#motorbike leather suits | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monstersandmaw · 9 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

Wordcount: 7562

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the spirit.”

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

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

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

In short, you loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Concentrate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Oats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

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

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

“I…” you faltered.

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

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

“May I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask where it came from?”

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

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

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

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

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

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

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “Um…”

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was wonderful.

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

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

And not just the curves in the road, either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar) | Patreon

#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

559 notes · View notes

enbysiriusblack · 8 months ago

Text

regulily & wolfstar where it's rich as fuck sirius and reg meeting up after years to try to reconnect, and meeting up in a cafe as its neutral ground but remus and lily work there and are just watching as a man dressed in leather and spikes and ripped denim, holding a motorbike helmet, shouts at a man who looks so similar to him but is wearing a black victorian suit and a briefcase with a jack the ripper badge.

#they come back each week and takes turns being the one to shout and dramatically leave first #its great entertainment for lily and remus #until one week where it was regulus' turn to leave first and sirius saunters up to the counter and retells his life story to them #regulus finds out and doesnt want them to be on sirius' side so next week he does the same to them #and now they're somehow caught in some random family drama of the most eccentric and annoying customers they've ever encountered #regulily #wolfstar #sirius black #regulus black #lily evans #remus lupin #marauders era #marauders

277 notes · View notes

imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 year ago

Text

At Your Service

Summary: As a trainee mechanic, you apply for an apprenticeship at Stark Automotives on a whim. What you don't expect is for Tony Stark to reply personally with an offer to train you, and if that wasn't enough, a certain redhead also takes an interest in your sessions.

Word Count: 2303

Pairing: (Mentor/Mentee relationship for both) Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Tony Stark & Reader

Warning: None :)

A/N: Thanks for the response to my last fic, all the comments and reblogs kept me writing even with all my deadlines, and Mechanic!R was the clear winner of the last poll, so here you all go! Enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-««

You rested centimetres from the cold floor with the sight of oil-covered gears, shafts, and pipes overtaking your vision as you rolled under the automotive.

"Does the axle cover come off?" you said after a short inspection.

"Yeah, those two hex screws, I'll get you the tool. You've worked out the issue?"

"It's meant to be 4-wheel drive and only the front wheels are moving; I'd guess a problem with the connector shaft meeting the rear axle."

"You'd guess or you'd know?"

"I can't know anything 'til the cover's off and I can see inside."

"Good answer," Tony replied. "Hand out."

As instructed, you stretched your arm until your fingers just about reached out from under the car chassis, where a tool handle was placed in your palm.

"One 5/8 hex screwdriver, that's the one you'll need."

"The screws are imperial?"

"'Course, kid, we're in America."

"Yeah, but you sell these cars globally; I just assumed-"

"Dear old dad set up factories all over the globe – allows for some regional differences in the schematics, then each production line just does its own thing. It's easiest for everyone."

You hummed your acceptance of his method, then started to undo the screws, until a light rock to the car paused you. The movement stopped, so you assumed it was just Tony leaning on the car and you moved to continue your work, until the hum of a motorbike -- the sound of which you'd previously ignored -- grew even louder. You jolted when the bike pulled into the garage, causing you to smack your head against the car's underbody and let out a low groan.

"Watch yourself, kid; are you alright under there?" Tony said from above. At your murmur that you were fine, he continued, "roll yourself out, there's someone for you to meet."

"Why's there someone under your car, Tony?" came a woman's voice -- the person to meet, you assumed -- "can't get under the car like the old days, hm?"

When you emerged, the bright light of the outside world temporarily blinded you; you could make out Tony's figure, and as your vision returned, you saw the newcomer's back was turned to you, so only an orange plait could be seen from under her bike helmet.

"Very funny," Tony scoffed, continuing the conversation before he pointed at you. The woman turned and you only just managed to stifle a gasp when you recognised her face. "This is an apprentice, wrote to me a couple months back asking to learn about Stark Automotives, so I've been training them since. Y/N, this is Nat. Nat, Y/N."

From the moment Tony suggested training you here, in the garage of the Avengers Compound, you knew there would be a chance of running into the rest of the team you'd spent your childhood idolising. But truthfully, you were too starstruck that Tony Stark himself had offered to train you to truly believe that moment of meeting the other Avengers would ever come.

Now here you were, facing the Natasha Romanoff, looking effortlessly cool with her white vest, jeans, and leather biker jacket...while you laid on the floor in a Stark branded boiler suit and a definite grease mark where you’d hit your head. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when you realised that the Black Widow's first perception of you was seeing you smack into an object directly in front of your face. You only hoped the blush didn't show when you finally met her eyes.

"Good to meet you," she said cooly, holding her hand out, but her eyes tracked up and down as if sizing you up.

You took her hand instantly, about to ramble through an introduction before a slight gasp from her shook you back to attention. Your eyes snapped down to where your hands met, and you realised then that you still wore your gloves, coated with oil from working on the vehicle, and now you've smeared it all over her uncovered hand. You instantly broke away -- apologising profusely -- and grabbed sheet after sheet of blue paper roll, offering it to her to help clean her hand.

"I'm so sorry," you repeated again, but she shook her head and smiled at you.

"I've had much worse meetings. I'll happily take a little bit of grease over being shot at."

"Woah-"

"Hey, kid," Tony began. Both your head and Natasha's snap in his direction; you'd honestly forgotten he was still there. "Not to interrupt, but have you ever worked on a motorbike? I made a few modifications to Nat's, and now that she's so kindly brought it to us I can show you how they work."

"Do not lay a finger on my bike, Stark," Natasha growled in a tone that reassured you that if she had actually been angry at the grease before, you would have known.

"I won't," Tony scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "...Y/N will."

You gulped, eyes darting between the two Avengers as you were drawn into the fold. "Me? Tony I'm not sure that's-"

"It's essential learning. We don't just make fancy cars so you have to learn it all. Nat, you wouldn't deprive Y/N of this learning, would you?"

Natasha groaned, but eventually relented, crossing her arms and perching on the counter by the wall. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you alone with it. And Y/N?"

You looked up, fear probably showing on your face. Natasha smiled in return, and allowed you to see a glint of mischief in her eye, "give me a running commentary of what you do. I trust your honesty more than Stark's." She smirked at the last part, rolling her eyes as she pointed to Tony behind his back, an action for you and you alone to see. Something about it put you at ease, so you nodded, smiled back, then got to work, spending the rest of the session under the assassin's watchful eye.

»»————-　★　————-««

You watched the phone in your hand, hoping and waiting for those three little dots. Tony Stark was not a man famously known for his punctuality, but he’d been early to every lesson so far and now, ten minutes after you were due to meet, you’re starting to worry.

The worry wasn’t the lesson being cancelled so much as the worry that one of the other Avengers would walk in and accuse you of trespassing – there were still so many residents you hadn’t met, and without Tony present, you were just a stranger loitering unaccompanied in the Avengers’ garage, surely that looked suspicious. No matter the fact that you were supposed to be there and had gained authorised access with your security card, your anxieties continued to grow and grow.

Your heart rate sped up proportionately to the increasing rumble of an approaching bike. The seconds seemed to elongate when you knew there was no escape to being caught there alone. In the remaining time you had, you pulled your phone back out and, with shaking fingers, messaged Tony one more time – at least then you had proof, you kept your eyes on the device even as you felt the newcomer pull in and dismount from their motorbike.

“Let me guess, Tony didn’t tell you he’s away?” Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, face breaking into a grin as red hair broke free from under the helmet. Natasha had been showing up more and more frequently to your sessions, so her arrival was no surprise, but you were glad to have a friendly figure to justify your presence, lest anyone else appear. Natasha set her headgear to the side and hopped up onto the counter, following her usual routine; you watched her intently until you realised she was watching you too, still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no, he didn't- he didn't tell me. He's not coming?"

“He got called on a mission last night. Should be back in a few days, if all goes to plan, but I’ll have a word with him about keeping you informed.”

Her undivided attention unnerved you – Tony had always acted as a buffer before – so you fidgeted, avoided eye contact, and wondered what your next move should be. Thankfully, Natasha answered that last question for you: “It wouldn’t be right to send you home so soon,” she said, “And I am officially a Stark Industries employee still, you know, if you wanted…”

“Yes!” you exclaimed instantly, speaking before you thought. “I mean, yeah, if it’s no trouble. That would be awesome.”

“We both know I’d sit here and watch anyway.” She spoke softly and with a smile that you found yourself drawn to replicate, feeling more at ease in the spy’s presence. “Now then, I know about a lot of things but mechanics is an area where you might already have me beat, so how about something else?”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to know?” she shrugged, “Russian? Latin? Artillery? Archery? Wrestling? Weightlifting?” At your dumbstruck expression, Natasha smiled and realised she would have to make the choice for you, “how about the gym? You can impress Tony with your strength next time he makes you use that scissor jack.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory – neither Natasha nor Tony had said anything at the time, but both of them had needed to jump in and assist when you’d been unable to turn the jack enough for it to actually lift the car and fulfil its purpose. From Natasha’s warm smile, you could tell she still wasn’t mocking you for the incident, but you still nodded quickly and murmured agreement with her plan, before following her through the Compound towards the gym.

“Can I ask why you’re a Stark Industries employee?” you asked on the elevator, as a way to fill the silence and out of curiosity from her earlier words.

She laughed, “It was back in ‘09, we had to get intel on the newly revealed Iron Man, and the man behind the suit-”

“Tony-”

“Exactly. So, S.H.I.E.L.D. made some edits to the employee list, added my cover there, and I successfully infiltrated the company for as long as I needed. I only officially revealed myself at the 2010 Stark Expo – do you remember that? – and in all the chaos afterwards, they never officially took me off it.”

“I think I remember seeing it on TV – you were there?”

“I left before the explosions started, but I was around, trying to make sure as few people were in harm’s way as possible-” Natasha cut herself off as the two of you entered a space larger than any lecture hall, fitted with all sorts of workout machines – the majority of which you’d never seen in your life. “Here we are.”

“You use…all of this?”

She nodded, then paused, before pointing to a section in the corner where the machine structures and weights seem almost treble that of the current area. “That section’s for Steve, or Thor if he ever bothered to train. Us regular humans wouldn't move it an inch if we tried to use those machines.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head again, guiding you towards one of the regular machines: a chest pad adjusted to press against your front as you sat on the stool, while Natasha adjusted the weight and pulled the two handles back for you to grab them. With the position set, you looked up to her for advice,

“Pull the handles towards your chest and push them back to neutral, it'll work out your upper arms. That's where a mechanic will need strength the most, so aim for 10 repeats.”

Natasha watched carefully, adjusting your posture where needed, until you completed the set. You broke into a grin at the realisation that you'd managed it, one which Natasha happily replicated as she held her hands up for a high fives. “You'll be a pro in no time,” she promised, “ready to increase the load?”

The rest of the session continued in much the same manner – Natasha introduced you to different bits of equipment and perfected your form until your phone buzzed with a routine alert to mark the end of a session.

Natasha accompanied you to the door, smiling, receiving, and occasionally rebuking the many thanks you bombarded her with for stepping up. “It was truly my pleasure,” she said at last, “I'll make sure Tony is back next week, but if you want to do this again, you have my number.”

She squeezed your shoulder, turned, and began to walk back inside – all before you came to the realisation: “I don't actually have your number!” you shouted after her. Natasha didn't respond, but when you checked your phone only seconds later, a message had appeared in your notifications.

‘Yes you do :)

-N’

She really was some spy.

»»————-　★　————-««

Everything changed from then on: you walked in to Tony and Natasha arguing a week later, their sudden pause at your presence a very good indicator that they were discussing you, something they confirmed only moments later.

Next thing you knew, both Tony and Natasha had taken you on as their mentee, a session with each of them once a week, and neither of them wanted you to leave. Your apprenticeship was extended into the next academic year, where you moved even closer to the Avengers Compound to visit them more often, the two Avengers – not to mention the others they'd introduced you to – always making sure you were well cared for whenever you visited. Eventually, Tony even offered you a full-time job post-graduation as the Avengers' official mechanic, and who were you to refuse? You loved the work just as you loved spending time with your mentors, so you could think of no better job in the world.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & y/n #natasha romanoff & you #tony stark #tony stark & reader #tony stark & y/n #tony stark & you #ikan writes #self insert fanfiction #reader insert #marvel #fanfiction #natasha romanoff fluff

417 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 2 months ago

Note

I'm so glad I wrote these down.

Arrowroot for Jason with a❣️ bottle. I give you, reader and Jason with the same ✨️target✨️

*twirls my hair* Hehehe Jason hehehehe thank you for requesting, angel!! ❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), cw food mentions, cw violence, cw guns, tw death, FLUFF.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

A man walks into your crosshairs, seemingly looking normal except for his bespoke suit that costs three months worth of rent; and wearing a golden Rolex sitting on his unworthy wrist. He's about to have a very bad day, but you're about to get a very good payday once you put a bullet in his skull.

He exits the neon clad iceberg lounge with his entire entourage following right behind him. You smile, eye looking through the scope of your weighty sniper rifle, trigger finger itching as your target moves his head and hides behind a pillar. You hiss behind your clenched teeth, waiting for the right time to shoot. A breeze rushes past you, cold air nipping at your leather clad form.

Your target finally moves away, he walks towards his limousine parked in front of the club. But his wall of entourage is preventing you from shooting lest you hit them instead of the greedy and sleazy businessman. His wall of friends disperse, then for a split second his head tilts to the side as he ducks to enter inside the car, it's the window you've been looking for.

“Gotcha.” Aiming, holding your breath, you shoot.

Suddenly, a puff of red smoke appears right next to the car— startling everyone and making the man's bodyguard run into your bullet as he shields his boss. Your target panics, pushing his way inside the car before it speeds off into the night. You curse under your breath, scanning who threw the smoke bomb; and then you see him behind your scope. Clad in red leather and a helmet in the same hue, Red hood follows the limousine on his motorbike, gun raised and shooting at the bulletproof car.

You smirk behind your mask, annoyed and excited at the same time. You're about to have a high speed chase with your favorite rival.

Jumping off your perch, sniper strapped on your back, you run towards your motorcycle, you then quickly ignite the engine to accelerate and join the adrenaline filled chase. With the wind rushing past you, buildings whizzing past, cars honking loudly as you cut them off, you expertly dodge obstacles as you set your sights on the shiny red helmet in front of you.

Revving your engine, you catch up to him, riding side by side with the Red hood. He turns his head subtly, acknowledging your presence. You instead ride dangerously close to his bike, so close that you can nudge his leg with your foot in greeting.

“Nice day for a ride, huh?” You say casually above the whipping winds, while nonchalantly dodging a bullet from the limousine. “Didn't I tell you to stop stalking me, big red?”

You can tell he's smirking under his helmet. “I'm not stalking you, sweetheart.” His arm muscles threaten to escape from its leather confinement.

“Sure!” You sarcastically say, moving away briefly when a car gets in between you two. Shooting out the back tires of the target's limo, you return to his side. “It's all a coincidence that whenever I'm at a job you're also there.”

“Don't flatter yourself, this is an open contract. I'm allowed to be here.” Red hood tosses a blinking gadget towards the car, it beeps loudly when it hits the trunk. “Besides, where's the thrill in hunting alone?”

Chuckling, you resist the urge to smack his bicep. “A bomb, really? Not subtle at all!” You both continue to weave and bop around just trying to catch up to the mark. Good thing the roads aren't too occupied at three a.m or this would end very badly with a lot of costly damage.

“It's a classic!” He leaves you in the dust before you could quip back. You snort under your mask, immediately driving off with every intention to win. The smell of burning rubber and smoke fuels your adrenaline.

The chase takes you towards a drawbridge. You thought that the chase would've ended right there as the bridge is almost halfway into folding. But just as when it's about to fully close, the limousine accelerates to its highest attainable speed— it launches up, flying in the air before it lands on solid ground on the other side as sparks fly from its busted tires.

You brace yourself before jumping on the ramp, in your peripheral, you see Red hood do the same, but you did not expect him to kick the front of your tires, making you swerve and lose your momentum.

“Shit!” Thankfully, he didn't kick the bike too hard for you to crash. Hands tight around the handles, heart thumping loudly, you watch as he launches into the air and activates the bomb. You swear you even heard him cackle. With a bright explosion from the fleeing car, he lands safely on the ground.

You gotta hand it to him, he has style.

Recovering quickly after seeing him get off his bike, you turn yours around to take the longer route. With Red hood having the upper hand this time, you highly doubt that you'll get that payday. You're irked by what he did, but it is a competition. You finally get to them in record time, jumping away from your motorcycle before it could fully stop, you take out your pistol to aim at the flaming car. The belching smoke and flames prevents you from seeing the other side, slowly, you stalk around, turning the corner to reveal Red hood crouched in front of the target.

Scanning the area for threats, you thankfully find none. Letting your gun down to your side, boots thumping on heated asphalt, you sigh loudly so that he can hear your exasperation.

“You cheated.”

Red hood turns his head, tilting like a confused puppy. “Did not.” The target in front of him whimpers, cradling a broken arm and looking like he went through a chimney.

“Yes, you did!” You stomp your foot, “you kicked my bike! What if I crashed and burned on the side of the bridge?”

Red hood slowly turns his head menacingly towards the man. “Stay.” The man nods wildly. With a final pointed look, he stands up as the fire behind him burns and cackles, bathing him in its glow. He closes the distance towards you, body shielding you from the heat of the flames. “You alright?”

You huff, eyes roaming his featureless mask. But he can read yours as your mask only covers half of your face. The eyes are the window to the soul, and he's looking directly into yours. “... I'm fine, just fucking annoyed at you.” Kicking the toe of his boot, he inches closer to you, grasping your wrist in his gentle hold.

“I'm sorry, I got too into it.” His thumb presses down just below your palm, kneading tenderly and pushing your glove away to feel you.

“I had him, Jason.” Your voice is softer, whispering his name that's only for him to hear.

“I know you did if I didn't show up.” His free hand reaches up to your forehead, wiping away soot. “I didn't know you'd be here, I swear. I thought you'd be chasing the banker tonight instead.”

You lean closer, hand sliding up to his nape to bump your head against the cool surface of his helmet. “That's alright, and you're right, it was an open contract. And it was fun, chasing the same guy.” He hums, wishing that he could take his helmet off. You move away, watching your reflection on his helmet. “A little bit of a friendly competition wouldn't hurt.”

Jason chuckles under his mask, a muffled sound that wakes the butterflies in your stomach. “I was waiting for you actually. Care to share the bounty with me?”

You grin, eyes shining under the firelight. “Only if you pay for dinner tonight.”

“That's how it is then?” You nod with a hidden smile under your mask. He huffs, feigning annoyance. “Deal.”

And with that, you both walk towards the sniveling man bartering with the two of you. He offers cars, money, and even his own business partner in exchange for his life. If only he knew that the same business partner was the one who sent out the contract.

Aiming your gun with Jason mirroring your stance, bullets hit your mark in a thunderous roar of gunfire, and gunpowder smoke.

Jason inhales, finally free to take his helmet off. You look at him through your lashes, eyes roaming unabashedly over his chiseled features.

“God, you look marvelous in this light, Jay-bird.”

“In the fiery embers of a burning car?” He raises a brow. Hand already reaching towards you.

“Yep—” Stepping away from his touch, you see his shoulders slouch, and his frown etched on his face. “Nuh uh, pretty boy, you still gotta earn my affections back.”

Jason visibly relaxes at your teasing, rolling his eyes with a ghost of a smile. “Fine, I'll pick up dinner at that Thai place you love.”

“Order extra pho?” You flutter your pretty eyes at him. And just as you thought, it works as he walks over to you to place his head on your shoulder. “Jay?” Massaging his tensed back, your guilt eats at you. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him like that after a hard night. “Maybe just get something closer to—!”

He shuts you up with a chaste yet heavy kiss on top of your mask. You suddenly wish that you took it off just like he did his. “I’ll see you back home, yeah?” Cupping your warm cheeks, he flashes you his ten megawatt smile before it disappears under his crimson helmet once again. “Sweetheart?” He pokes your cheek as sirens erupt close to where you are.

With a breathy sigh, you pat his sturdy chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your touch.

“Race you there?”

112 notes · View notes

leathercollectionus · 2 years ago

Photo

Sportsbike Suits Motogp 2023

Sportsbike suits are specialized racing suits designed specifically for use in motorcycle racing, particularly in the MotoGP series. These suits are typically made of advanced materials like top grain Kangaroo leather, sponsor logos, riders customizations, and are designed to provide a combination of protection, comfort, and aerodynamics.

Sportsbike Suits Motogp 2023

#bike suit #children leather suits #ladies leather suits #men leather suits #motorbike leather suits #Motorcycle Leather Suits #motorcycle riders suits #racing suits #sport bike #sportbike #sportbike racing #sportbike track gear #sports bike #Sportsbike suits #Sportsbike Suits Motogp 2023 #suits #women leather suits

0 notes

onyourhyuck · 1 year ago

Text

RUNNER X. | L.MK

— Prologue: 〞 God you are so attractive when you’re angry.〃 +〞 Shut up and kiss me already before i start ripping your clothes off in front of everyone.〃

— Summary: Mark never loses a race. But what happens when you’re now challenging him to one he cannot turn down?

— Genre: Smut!! Minors Dni. Dominating!marklee. Established relationship. Angry/tension sex. Mark is a sore loser. Motorbikerider!marklee. Pussy eating and fingering (female receiving) lots lots of overstim orgasms here. They do it on his bike…

— Notes: Wanna Ride? — The Series Masterlist.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mark never once lost a race before. There was a saying that he was undefeated and no one would ever be able to beat him at his own game. But there you are now standing at the finish line. You challenged him on a public race course of course you came to watch at first. You weren’t planning to actually race him when you first got here. Your boyfriend brought you to brag to you how good he is. And of course he was amazing. All the friends he brought over to race him lost to some way or another round. You wanted to get involved so you challenged him and at first Mark was pretty taken aback.

He laughs a bit. “Babe you want to race me? That’s funny.” But your expression said otherwise, when he looks back at you all his laugh simmers down like he was trying to not actually believe you. You raise your eyebrows and grab a helmet nearby with a smirk. “I want to race you. Unless you’re scared of going up against your girlfriend?”

Oh you provoked him? Mark genuinely feels the stares of his friends watching him with a large smirk as if they were taunting him to just agree to your invitation otherwise, if he rejects it might seem like he was actually scared of racing you. There was one thing Mark hated the most. He hated losing and he hated getting provoked by you at times. You had that look in your eyes that tells him you are doing this to get under his skin. Mark runs his hands through the thick red hair and he wore this black leather jacket and suit on as he gets on the motorbike. He saw you getting on another one with your helmet on.

“No, actually suit yourself Y/n but don’t come crying to me when you humiliate yourself.”

Your boyfriend revs the motorbike with seriousness on his face as he saw you smirking at him once you slide on top on the seat getting ready to go.

Tension grew in the race course and the air becomes firmly saturated with competition. The both of you were stubborn, equally as stubborn as the other but the matter of fact was inevitable. Neither of you wanted to come last so the next thing you know the two motorbikes sped off into the distance of the race course leaving behind the friends of your boyfriend who watched in excitement to see who would win between the two of you. There was not many hope for you anyways. You knew that your boyfriend is a skilled racer but for some reason Mark wasn’t catching up to you and you surprisingly managed to tip him off the race course road a little going ahead on your own. Maybe the lessons in the past from your own boyfriend was actually proving to be useful?

The disbelief on everyone’s face when you were driving ahead of Mark made everyone feel like the world was coming to crash down. Even your boyfriend was feeling tense now that he saw you on your bike far ahead he revs forward and drives faster so he could do anything, anything to catch up to you because lord forbid, Mark never lost a race.

Until now.

Overthinking the situation Mark was completely shut down seeing you at the finish line already leaning on your motorbike with your helmet off leaving your dark hair out of the round protection helmet you wore when racing and your sweating face with pinkish cheeks, makes you look equally beautiful and equally pissing him off when your expression was nothing but a smug smirk knowing your boyfriend was humiliated. You took his own title away. The Runner X. The infamous Runner who could never be caught, was now ironically caught by his girlfriend. This is what happens when you train your girlfriend some new tricks up their sleeve.

Mark wasn’t sure if he should congratulate you and be proud of your accomplishments or hate you and throw the biggest fumbling sentence to you that would be along the way saying you got lucky, surely you couldn’t beat him again. Surely this was all just made up of your stupid luck.

He feels disconnected with himself and from reality he feels only anger, anger running through his body and blood. He could feel the veins on his arms tighten when he gets off the motorbike with an upsetting expression once the helmet was taken off and he glared over at you.

“Awh babe what’s with that expression?” You smugly point out over there with your wide sweet smile. Your boyfriend ignores you until he couldn’t and he turns his back away so now he can face you.

He snaps. “You got lucky. Don’t start thinking you’re this amazing racer now.” Mark really can’t have you thinking you’re better than him, let’s be honest you don’t race professionally.

He is the better one, but the whole point of this race was to be him being undefeated and you ruined that. You took that away from him. The one thing he was good at you stole it, claimed it yours.

“So much for being undefeated huh? It must really be hurting your poor little heart, Mark am i right?” You keenly say with your tormenting sweet voice as you take a step closer leaning on his motorbike.

“I think you’re not all that they say, Mark… I mean all it took was your girlfriend to become better than you ever could.”

The man you love cannot understand why you’re doing this to him right now? Did you feel this bored that you feel like angering your boyfriend in middle of the finish line race course right now? Really? Do you really don’t want upset him so much that he loses his cool and his patience was tested by you completely. Mark cannot stand the way you’re speaking to him so freely like you can do whatever you want, and say whatever you want to him; because you can’t. Mark will not stand there letting you talk him down. Not without a fight he won’t go down.

Mark’s hands tug on your wrist and he pulls the helmet out of your hand and throws it on the ground aside and then you were pressed against his motorbike while Mark’s eyes glare down at you with this fiery grim look on his face you cannot help but stare at.

“I thought we talked about this Y/n when you should keep your pretty mouth sealed hm? Or do we need to redo that lesson for your forgetful brain of yours.” He spat harshly as his tone goes down so many octaves. You can’t believe it but his voice just gets deeper and deeper.

You start to feel your heart race when his hand on your wrist tightens and Mark watches your eyebrows and eyes raise up in surprise. Even the slightest movements he did have you flinching but not because you’re scared, it’s more like you want him to touch you so bad you can’t stand it. You’re anticipating it. The more you wait the more you seem to flinch.

You whimper a little feeling your stomach begging for your boyfriend to do something, to move so he can engrave his touch on you and so much more you want him to do to you but he was staring you down so intensely.

Your whole motive here was to egg him more on so he can continue to feel pissed at you. You just need him so bad and it’s embarrassing to admit it. But why do you love seeing your boyfriend get pissed off at you so much? It’s the biggest turn on for you. 〞God you are so attractive when you’re angry.〃you whisper with your smirking eyes and your ears perk up at him when he spoke so mean to you.

〞 Shut up and kiss me already before i start ripping your clothes off in front of everyone.〃He threatens deeply as he grabbed your chin roughly pulling you into a heated kiss.

In the moment your boyfriend finally had the last straw plucked at. You are finished when he will be done with you by the end of this and now the public setting completely leaves your partner’s brain. Mark did not care that his friends could come over and see what you guys are going to do; more like what’s going to happen to your poor body, to your poor soul and to your poor mind. Mark doesn’t care because this is all on you. You’re the one who decided to act up right here and Mark has no choice but to get on with it and show you what your own choices lead you to stand where.

The mouths were so heated latching on their breaths that feel more like the burning fire of your embroidered love on your bodies that your hearts are threading out of your. The explosions happening in your brains was enough to have Mark sky rocket. The way your boyfriends hands were nothing but rough, there was nothing gentle about your boyfriend at the moment. He was cruel and mean, he has been gripping at your thighs so much he was making them all sore when he is squeezing them between your roughed up kisses. It felt like a battle between the two of you.

Your stamina wasn’t as strong as Mark’s so when the kiss became so intense your mouth drops down and you feel yourself struggling to kiss back when he has been taking your breath away at the same time Mark is picking at your brain with his touches around your body that his hands did; caressing your back with his nails and then pulling at your head, your hair gripped occasionally causing a moan to slip out in the sloppy kiss you are playing with him.

Mark smirks mockingly when he feels your mouth completely shut down as if you gave up and he won his dominance over your tongue with his own, Mark bites on your bottom lip harshly and you let out a small cry out. Your boyfriend mockingly whispers close to your ears and lips. “So useless you can’t even kiss your boyfriend? Y/n… I’m disappointed.” He pressed a deep breath against the corner of your lips kissing it there, he pressed small wet pecks on your chin going down to your neck.

You can’t help but feel embarrassed, he was mocking you and telling you that you cannot even do a basic action like kissing. It pulled at your own pace and you whimper when Mark sucks at the lower nape of your neck pressing soft love bites at your skin in enjoyment seeing you shiver.

Shudders were on your skin, like Mark was pressing each kiss to suck on your skin like this. Your scent drives him insane and you look and sound so ethereal when you’re moaning and whimpering out pathetically for him. It’s such a turn on to see you become like this, especially when you looked so confident earlier.

It’s a contrast that he can never get over with. “Sorry… m’sorry i’ll do better.” You whisper as you apologise for the lack of kisses when your strength gave up on you. “I know you will.” He states in his smirking cold tone.

He doesn’t give you any other choice, he knows you’ll do better otherwise he will have to go harder on you until you start to learn that only the strongest survive and you should start getting the idea. Mark will not be showing you mercy.

It didn’t bother you that you’re in public becoming a rag doll for your own boyfriend right now because you deserved it, you need you deserved this rough treatment. Not only are you proud of your actions to have the ability to piss off your boyfriend to make his mood go from zero to a hundred real quick, you also prefer it when he’s treating you this mean but you knew deep down your boyfriend hates treating you like this. You feel your mouth drop when your boyfriend strips off your trousers down to your ankles and he pushed his knuckle down your clit that is pressing the pantie lining. Your voice sounds so broken it amazes him how quick you are breaking. He hasn’t even touched you as of yet.

Mark shakes his head as he traced back his eyes at your face where your head leans back in pleasure. You have no shame written on your face, at all. You’re letting him strip you in public and now also you’re letting him finger you? Mark must think you’re risky or you must be such a good whore for him right now considering you’re not even fighting back to stop him. Your body reacts so profoundly at his touch like it was a religious chanting mantra for you. One finger slips past your panties going inside your dripping warm cunt, your cunt leaves your boyfriend mesmerised for a while. He pushed in his fingers curling it deeply in you going upwards.

The melodic noises you’re pushing out while your boyfriend fingers you with his two middle fingers while they are still pressing deep by your wall. The slick gooey noises coming out whenever he thrusts forward his wrists. The flicking noises of your body shifting on the motorcycle caused Mark to admire how lewd you’re looking.

Not even a pornographic video can compare to you. At this point Mark was trying to make this whole moment only to gaze at his eyes. For his eyes only. Your boyfriend lowers his hot breath down to your clit giving you a small amount of pressure from his tongue that moved in quick zigzag motions meanwhile you’re here struggle to contain your excitement, your boyfriend has you squirming on his motorcycle vehicle hips pushing forward on his mouth sucking on your clit.

Teeth gracefully pull at your cunt. You moan loudly as you press forward the back of your palm over your open mouth that dropped so wide you didn’t think you could make these noises this loud ever. “Fuck… Mark… fuckfuckfuck.” You’re a whining mess at how he was completely not kind with you, it’s a turn on at the same time you’re starting to regret pissing him off because of how gruff this whole thing was.

“Mmm you just had to piss me off today, Y/n.” He deadpans unimpressed while he pulls back to your cunt to give it another tug between the teeth which has you crying out for help by now. He was complaining about your behaviour but you don’t mind him scolding you with that mean look in his eyes. “Look at yourself, Y/n. You wanted people to see you get punished like this? Is that what you wanted?” He asked pulling the attention away from your cunt to look at your glistening eyes with water running down your cheeks staining them.

He brushed his palm over your cunt giving it a few slaps on your pussy which has you shaking forward as your voice rises up from your chest and your heavy breath from your nostrils flare. The spanks on your pussy felt far too good. There was something so cruel about this. Which makes it all so better.

Your boyfriend stands up and you move your eyes to see him taking a step away from you and the seriousness on his face makes you feel slightly, slightly ever so uncomfortable and intimidating. But your heart was racing so much because of it. You can’t believe your boyfriend was so silent watching you until he will start to command you with a deep voice. The deep tone was flat which just proves he isn’t here to mess around with you. “Stand up and turn around.”

You look at him with your face scrunching up and going pale. Your lips were breaking apart like the brakes at his motorcycle would so do whenever he races back and forth. Mark saw your body not moving which made this so much more difficult when you’re not doing what he says. “Mark I’m sorry I didn’t mean it—“ your voice was cut off by Mark taking a step forward towards you.

“Turn. Around. Y/n.” Mark now firmly states, clearly not here for a few of your jokes. You bite on your bottom lip as you slowly stand up and turn around while Mark’s eyes fell down at your bare ass out. He lifts the hoodie you’re wearing up it was slightly oversized and technically it’s his hoodie. But you have a habit of stealing his clothes all the freaking time. Not that he minds it, rightfully he likes seeing you wear it. In this moment it makes him smirk. It makes Mark feel like you’re connected through your clothes.

Your apology will be taken account of at the end because for now your boyfriend could careless about your stupid apology. You won’t learn by apologising when the real thing is about to happen.

His hands been you down even more against the motorcycle flat where your stomach was pressed hard on the metallic cold vehicle brushing on your burning stomach the sensation contrasting feels like a chemical reaction in your brain. You let out soft ‘oohs’ when his hand cups your pussy before he unbuckled the black leather pants he wore and slowly pressed you against the bare crotch springing out his cock between your ass cheeks.

He watches himself run on your asscheeks and then slowly slinging down to press the tip at your sucking entrance that pulls him forward like you’re the centre of the ocean.

You wonder how you got in this situation again? Oh that’s right you mocked him. You mocked your boyfriend. You acted out of place and cocky and that’s where you always seem to stand whenever Mark becomes like this with you.

But in a way this was partially your entertainment too.

The deepness of your boyfriend entering your burying cunt as you’re bend forward on the motorcycle vehicle pressed like you’re nothing but a waste of space for your boyfriend as he thrusts at unbreakable speeds and obstacles. It makes your walls contract together and it has you moaning out endlessly. You hate how you’re so easily pleased but you break so much when Mark touched you. You’re like a sculpture. Breaking at the hand of your artist which is your boyfriend gripping your waist around tightly.

You held in your tearful moan and thoughts. Maybe it’s too late to say you take your words back? Mark smirks hearing you cry out with pleasure when he spanks your ass a little and leans back to thrust more powerfully pivoting into you and your beautiful body that has him possessed by you.

You’re always so welcoming to him. It makes him smile how much your body loves him as equally as he loves you.

“Now you can apologise, go on. Say what you have to.” Mark tells you as he felt like hearing what your pathetic mouth has to say. “Come on, tell your boyfriend how sorry you are for disrespecting him.” You bite on your lower lip and grunt as your face was dropping on the ground to look at it.

You mumble quietly. “Mark I’m sorry…” your hands position on the bike so you don’t fall off considering your boyfriend held you with a hand under your stomach so the powerful thrusts into you don’t make you trip up. “Hmm. What are you sorry for?” He whispers trailing on your back as he kissed on it. “For being disrespectful to my boyfriend… you’re good at racing… I’m not.”

He chuckles hearing your voice trying to speak clearly despite you not being able to. “Good girl… at least you can use your mouth for something good now.”

“Now cum on my cock. Need to feel you.” He stated like this was one of the top priorities right now to have your orgasm become alive. You feel your pants become faster the more he was pushing up against your body feeling your breasts and your stomach hitching with each thrust his cock deeply buried in your pussy was doing to you splitting you in half practically by this passion alone.

It didn’t take long for you to be ending your moans as your body was so weak already you weren’t going to last much longer. It was to be expected because your boyfriend has you running laps like crazy. Your brain feels like you’re spinning around and then your stomach does this thing where it has a dropping sense; your thighs shake and you feel the wetness dripping down on his bike and your thighs brushing against one another.

“That’s it beautiful, that’s it.”

Your boyfriend seeing your orgasm slowly peaking out he increased it with his cock burning so deep inside your womb you feel more coming. The waterfall you created was a perfect sight what Mark could relive in all hundred different lives.

He smirks a bit smugly. “You didn’t last long. I’m starting to think you love pissing me off so i can fuck you like this.” He sighs as you clench around his cock again when you heard him say that. “I think I’m right when you’re clenching me like this.”

The amount of orgasms you had does not appear to change the fact that you’re going to have another one on top of another orgasm. You had so many you feel like you are overheating like a technology advice. You’re failing to keep your vision and then your boyfriend rutting against you with his hands kneading at your hips so tight he’s pushing you forward. Your hair drops at your face and your bangs are messy covering your eyesight.

Your boyfriend grunts. “Such a perfect pussy. I’m going to fill you up. Maybe that will teach you not to act up in public.” You wish for him to do as his words, and when he finally lets loose he came so much filling you up to a brim.

Mark closed his eyes dropping his head down on your shoulder as he breathes heavily and you are left with your chest panting and your boyfriend’s weight on top of you crushing your weak skinned body together.

He murmurs soft sighs and the lips move to your spine kissing it. After a while of some silence he asks you. “Hey you okay?” Mark brushed down your hair and brushed it back so you can see and your chest catches your breath quietly.

“Yeah… i… I guess I’m still recovering.” You let out with a soft smile and your boyfriend smirks as he kissed the top of your head. “Did i hurt you or anything like that?”

You feel weak but he didn’t harm you in any way if anything you enjoyed this a lot more than you thought you would. Perhaps you and Mark should do this some more without a misleading argument though next time.

You chuckle. “No you didn’t.” Mark helps you up and he pulls your hoodie back down and kisses your lips softly.

“Good. By the way when you drive the motorcycle, you should turn quickly on the corners… it’ll help you race smoothly.” Mark smirks giving you open advice while you smile kissing his lips back too.

“Maybe you should teach me right now, Runner X.”

618 notes · View notes