apartment when you finally let a few tears fall. Back against the door, you dig the heels of your palms so harshly onto your eyelids colour blots your blackened vision. Oh god, oh god, oh god, what should you have done? What can you even do about this now? You really don’t know anything! If the security cameras caught something, then it would be okay, right? They’ll find the guy—you only saw him from the back but he wasn’t wearing a balaclava or anything. And if they needed you, they’d be able to find you too, right? If they could identify you on the CCTV. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

The door opens and you fall forward with a shriek. Oh, fuck, you had been so focused on your inner monologue you didn’t lock it.

You fall onto your front but manage to prop yourself up on your forearms, turning over onto your back to look up at the intruder. Your stomach sinks.

You didn’t see his face yesterday but you know this is him; even if his broad shoulders and leather jacket didn’t give it away, under what other circumstances would a man burst into your place shortly after you entered unless he was following you, and what other man would be following you except one who knew something, or knew you knew something.

The lights are off in your apartment, but the hallway ones illuminate his silhouette like he’s an axe murderer standing in your doorway. He raises his gun and you whimper, shutting your eyes and turning your head away.

“I heard you,” he finally speaks in a low voice, slightly gruff.

“I didn’t tell anyone!” you swear, tears spilling out of your eyes. “I didn’t even see anything, I couldn’t even see anything, I swear!” you cry in between deep breaths.

And you’re sure you imagined a snort. You look up in horror, expecting to hear a bullet fly. But you hear… a laugh?

“I’m sorry,” he apologises and straightens his posture. He flips the light switch on and you see his face: his teeth sink into his plump lower lip, and he tries and fails to suppress a smile, “I’m sorry!” he apologises again, this time he laughs out loud, and you realise he’s apologising not for the situation, but that he can’t keep a straight face about it. “Sorry, it’s just—I could hear you, you know.” He steps closer and you back away again, shuffling on your forearms because you’re not sure if your legs will be able to carry you if you tried to stand, let alone run. He lets his brow drop into something like faux concern as he looks down on you with steel blue eyes. “Your pretty little heartbeat,” he murmurs, eyes briefly raking your form. “I can hear it now.”

Okay, you know you’re heart rate’s got to be in the 300s, but he can’t hear it… can he?

He raises a gloved hand, and for a moment you assume he’s going to cock his gun, and you brace yourself, but instead he sighs as he turns it over, looking at the back of the glove, and you furrow your brows in confusion. He twirls the gun and tucks it safely into his waistband so he can use his free hand to reveal… a metal hand? That must have been the mechanical whirring you heard last night. You tilt your head at it as he flexes the fingers, and somehow, this arm seems more dangerous than the gun.

“Relax,” he scoffs when he notices you staring at it as he pulls the glove off his other hand. “It’s not gonna feel good if I’ve got these on, now, is it.” He moves to stand over you, and you’re paralysed by fear. You’re not quite comprehending what he’s getting at until he winks at you. “And you won’t be telling anyone about this either.”

You finally manage to scramble to your feet but stumble back a few paces, your back hitting your bedroom door at the end of the corridor. He stalks towards you and you find it in you to speak again, ignoring how the shakiness to your tone has you seeming like helpless prey cowering in a corner. “You—you need to leave,” you try, as if a criminal is suddenly going to change his ways at a command.

“Come on,” he groans as he fishes his gun back out of his pocket with his right hand, pointing it at your thigh. You still when he finally comes to a stop way too close to you for comfort, or even a little relief. “This isn’t a punishment,” he sighs as he kicks your legs apart, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You watch him with wide eyes as he pops his metal fingers into his mouth and smiles at you. “Don’t be difficult, and you’ll see how good this can feel.”

You shut your eyes when you feel the cool metal graze over your folds, slightly covered in saliva. When you tense, he whispers, “Relax.” and presses the gun into your thigh. You reluctantly unclench as he slowly drags his fingers along your folds before pressing his thumb onto your clit, making you gasp and dig your nails into his skin, to which he just hums in delight.

You can’t help the wetness that slowly gathers as he rubs rhythmic circles over your clit, gently dragging his fingers back and forth until they’re coated with slick. You clench again to try to keep him from breaching your entrance. “I know you feel bad,” he coos, but doesn’t let up on his assault, “But just let this happen. Yesterday… you just let it happen.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek when he finally slips a finger inside you, and you involuntarily adjust to him. “There you go, good job,” he praises, ignoring the tear that falls onto his lip. When he slips another finger into you, you cry out and throw your arms over his shoulders, burying your face against him to muffle the quiet moans you can’t control, urging him closer to you, and pressing the metal of the gun harder into your thigh, making an indent you’re sure you’ll see the mark of tomorrow.

You feel your stomach tense as the bubble builds and builds, and when you finally let go, throwing your head back with a frustrated groan, he nuzzles his face into your neck. You feel him smile against you as you push at his shoulders trying to get him off of you, or even just to relent his fingers still dragging in and out of you even as your legs wobble, hardly keeping you up, and your aftershocks start to reach a level of intensity that’s bordering on painful.

“Just let it happen…”

✪

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier

[ravennaortiz]

October 20th B is Happy with the prompt: phantom love. Requested by the lovely @jstarr86

Happy chewed on his toothpick as he watched you sleep. Frowning as he watched you toss and turn. He thought he had been clear on his last visit. Obviously not he thought as he moved to the bed. His hand resting gently on your hip where he knew his crow resided and always would. Bending down he planted a gentle kiss to your temple as he used some of his energy to lull you to sleep and soothe your anxious mind. He wished you had moved on. Stopped tormenting yourself with perpetual loneliness. He kept sending you signs but you stood firm it seemed. You didn’t owe him this loyalty. Tonight it would end. He had enough power this Halloween eve to either come back in another form and never interact with you again or make you happy forever with someone else.

Once he was satisfied you would sleep through the night he walked out of your bedroom and down the hall. Walking into your daughter’s room he looked around smiling at all her biker dolls and teddy bears. Daddys little rider he thought to himself. His heart ached at all the moments he would never get to have. Her first day of school, father daughter dances, teaching her how to ride a bike, maybe a motorcycle if he could have talked you into it. Getting to haze her dates, teaching her how to shoot a gun, getting engaged, her wedding and getting to hold his little girls babies. Yes, he could watch but it would never be the same. Kneeling he tucked her in a little tighter and gave her a quick kiss before fading away.

Juice had just gotten out of the shower when he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Whipping around he frowned as he saw nothing and shrugged it off as his imagination. Moving into his bedroom he went to grab a shirt off his bed and screamed.

“Unnecessary” stated Happy as he sat on Juices bed glaring at his friend.

 Juice stared at him in wide eyed terror. No way was this happening. It had been two years since one of his best friends had been killed. He had to be losing his mind.

“I’m a ghost” stated Happy as if that explained everything that was happening. Standing up he dug around in his pockets. “Here” he stated before tossing a small box in Juices direction.

Juice fumbled the box in his shock. Happy sighed and shook his head as Juice picked it up. “Need you to marry my girl” he stated as Juice opened the box and glanced at him quizzically.

“Your daughter?” questioned Juice with a frown.

“No you idiot. My other girl” stated Happy with annoyance as he glanced at the clock. “Why would I ask you to marry a five year old?” he demanded.

“I don’t know Happy. Not like I get request from ghostly specters on a regular basis” retorted Juice as he motioned at him. “Besides, I don’t know that your girl wants to “started Juices before Happy cut him off.

“She does. I’ve been watching this whole time. I’ve seen how she looks at you….. and how you look at her. “stated Happy. “Don’t deny it. I’m dead not dumb or blind”.

Juice glanced down at the ring again as he thought over the last two years. A lot had changed that was for sure. He couldn’t deny he had developed feelings that were more than just friendly. He nodded as he glanced back up at Happy.

“Thank you brother” murmured Happy before vanishing into thin air.

Return to Masterlist

[httpsjeonglvr]

hiii i saw your requests were open and you were wanting some so i'm here 🤭🤭 cld you write smth w reader and hobie casually hanging out and reader (who has no piercings) randomly asks hobie out of nowhere to pierce their tongue ?? i feel like hobie wld know how to do piercings correctly n this idea always appears in my mind so 😞😞 just a cute little moment w hobie putting holes in reader yk how romantic (i just desperately want a tongue piercing)

Pierced

hobie brown x gn! reader

chapter summary: You were interested in Hobie’s piercings and end up getting one of your own and a boyfriend.

Chapter warnings: just reader getting a piercing. Kinda of friends with benefit,author getting carried away

YOU AND HOBIE were in his bedroom watching some random movie Miles recommended you. It hadn’t peaked your interest so you were scrolling through TikTok when a video of someone showing off their piercings and a question popped into your head.

“Hey Hobie..” You looked over at the man who was playing around with your new cat who kept trying to bite his hand. You smiled at the sight before grabbing onto his hand so he would pay full attention.

“Can you pierce my tongue?”

Silence followed after your question before his turned to your direction confusion filled his face. “Why do ya want me to do tha?” You shrugged as your kitten walked into your lap meowing loudly.

”I just want one”

“Are you sure? Like really… I always make sure people are ready if they ask for a tongue piercing.”

You teasingly leans closer to Hobie “And honey who else should I trust in piercing my tongue if it’s not you?”

You watch as his mouth can only open and close like a fish and Hobie pinches your nose trying to distract you from the fact that he’s flustered “Now, why don’t you get the needle ready before I change my mind dummy”

He pushes you lightly to the bathroom and you can only wiggle in excitement as he prepares the needle and anesthesia needed.(Don’t ask why he has anesthesia he just does) He shakes his head as he brings all the equipment to the sink and puts on sanitary gloves and a mask.

He sighs “Okay, well if this is what you want I’m glad I got to be the one doing this. I’ll make sure there’s no regret and it’s gonna be pretty.” You wink at him. Hobie chuckles “ I cant wait to kiss you”

He squishes your cheeks in a soft grip “You shouldn’t kiss until I make sure there is no inflammation or infection! Now open up that mouth baby,” his voice turns husky within a gulp and you’re glad no one can see you right now.

He clicks his tongue “Now open,” he gently holds your chin as your eyes glisten when you see him inject the anesthesia to you. “Close your eyes, let me focus.” He winks and start doing his job.It doesn’t take much time; he knows you can literally bare any slight.

He places the metal ball and finishes the last touch. After making sure you’re done, he taps your shoulder. “All done! Now I suggest you take a pain killer. He cups your cheeks into his palm.

You smile through the numb feel in your tongue, you opens your mouth to talk but his tongue still cannot cooperate. He giggled and kisses your nose, “Don’t worry. Your tongue should be numb, and you can’t talk well for a while. But it’s regular.” You only nod and you gets up to leave the bathroom.

You did not see Hobie for the last week, it’s been ten days since he pierced your tongue, five days since you came to have them checked for any problems. He understand you were busy with spider duties, but he did not expect you to suddenly knock on his door one Saturday night, looking all hot in his sleeves shirt with biker shorts.

“Oh! You didn’t tell me you’re coming.” He peeks from his door, actually not prepared to receive you in his house. He hadn’t really cleaned up his mess and he himself looked messy.

You places your bag down and jumps to the sofa in his living room “Good, no one else here.” He laughs as he pats your head. “Really? You came just to check if I’m with someone else?”

You raises an eyebrow “Can’t I come? Didn’t you miss me? It’s been more than a week.”

He smiles “Well, I had a quiet week without you! Quite a good one, but you could’ve texted me, and you know I could..” he rubs his neck.That’s when he remembered you have a piercing.

“Ah! (n/n) let me see the piercing!!” He pulls your chin and left you flustered. You stick out your tongue and there he can see his professional work of piercing. “It’s pretty! Do you mind, if I take a picture for a testimony?” He pulls that stupid smirk and you can’t resist.

You click your tongue “I can do that,”

With that he makes you stick your tongue out nicely and you’re a good model. You got a few good pictures that he’ll keep in his private folder.

“Now, that you said I can do anything with my tongue, and you’ve done your job… can we try what I’ve been wanting since last time?” You pull him closer to you and lifts him up on top of you as he nods.

“Don’t be shy, you knew too much to be acting innocent. I know you wanted to kiss me so bad too.” You nuzzle your nose to his and stick your forehead to his.

You fish something out of your pocket and his eyes follow your hand. His face warms up when he sees you shaking the cherry lip balm he gave you.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you, but that was not allowed… so you gave me this? So I can feel like I am kissing you, right?” You raises your brow.

His eyes grow wide as he feels his stomach tingle at how close you are to him. He’s basically on your lap, one of your arms is holding his waist thumb barely touching his exposed skin from the torn shirt, while your other hand is applying the balm over his lips.

He balances himself by placing his hands over your shoulder and when you pop back the lip balm lid, he smacks his lips and dives into your lips. You smirk as he savors you and you have to remind yourself there is a metal ball on your tongue that you’re battling with. Damn it’s hot, but still he doesn’t want to hurt you.

Once Hobie sets you down on his bed, you both part to gasp for air and you can feel your cheeks burning.

“That was hot,” you say between your breaths.

Hobie winks “I did not regret this at all, are you in?” he asks in concern, though this was nothing new, He always wants to make sure he has your consent before continuing. You nod and he leads you in.

“Gosh I really have to buy you sexy laces, huh?” he teases you and you hit him “Stop! don’t drive the attention elsewhere.”

Hobie licks his lips one more time when his eyes run over your body on his bed. He’s glad he got home tonight and he’s glad to see you after a long week.

•••

You face Hobie who is lying on your side. Your naked bodies are still sweaty in the cold room, but with the covers and Hobie’s warm hug you don’t shiver at all. His fingers brush your stray hairs away from your face and he looks at you with stars in his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he blurts out

You stifle a laugh “Suddenly?”

He nods “Yeah, Every time I see you, I don’t want to lose you.”

You trace circles on his biceps and lay your head on his chest. You snake your arms into his torso and hug him close

“I am not going anywhere, don’t worry Hobs. I love you too.”

You peck his nose and he smiles before drifting off to sleep.

A/N: I got a little carried away and felt like I drifted away form the request but I hope anon likes it ❤️

[likeahorribledream]

Hey, I still know things about you that nobody else does! And I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage."

For biker Bucky? It just seems so fun

Thank you for sending this! I took a few liberties with the story and hopefully you’re going to like it!

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x female!reader

TW: none

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: I haven’t written anything in… I want to say months but I think it’s more than a year. So PLEASE be nice and patient with me 😭 I haven’t edited it, reading my own stories make me cringe so I apologize for all the mistakes you’re going to find.

Not a lot of names were feared in this town just by the sound of them, but Barnes was definitely at the top of the list. Mostly because of how he looked. Bucky was at the head of the only MC the town has ever known, taking his father’s place once he stepped down. The club is all he has ever known. At 6’3, long hair, a beard and covered in tattoos and muscles; he feels like he was born to be a biker especially because no one dared to cross him. No one was better than him when it came to staring down someone, he could go minutes without blinking and that freaked most people out. He absolutely loved to be feared, he loved that no one even tried to bother him, or challenge him because his reputation preceded him wherever he went and he wasn’t afraid to throw a punch (or five) to get his point across. Needless to say, no one willingly got into a fight with him because they knew they’d come out the loser. So every night you could find him sitting peacefully at the bar his father owned, with all of the MC by his side, drinking beers and enjoying music. Regular people were welcomed in, but they all knew to steer clear of the boys’ table.

Until one night, where their peaceful evening was disturbed by commotion coming from the front of the bar. Their table was completely at the back, they couldn’t see but they could tell something was going on. Before they even got the chance to get up, people were getting out of the way as someone was furiously making their way towards them.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” You screamed before even seeing him. “Back office. Now!” You added once you were finally able to make eye contact with him.

The music stopped, and not a sound could be heard. It was comical, really, you would have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off.

Everybody’s attention shifted to Bucky as he slowly put his beer down on the table in front of him and stood up. Within a few steps he was right in front of you, staring you down like he does so well. “Excuse you?”

More than a few people were holding their breath, fearing for your safety but you didn’t even flinch. You crossed your arms in front of you and raised an eyebrow, challenging him in front of everybody before smiling sweetly. “I know things, things that no one else does, and I’m not afraid to use them to my advantage. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” You said calmly, never breaking eye contact. “Back office. Now.” You repeated yourself with a tone that let him know that it would be the last time. You uncrossed your arms and starting walking yourself to the back office, not even looking back to see if he was following you. You knew he was. You took a seat at the desk and waited until he closed the door behind him before speaking again.

“You got some explaining to do.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he leaned back against the door, surprised by the words that came out of your mouth. “I have some explaining to do?”

You frowned. “Don’t look surprised.”

“You came in here screaming like a damn fury, but I’m the one who needs to give an explanation?” He scoffed, looking around. “I’m getting punk’d is that it?”

“James.” You said his name in a tone that meant you were done messing around. Like an instant reaction, Bucky took the elastic off of his right wrist and tied his long hair in a low bun; a sign that he was nervous.

Bucky sighed, taking a seat across the desk from you, watching you as you pulled out your phone from your jacket pocket.

You looked through your phone and started reading off the screen. “I won’t be able to make it on Saturday, something came up. Tell your parents I’m sorry.” You finished, putting down your phone on the desk. “That would be the third time in three months that I’ll have to tell my parents “something came up”, James.”

“ I know.” He answered quietly, looking down at the desk.

“Can’t you just tell me the truth? Look, if you don’t want to meet my parents because you don’t love me anymore just tell me.” You said quickly, mentally bracing yourself for the words that you thought were going to come out of his mouth at any second.

“What? Baby, no.” He got up from his chair, walking around the desk and kneeling in front of you. “I love you.” He took your hands between his, his cold rings making you shiver against his hot skin. “I’m just… scared.” He finally admitted, shamefully.

“Scared?” This was the first time he had mentioned it to you. “Scared of what? You know my dad doesn’t care about the MC, he was in one and that’s how my parents met.”

You saw his lips move, but what came out was a mumble. “What?”

He sighed. “Your mom. We’ve only ever spoken on FaceTime for a few minutes, but I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I can’t read a single emotion off of her and it terrifies me.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Why didn’t you just tell me instead of cancelling at the last minute?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

“I’m still terrified of her, believe me. Plus, I wouldn’t make fun of you. Do you make fun of me when I get scared in the middle of the night because of noises from outside, and you have to go check so I can fall back asleep even if we both know the noises are raccoons and not robbers?”

It’s his time to chuckle. “Of course not, I know you can’t help it.”

You nodded and brought his hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “Then, why would you think I would make fun of you? Ever?”

He stood up, making you do the same by not letting go of your hands. “Because I’m an idiot.” He lead you towards the door, kissing your cheek before opening it.

“You’re actually quite smart. Most of the time.” You winked at him as you exited the back office.

“When you said you knew things about me and you weren’t afraid to use them, what did you mean?”

“Oh, I just have pictures of the big, bad biker that everyone fears; wearing matching PJs with his kitten.”

Bucky gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You smiled brightly at him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before letting go of his hand. “Cancel our “us” time via text again, and you’ll find out.” You waved goodbye to the guys and walked back to the front of the bar, leaving like nothing ever happened.

Everybody feared Bucky Barnes, but Bucky only feared two people in this world. You, and your mom.

As he took his seat back at the table, he asked himself how rude it would be to show up tomorrow at your family dinner with the guys from the MC. He’s definitely going to need protection. That’s what happens when you fall in love with the feisty girl who isn’t scared to call you out on your shit.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

[freakymcnastys]

hihihi!! idk if you’re taking request but i LOVED ur 10 things i hate abt you one shot!! i would love to see a part 2 💝💝💝

“are you bored yet?” - katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

━━ . ˚₊ ꒱ "will you tell the truth so I don’t have to lie?"

NOTE: there will be 2 more parts after this! (sorry it’s so long 💔💔)

content: 10tihay au, quirkless au, american au, regular bakugou stuff, PART 2 WHOOP WHOOP! (part 1 here )

"WAIT WHATS THAT?" Iida asked Kirishima who held a yellow stack of flyers. "My revenge.." He said with a smile before throwing the papers down the staircase of the school watching as the students grabbed them. "Mineta's having a party?" Iida questioned, confused. "No but now he is!" He responded with a wink before walking off.

While walking out of school, Iida noticed Ochaco walking by herself. "Hey Ochaco!" He quipped, sliding next to the burnette. She quickly greeted him with a smile. The pair walked off together ultimately deciding to have Ochaco show Iida around while talking about the plan with her sister and Katsuki. "Are you going to the party" Iida asked. "Yeah of course I really really wanna go but I can't unless my sister does.." Ochaco sighed hopping off a statue the two were climbing. "Um I'm working on that but your sister is not going for the guy." He explained before a question popped into his head.

"So are you sure that your sister isn't a-"

"K.D. Lang fan? Nope." Ochaco shrugged. "Found a picture of Fatgum in her drawer once." She continued. "Oh so she's into guys like that? Like pretty guys?" He questioned, looking down at her. "I guess. I mean you can't expect me to dissect the inner workings of her twisted mind!" She ranted, not forgetting the theatrics while she spoke.

Kirishima's bike compared to the rest of the bikers made Iida sink into himself as he walked into the bar, looking for Bakugou. Once they spotted him they went to him. "Should you be drinking that if your don't have a liver?" The red head asked, stupidly, earning a smack from Iida. "So we got somethings that might help you win over y/n."

Katsuki just raised him brow, taking another sip from his beer. "Uh first off y/n hates smokers..so uh--" Iida then processed to take the cigarette from Bakugou hand and put it out on the floor as Kirishima nodded along. "So yer telling me that I'm a non-smoker?" The blonde let out slowly. "Well just for now! and well here's another problem.." Iida led on. "Ochaco says y/n likes pretty guys.." He finished as the two friends looked to each other then at Katsuki.

"Are you telling me I'm not a pretty guy?" He asked almost offended, getting up from his spot that was leaning on the pool table. This causes the two teens to scramble to defend themselves and to compliment Bakugou. "This is a very pretty guy! This is a gorgeous guy!" Kirishima retorted as Iida quickly agreed with him as Bakugou went back down to listen to the rest of what they needed to tell him. Katsuki knew he was a pretty guy but he loved to mess with this guys..

As Momo and Ochaco tried to quickly sneak past her dad to leave for the party, he just called out to them. "Should've tried the window!"

"Now where are you two going?" He interrogated them as Momo just looked at her friend with a nervous smile. "Well if you must know we are going to a..study group!" The youngest daughter lied, terribly. "Other wise known as an orgy?" He raised an eyebrow from behind his newspaper.

"Oh come on daddy it's just a party!" the burnette attempted to use her charm on her dad but he still didn't seem to budge. "You know you can't go if your sister doesn't." As if on que you came down the stairs, on your way to the kitchen.

"Come on y/n! Can't you be normal for once and go to Minetas party!" Ochaco huffed, practically begging you. Although you REALLY didn't want to go, you really did feel a pang of guilt after seeing how much your sister wanted to go to this stupid party. Fuck it.

“Fine I’ll make an appearance.” You shrug before heading back upstairs to fix your hair and grab a leather jacket. As you were on your way to your room you hear the door close and your dad say to himself, “what just happened…?” in disbelief. Which made you laugh a bit.

The party was booming once you got there. Of course now looking around the atmosphere you feel regret creep up on you as you soon bump into Monoma.

“Woah hey there kitty cat!” He spoke with his usual self righteous tone which caused you to scoff. “Whatever just stay away from my sister.” You warn the blonde. Before walking away he says this. “Can’t promise she’ll stay away from me!” Suddenly this party started to suck even more than before.

And just as you thought things couldn’t get worse the guy who seemed to be harassing you showed up once again. “Dear god, what do you want..” You let out a sigh. “What not enjoying the party?” The blonde scoffed. This guy is now starting to seriously piss you off.

Just as Katsuki was gonna say something back, Monoma and Ochaco walked past the two with his arm around the girl and saying something along the lines of, “guess who found me!”. This seemed to set something off in you as Katsuki watched you throw back two shots of whatever was on the table. “Woah slow down..” The boy said, rather uncharacteristically, concerned.

“Come man I’m enjoying the party!”

[monkibizznes]

Bro thinking about...

Basically punk Dean, like bad boy, tattoos maybe piercings, grown out uneven buzz cut from when he tried to shave it himself, maybe biker boy Dean MAYBE punk boy band dean. Sam in a nice family, very well kempt, by the book, goody two shoes, never in trouble but is a foster kid and he knows it, so he's very hurt knowing his parents aren't really his, but he loves them so he complies. He moves and goes to a regular school, again. He's really reserved and maybe Christian(but he doesn't really believe in God. He's a "if god is real why does he do things like this to good people?" Maybe they were separated young because John couldn't take care of both kids and dean had already known him and could remember who he was so Sam is the unfortunate kid who's put in foster care. And they meet again and fall in love and find out they are siblings LOLZ doesn't change anything though<33

[21wanderer]

Rocking a punk

I had tried to run into Martin Jenkins for some time, an old classmate of mine, who didn’t care the slightest for me, and it was mutual. But that feeling had changed, since I discovered how he had matured. He was still a punk, don’t get me wrong, he had a temper and could easily get into a fight, but he had potential now… Potential that I could bring forth, with a little help from my father’s pharmaceutical company.

“Hi Jenkins,” I said as I walked up to him, it had taken me quite some time to build up the courage to approach him, there was something intimidating yet imposing about him, especially with the black leather biker jacket, a cigarette between his lips and the fact I was like a twig in comparison. He looked at me like a complete stranger, then he realised, who I was… I think… He didn’t actually say my name, maybe he had almost completely forgotten me.

“Oh, hi” Martin replied still looking at me with disinterest. There wasn’t really any reason to reminiscence the ‘good old days’, so I just cut straight to the chase. “I heard you’ve been looking for a job,” I said, he raised an eyebrow in return: “Where did you hear that? Does everybody know, I’m out of a job?” he grumbled. “Yes, I heard it from one of the others,” I said, hoping he didn’t see through the lie, it was clear, that he was distrustful of me. “The pharmaceutical company my father is working for is hiring, and they are looking for people.”

Martin was quiet for a bit, then he asked: “What sort?” I knew that I now got him on the hook. “Well, there’s some jobs in their growing storage facility, and they also are looking for couriers, who can bring samples, equipments and tests around town.” I knew he liked driving around on his moped, so this was my best bet. “And how are the work conditions? Am I expected to treat every assignment as life-or-death, that requires me to bring stuff from one end of town to the other in 10 minutes or less?” I was actually a bit surprised by his response, it sounded like he had been having some rough jobs in the past. “No, not really,” I said, trying to not scare him away. “The pay is very decent, and the work conditions are fine, haven’t really heard any complaints.” “Alright, I’ve just been working as errand boy for so many companies, who tried to screw me over,” Martin muttered.

“Please, come to the company on Thursday,” I said, almost pleadingly “and talk to my father, I’m sure, he can offer you something good.” I handed Martin one of my father’s business cards, beginning to fear I had messed this up. “11 o’clock, Thursday,” I said, before turning to leave, feeling very awkward. I really needed to get away from Martin for now, I also couldn’t stand the smell of smoke. I needed to make sure he quit that.

Martin showed up the following Thursday… surprisingly in a suit and tie, which I did not expect. It didn’t seem like something he was used to wearing, but he looked pretty sharp nonetheless.

He entered the room and shook my father’s hand. My father looked at me, and asked” Are you absolutely sure about this?” Martin looked a bit confused, as I answered: “Absolutely,” and nodded.

”Very well,” my father replied and then turned his full attention to Martin, “so Martin… Before we begin, may I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

”Coffee,” Martin said, “just regular.” My father poured coffee into a mug – a mug, that had been specially prepared for Martin, now I just needed to be sure, he drank it. Once Martin had taken the mug, my father began the ’interview’ like it was just a regular interview. He asked Martin about his previous experience, and we found out that Martin had done surprisingly many jobs, just not for very long as his employers usually had tried to screw him over, and he’d decided to quit rather than accept their terrible working conditions, although he needed the money. He had done manual labour and worked as a courier using his moped.

The conversation went on, while I waited for the effect to kick in, and after ten minutes that felt like hours Martin began to ’doze off’ having drunk roughly half of the mug’s content.

When Martin became entirely unresponsive, it was time to act.

While my father locked the door, I began to undress Martin, or what was left of him. ”So you are really going through with this?” my father asked almost disappointined, as he began to help me undress the collapsed Martin.” Yes, and thank you for making it happening” I replied unable to conceal my excitement. ”But couldn’t you have found someone better? He’s a bit of a punk, isn’t he?” my father continued as he folded Martin’s white shirt neatly and placed it on his desk with the rest of Martin’s clothes. ”He’s perfect,” I replied,” and besides… I can make some changes if necessary.”

Martin’s skin was all that remained of him, like a deflated, human-shaped balloon, his eye sockets empty and his mouth gaping and stretched far beyond its normal capability. It was ready.

I discarded my own clothes hastily, and my father helped me slither into the bodysuit.

It was surprisingly easy to get inside, and made me feel even smaller and skinnier, than I normally did. Not that it would matter for much longer, soon I wouldn’t have to think about that ever again.

Martin certainly was no athlete, but he was fit and strong, maybe due to the manual labour and fistfights he had a habit of getting into.

I could wiggle my toes, and they responded flawlessly. Soon his legs, abdomen, torso and arms were also under my complete control. The skin might need a little moisturiser, but other than that, I was elated with my new skin. I had even gained some extra height, and the body felt naturally, if still a little loose. I looked one last time at my father with my old face, and smiled at him, he just stared at me in disbelief, but it seemed like he had accepted the change. I grabbed Martin’s windswept hair, that still dangled on my back as his hollow head hung around my shoulders. I pulled it and his face up and over my head like a hood. With a final snap, everything fell into place. I massaged the face, just to make sure it was aligned properly. I then felt a tightening across my entire body. I don’t if I was growing inside the skin, or the skin was shrinking to fit me, or something in between or entirely fourth.

But at the end of it, it was a perfect fit. I stretched my new body, flexed my new muscles, and ran my hands over my new skin. I looked at my father again with a devilish grin: “Now this feels so amazing!” “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied and began to hand Martin’s clothes to me, “and I expect you’ll put it to good use.” “Definitely,” I said with Martin’s voice, as I slipped his pants on, slightly disappointed he didn’t come in the leather jacket and jeans that he wore last I saw him, but that was only a question of time. Having tidied myself up, I looked just like Martin as he had entered the room barely an hour ago.

“See you at dinner,” I chuckled. “Very well,” my father said still with clear disbelief in his voice, “but do something about that hair,” he continued, as I reached for the door handle. “Yeah, sure,” I replied and headed out the door.

I headed straight back to Martin’s cheap apartment, it was a poor sight for sure, and I certainly was not going to stay here. I rummaged through Martin’s stuff and managed to find the exact outfit he had been wearing, when last I saw him. I ditched the suit and tie, then pulled on the black t-shirt, the scent of his sweat still clinging to it. A smell I now recognised as my own, I pulled it on very satisfied. Next were his jeans, I loved the way they fit, and the fact that they were several sizes bigger than my old pants only made it more satisfying. I grabbed my crotch hard, barely able to contain myself. Finally I plunged my new, bigger arms into the sleeves of MY leather jacket, claiming it as my own and establishing my new ‘’bad-boy’ persona. I took a look at my reflection and laughed, I couldn’t help it. I was so pumped, that I barely knew what to do with myself, this body needed to be put to the test. I slipped into Martin's/my leather boots with a newfound confidence, with his clothes and body under my control.

Let’s see what I can do with this before dinner.

Epilogue: As for my hair, my father and I found a compromise. I’m still going to keep the bad-boy persona, and even with my preference for leather and tight jeans, I can still pull off the look of the handsome young man who’s got a great future ahead of him… if/when I want to.