#motorcycle helmet recall

[ijustwant2ride]

Motocycle Recalls August 2024 : CFMoto, Helmets, LiveWire (Harley?) and BMW

Be aware that this motorcycle recall list is for the United States for the last 30 days, there is no way I could cover the entire world. But in the world of global manufacturing, if a motorcycle is being recalled in one country there is a good chance it i

Be aware that this motorcycle recall list is for the United States for the last 30 days, there is no way I could cover the entire world. But in the world of global manufacturing, if a motorcycle is being recalled in one country there is a good chance it is under recall in others. So, safety first. Also, (DISCLAIMER) this should not be considered a definitive list, check for yourself if you have…

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 200 }

tender love and care.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

because you were labeled as sylus’s woman while here at the n109 zone, you were given several special privileges that made you just as powerful (if not, than more so) as sylus solely because you had such a man wrapped around your fingers.

you recall the date that marked your three month anniversary with him, where sylus gifted you a ruby, teardrop necklace with a matching ring as he told you the significance of his gift immediately,

“each time you walk out to explore the city and head out to work when i’m not around, these rubies will be a reminder to others that you are mine. that you’re under my constant protection, and should anyone dare to disturb your life, i’ll be there to teach them a lesson they shall never forget.”

even the memory of the passion in his voice, coupled along with the way he playfully bites down on your ring finger was enough to make you shiver in response.

the fact that you held his heart within the palm of your very hands filled you with a sense of unbidden joy, where you wanted to do nothing more than to litter his face with gentle butterfly kisses and shower him with the type of unconditional love he had been missing from his entire life.

and you had been with him ever since, never once regretting your decision to remain by his side.

currently, due to certain circumstances at work where several people had called out sick, you were forced to work a double shift. you did your best to cover for your missing coworkers as your supervisor gave you a grateful expression. once your shift ended later that evening, he allows you to take the rest of the week off as a thank you for all your hard work. despite the exhaustion you felt, you couldn’t ignore the undeniable happiness that courses through your veins.

as you step out of your workplace, you were immediately greeted by sylus. he was parked directly in front of your workplace building while leaning against his motorcycle. a grumpy expression was seen on his face, painting his handsome features in a scowl as the sight of it all made you giggle in response. all too eager to see him, you stop directly in front of him and allow his arms to automatically encircle around your form.

“i should kill that boss of yours for making you take over.” he growls into your ear, clearly upset. you tighten your arms around him in hopes of calming him down when you admit to him, “hey, there’s no need to be so grumpy. in fact, my boss was kind enough to give me the rest of the week off thanks to my hard work.”

upon hearing your words, sylus visibly relaxes, pressing a kiss against your lips before tossing you your helmet. it was specially designed in your favorite color, and you couldn’t help but smile at it for a moment as you held your helmet within your hands. sylus ends up donning his helmet first before getting on his bike, turning back to narrow his eyes at you, silently gesturing at you to get on.

with a playful roll of your eyes, you wear your helmet and get on behind sylus, wrapping your arms around his front. he places his hands over your folded arms, giving it a brief squeeze before revving up the bike and making its descent out into the city. knowing that he chose to take the scenic route back home, you take a moment to admire how brightly the city lights shone like gemstones beneath the moonlight. giggles were heard escaping from your parted lips, and oddly enough, sylus was able to hear the sounds of your laughter as he briefly gives your arm another squeeze with one hand before navigating expertly across the streets.

quite some time passes before you and sylus return to your shared penthouse apartment. he parks in his usual spot before taking off his and your respective helmets, holding them both in one hand while interlocking his fingertips with yours in the other. despite how you had been with him for close to two years now, your feelings never once went stale for him. you were just as in love and enamored with him as the first day, the day when you had just met him.

while riding the elevator with him to the top floor, you cuddled your body closer to his shoulder, earning a knowing smirk from him as he gives your hands a gentle squeeze in response. when you both finally reach the top floor, you watch sylus as he takes long strides toward the penthouse all while unlocking it with his key.

the moment you enter your shared home. you were immediately hit with the mouth watering scent of your favorite takeout, seeing it all spread out on the coffee table. you were so happy to enjoy all of your favorite foods with sylus that you couldn’t help but lean in to give him a chaste kiss.

“you’re spoiling me, my grumpy crow.” you tell him while framing at his face.

he scoffs before taking your hand, gently biting down against it with his crimson eyes twinkling with mischief and love for you, “anything for you, darling.”

sylus gestures at you to enjoy the meal first, moving to the side to place his keys on the counter along with storing your helmets. with your stomach growling, you take a box and dig in with your fork while settled on the couch, moaning at how delicious everything tasted. a few minutes later, sylus returns back to you with his arms crossed, clearly amused at the way you kept stuffing your face.

“how cute.” he hums before catching you off guard, choosing to pick you up from the couch as he settles you on his lap. your cheeks were felt heating up in response, yet still, you were comfortable enough to cuddle yourself even closer to his chest while continuing to eat.

you both enjoyed the rest of your late dinner, with you spoiling sylus by feeding him bites of your food and vice versa with him as well. by the time you finished your meal, you felt so full that you could barely move, choosing to land against him when sylus places the empty boxes and utensils on the table.

“what’s this? has my princess had her fill?” you cough at how suggestive he sounded, hiding your face within his shoulder as you playfully bit down against it. a low groan was heard coming from him, and you let out a soft, victorious laugh while telling him, “sy, i’m too tired and full to move… can you carry me?”

he feigns annoyance with a huff of your name, but doesn’t deny you of your wishes (he never could deny you). with a grunt, he stands back to his full height while carrying you in his arms, bridal style. you end up giggling profusely at the sensation, burying your head within his shoulder as he leads you to your shared bedroom and opens the door to the master bathroom.

setting you against the counter, sylus helps with taking off your clothes, leaving you bare for him as he does the same. you were given a moment to admire his delicious body, eyes tracing at the muscles that decorate the entirety of his godlike body. he sees your hungry stare and smirks before taking you in his arms once more. he begins to hum an unfamiliar turn, but you bask in this uncharacteristic softness exuding from the leader of onychinus (a side he only saves for you).

while keeping you in his embrace, he fills his luxurious, porcelain tub with warm water, adding your favorite scented bubbles within it before entering it with you. with his back settled against the tub, your own back was pressed against the front of his chest. you let out a soft moan upon feeling the hot waters surrounding you. the sensation of it coupled with the way sylus’s large hands began massaging at your shoulders was enough to make you practically melt against him.

you were dimly aware of his rich chuckles against your ear, dozing off against his gorgeous body. sylus works on washing your form while lathering your hair with shampoo, the sensation of it all earning a series of soft purrs from you.

“heh, is my kitten satisfied?”

you merely let out a hum in response, moving your head to the side as you allowed sylus to give the newly revealed skin of your neck a series of reverent kisses. once he was satisfied with cleaning you, rinsing your body free of any soap suds, he gets out of the bathtub while still holding you within his embrace.

never once does he leave your side. from drying your body with a plush towel, to helping you get into your sleeping clothes, sylus takes spoiling you with care to the next level. and by the time he reaches your shared bedroom while placing you in bed, you were already half asleep.

as you lay beneath the covers, body curled as you remained cuddled to him, sylus takes a moment to admire you. his long fingertips were felt brushing through your damp hair as he manages to capture a wet strand within his grasp, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss against it.

“i bet you have no idea what you do to me…” his gruff whisper was directed toward you, but it was clear that you were so deep in your slumber that you didn’t hear him. with a huff of your name, sylus reaches over his nightstand to pull out a tiny, velvet box. upon opening it, it would be revealed to contain your dream engagement ring.

as his gaze focuses on you, he takes a hold of your left hand with a hum, sliding the ring against your left ring finger before admiring it. a smirk paints his handsome expression when he leans closer to press a kiss against your ring.

“once you awaken… then you’ll know that my promises of forever has always been true and not simply a play on words. i hope you’re prepared to be mine, my darling love.”

and despite how you were in a deep sleep, sylus could have sworn he saw you smiling in response to his fervent promises of forever.

a.n. - don’t mind me, this is just a self indulgent mess that i need in my life. i love sylus so much;;; i need him so badly 😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[kykyonthemoon]

Comforting

When he comforts a reader who is so stressed and upset that she bursts into tears.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader (MC)

Included parts in order: Sylus, Caleb

This is the second part of the same prompt, for the two said characters, after my first one - "Soothing" for Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne.

── .✦ Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, comfort, long-distance relationship (Caleb's)

── .✦ Word count: 1k3

── .✦ Requested by Lightbook Aki

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

Sylus

"Let's go." Sylus tossed you the key to one of the two motorcycles parking in front of the flat. You were puzzled:

“To where?”

“Anywhere you want. Just ride.”

After he finished speaking, he started his motorcycle. Its scream seemed like both an invitation and an urging to you. 

You put on the helmet. Even though you constantly mentioned that you wished to ride about the city with him at night, Sylus's arrival at your door so late at night seemed odd. Particularly since you were in such a bad mood. And was it Luke and Kieran that you had just seen earlier nearby?

The motorbike that Sylus chose for you was a bit smaller than his, and matched your physique well. You did not object anymore. And so your night out began. 

A cool night wind blew. You kept on riding, not knowing where you were heading. Sylus rode safely away from you while keeping you in sight. He would sometimes approach you, as if to remind you that he had always been by your side on this journey.

Away from the noise of the city, you chose to stop on a hill on the outskirts. Sylus pulled up behind you when you got off the motorcycle and removed your helmet.

Nobody uttered a thing. Sylus waited close, watching you go around, your feet stepping on the dirt and rocks below in discomfort. After a while, when he realized he had no way of keeping you like that, Sylus approached you and gently seized your elbow, drawing you back to look at him.

"If the ride wasn't so enjoyable, we can go further."

"No... I just..." You halted because you were unsure if you should tell him or not. Was it appropriate to share such private emotions given that the two of you had just recently met?

"How do you know that I need a change of scenery? Was it Mephisto again?"

Sylus grinned. His index finger curled, and he swiped it over your nose. "Your thoughts are all reflected on your face like that. You haven't left your flat in days. Even without Mephisto, I suspect that something is wrong with you. Say it out. I am here to listen to you."

You took a brief glance at Sylus. The wind blew, ruffling the curls of hair on his forehead. You paused for a moment before telling him about how you ended up ending someone's life before they turned completely into a Wanderer on the last mission. That tormented you to no end.

When you finished the story, Sylus said: "You did what needed to be done. It wasn't your fault." He gently inclined his chin towards the gracefully illuminated city of Linkon on the horizon and continued, "This place is calm, thanks to you. You did very well."

That alone was enough to make you cry. You attempted to fight back your burning tears, but just as you were going to wipe them away and turn everywhere, Sylus grasped your hand tightly. His other hand caressed your cheek in a tender gesture, but did not wipe away your tears. He told you:

"Just let it all out."

And so you wept. You failed to recall the last time you ever sobbed like this. You had always believed that you were capable and powerful enough to battle Wanderers and defend others. But, in the end, you sought someone to tell you that you did the right thing by eliminating a soul's suffering, or that you did not have to bear it all on your own.

Sylus, resting on his motorcycle, softly raised your hand. His lips almost brushed it as he muttered, "Sometimes we have no option. Sometimes we have to deal with worse things than Wanderers. You just need to choose what is most important to you and do your best to protect it..."

Sylus halted and softly stroked your hand. His crimson eyes fixed on you, giving you an odd sense of reliability.

"Just like what I'm doing right now, protecting the most important person who is right in front of me."

Caleb

With a pleasant box of ice cream in hand, you sat on the porch of a closed business. It was dark, yet you refused to go home. You had been strolling the streets of Linkon all evening.

You did not have dinner yet. Both eyes were swollen. Your hair was a disaster. Everyone knew you had a rough day based on your look, and it was best for them to stay away from you. You searched for the phone in your coat pocket. A name displayed on the screen; it was Caleb's account.

But you sighed and put your phone away. These insignificant concerns were not worth his attention. You could manage it entirely on your own. You hoped that the next day, despite your current situation, you would return to your cheerful, active self. 

Opening the ice cream box, you began eating little spoonfuls. If Caleb was here, would it not be great? You would tell you about how you were bullied at work, unfairly accused, and how people turned their backs on you without knowing the whole story. But in the end, nothing was important anymore. Everything you could do to salvage the situation had been done. What you needed at that moment was a little consolation from someone, but that person was a long way from here.

You had learnt to handle challenges on your own when Caleb enrolled at the Academy in Skyhaven. You had always proven that you were mature and responsible enough not to disturb him. When you started this long-distance relationship, you knew he could not always come racing to you when you needed him, and there would be moments when you were entirely alone like this.

The ice cream box was about half-empty. The lightly inhabited street became even quieter. Perhaps you should go home. Still, tears went on falling. As the world faded away in weeping, you noticed that person's silhouette growing more and more apparent. Then a large hand rested on your head.

"You're all grown up, yet you're sobbing while eating ice cream here. Aren't you worried that others will laugh at you, pip-squeak?"

That voice belonged to Caleb. You rubbed your eyes. He instantly squatted in front of you, his mouth beaming and his hand aiding you in wiping away the tears.

"Caleb?"

He replied, "I'm here. Tell me. Who bullied my pipsqueak?"

You sniffled. Seeing him like that was a genuinely unexpected blessing. Of course, your spirit was also much lifted. You said:

"Who would dare to bully me? I just... wanted to eat ice cream. But how did you find me?"

"I received a call from Tara. She updated me on what occurred at work and then mentioned she could no longer contact you. She was concerned about something happening to you and asked me to reach out to you."

"Then… why did you come here instead of giving me a call?"

Caleb lightly squeezed your cheek. "If I called, you'd act as if nothing happened, right? You always go here for a box of ice cream when you're feeling low. That habit has not changed."

You had to confess that Caleb knew you too well. When you were depressed and didn't want to do anything else, he went out and bought you a box of ice cream from this store. He also said that as long as you had it, you would become happier. Since then, the ice cream here had served as your spiritual comfort whenever you started to feel down.

Caleb closed the ice cream box and held it in his free hand. He stood up and extended another hand towards you, saying: 

"Let's go home."

You felt instantly at ease. When Caleb helped you up, you grabbed his hand and leaped into his arms, hugging him by the neck hard. Perhaps as long as you had him, it did not matter anymore if the entire world turned against you.

Banner photos from Ghibli and screenshots by LittleBunnyCC

[ddejavvu]

eddie brock is the og loser boyfriend and i can’t stop thinking about venom just like completely bullying him when he’s in a relationship like his partner is like this drop dead gorgeous person and eddie wears the same sweaty jacket all the time and eats frozen tater tots haha

"There are crumbs on your shirt." Venom observes, and when Eddie nods with a noncommittal grunt, he continues, "And it is not a shirt. It is a sweatshirt. A sweaty sweatshirt, Eddie. And you wore it yesterday."

"That I did," Eddie crams another handful of chips into his mouth, salted and straight from the bag. His attention remains solely on the television in front of him, and Venom's goopy form shakes its head.

"Y/N is coming over later." He reminds the human, watching with disdain as Eddie chokes slightly on his mouthful because of the way he's slouched in his seat. He swallows regardless, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff from the irritation in his throat.

"Yeah, she'll be here in a few minutes," Eddie nods, "Hey, do you think they fake this show? The drama, and all."

Venom has no interest in whether the trashy reality show that Eddie is so enraptured by is fake or not. He cares that you'll be here any minute now, and Eddie looks like a corpse that's been rotting for a few days.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie moves to get up. Crumbs begin raining onto the carpet and he groans as his lazy joints ache, so Venom shoves him back into place with a strong tentacle and uses another to stretch and open the door for you.

You're clearly expecting a person on the other side, but you're quick to recognize the tentacle you're met with instead. It wraps greedily around your waist and you place your hand over its sticky form, grinning as you're barely able to shut the door behind you before Venom yanks you over to the couch.

"Hi, baby," Eddie greets, tipping his head onto the back of the sofa to grin upside-down at you, "How are you?"

"Good," You lean down to kiss him upside down, and Venom is appalled that you're willing to put your lips on Eddie's crumb-coated ones.

"Sour cream and onion?" You guess, and you're rewarded with the near-empty bag of them that Eddie had been demolishing.

You settle happily onto the couch by Eddie's side with the chips in your hand, and when Venom begins to let go of you you hold his tentacle in place. The symbiote watches you silently for a moment, observing your behavior and thinking a whole host of unsavory thoughts about humans and their disgusting tendencies.

"I do not understand," Venom interrupts your gushy sentiments with Eddie about how terrible the acting is on so-called 'reality' shows, "Eddie is disgusting."

The man's nose wrinkles and you let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Thank you, Venom. That's very kind of you. Did you forget you're made of slime?"

"Slime does not sweat. And I do not have crumbs stuck all over me."

"Venom, being in a relationship with someone means that you need to be comfortable with them. We don't have to dress up all the time, Y/N knows what I look like in pajamas and I've seen her hair unbrushed in the morning."

Venom, too, recalls the rather impressive tangled mess of hair that you sport after a night of deep sleep.

"You do not mind that he smells?" Venom turns to you, his milky-white eyes blinking with a squelch.

"He's smelled worse," You give a half-shrug, only one of your shoulders moving as you squirm closer to Eddie beneath the blanket he's draped over you.

"You're both too good to me," Eddie grins, batting his lashes sarcastically, "Careful not to flatter me too much, don't want my head to get too big to fit in my helmet."

Venom regards Eddie for a moment, then thinks of the motorcycle helmet the man breathes into every day. It's repulsive.

"Your head is already abnormally large," Venom observes, settling into Eddie's shoulder opposite from you, "I will keep insulting you so that it does not get bigger. You are repulsive."

[empress-simps]

Uncle Padfoot’s Motorcycle

Pairing: Dad! Remus x Mom! Reader CW: Language and Remus who’s gonna face the wrath of his wife. Summary: Uncle Sirius takes baby Moony out for a ride on his motorcycle and you aren't happy about it.

Note: I’ve literally enjoyed writing this, and dad! Marauders literally make me hdiskskssjska ALSO THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS YOU GUYS🫨🥹 I LOVE Y’ALL

"Sirius Orion Black and Remus John Lupin!"

Sirius could feel his soul practically leave his body as he saw you, in your ever angry form, march to where he is handing your year old daughter to Remus' awaiting arms.

This is it, this is how Sirius thinks he’s going to leave the face of the Earth.

"Erm, I have to go! See you next week yeah?" Sirius clambers onto his motorcycle, praying to any deity that he would fly faster than you hexing him with your wandless magic.

"Bye pah foo!" Lyra grins, her four teeth in clear display as Sirius looked back and waved, "See you soon, baby moony! Have to go before mummy hexes me to no end!"

Remus watched his friend blankly, deep down wishing he too was in the back of the motorcycle with Lyra so he could escape the imminent wrath his wife that was to rain down on him.

“Remus. John. Lupin.”

Each word you uttered was like a nail on his coffin. He tried his best not to wince as he heard how utterly cold and sharp you spat his name out. So, gathering up his remaining courage, he faced you with a smile- and he definitely didn’t place your squealing baby girl in front of him, making her somewhat his shield. He hoped the cuteness of Lyra would soften the blow quite a bit.

“Hi, darling! You’re back early- “

“Tell me I did just not see our one-year-old baby land in front of our house riding Sirius’ flying motorcycle or so merlin help me I will strangle you.” You warned, taking Lyra from his hands, who happily snuggled in your arms.

Well, shit.

There goes his only chance of living.

He offered a wry smile, ignoring how sweaty his hands had become. “Alrighty, I won’t tell you- “

“Remus! You seriously thought it was a good idea to let our child ride a flying motorcycle? She just turned a year-old last week for Merlin’s sake!” You scolded, poor Remus. Call him a seer because he can already see himself sleeping on the couch for the entire week, a few days if he’s lucky.

“Darling, Sirius and I made sure it was completely safe.” He tried to explain, “Lyra doesn’t even have a helmet! What were you guys thinking?!” You hugged your baby closer to your chest.

“Well, Padfoot said it’s unnecessary since they’re technically flying.” You scoffed in disbelief as you comforted Lyra who started to fuss. “Remind me to make Sirius fall next time I set his eyes on him on that darn vehicle of his.”

Remus could only let out a nervous chuckle. "Erm, I will."

“Why was Padfoot even here the first place?” You raised an eyebrow, going back inside the house to place Lyra in her playpen as Remus followed you like a servant who’s trying to regain your favor. “He also took Harry out for a ride. After that, he went here and told me Lyra should also experience it.”

You turned around and faced him, a hand on your hips. “I’m guessing Lily isn’t aware- because there is no way in her right mind that she would let her two-year-old son ride a flying motorcycle.”

His silence was the only thing you needed to hear from him.

“Where even were you when he took Lyra out for a ride?”

He blinks stupidly, “Outside, watching them.”

“You better choose your next words carefully Lupin.”

“I was supposed to ride with them, darling! But Sirius already took off when I was about to get onto the motorcycle!” He explains, hoping it’ll be enough to save him as he recalled the events from earlier.

“Pah foo!” Lyra grinned as she clapped her hands excitedly, her sandy brown hair that was tied in pigtails was swaying with every move she made. Sirius returned her excitement, bypassing Remus who answered the door and made a beeline to the squealing baby.

“There’s my baby Moony!” He lifts Lyra up from her playpen and peppers her face with kisses while Remus smiled, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’m starting to think you’re just visiting so you can hang out with my daughter, Padfoot.”

Sirius turned to look at him, smiling playfully as Lyra tugged on his curls. “I’m afraid so, Moony.” He then turned his attention to the child. “Now, who wants to go on an adventure with uncle Padfoot?”

Sirius’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he held Lyra aloft, her giggles filling the room. “We’ll soar over the treetops, chase the clouds, and maybe even race a few owls, eh?” He bounced her gently, eliciting more delighted squeals.

Remus watched them, a fond smile on his face, thinking that his best mate wouldn’t seriously do it. “Just make sure you keep her within sight, Padfoot. No loops or dives,” he added with a mock sternness that fooled neither Sirius nor Lyra.

Sirius mock saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain Moony!” He turned to Lyra, whispering conspiratorially, “Your dad’s just worried we’ll have too much fun without him.”

Remus didn’t even know how it happened, he just suddenly became aware of the situation when Sirius and Lyra were off, the flying motorcycle roaring to life as they took to the skies, leaving a trail of laughter, the faint smell of engine oil in their wake, and a faint ‘I fly, dada!’ from Lyra.

You sighed, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. “At least Lyra’s safe, I know Sirius wouldn’t endanger his god daughter.”

You watched as Remus’s eyes softened; the worry lines smoothed out from his forehead. “Yes, Lyra is safe, and Sirius might be reckless, but he’s also fiercely protective,” he agreed, his voice carrying a note of gratitude. You hummed in agreement.

Remus tested the waters, “So… I won’t be sleeping in the couch, right?”

You couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle, the tension from earlier dissipating like morning fog in the sunlight. “No, Remmy, you won’t be sleeping on the couch,” you said, your voice laced with a hint of amusement. “But let’s agree that any future flights require both parents’ approval, alright?”

Remus let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Agreed, and I promise, no more surprises,” he said earnestly, reaching out to take your hand.

Just then, Lyra’s babbling caught your attention, and you both turned to see her playing with a small, plush fox, looking eerily similar to your animagus form that Sirius must have sneaked into her playpen.

“Maybe we can’t protect her from everything, but we can make sure she knows she’s loved and safe,” you mused aloud, watching Lyra.

Remus nodded, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment. “That’s all we can do,” he agreed. “And maybe teach her a few tricks so she can outfly Sirius one day,” he added with a wink.

You glared at him playfully, then laughed, imagining a future where Lyra, with her inherited Marauder’s cunning, would indeed give Sirius a run for his money. “Now that’s a plan I can get behind,” you said with a smile.

As the night drew on, the house filled with the soft sounds of a family at peace. The day’s adventures were recounted with laughter and gentle teasing, and plans for a grounded tomorrow were made. And in that moment, all was well in the world of magic and mischief.

[yyawnjun]

GETTING USED TO US

biker!mingyu x reader ; summary an unexpected confession between really fast beating hearts ; 1k wc ; fluff !! ; third date w mingyu, nd they're so wipped for each other 🗣 ; likes comments and reblogs are really appreciated ; hope y'all like this mwah ♡ @kflixnet

the wind tickled your face and moved your hair back, you took deep breaths in all your lungs. you moved your arms up, stretching them as much as possible, closed your eyes, and breathed.

with these breathing control exercises, and combined with other concentration activities - you tried to concentrate just on one object and describe it as much as possible - you wanted to occupy your attention while waiting for mingyu. it would be your third date, and he promised you that he would pick you on the motorbike. his motorbike. the one that not even his closest friends (according to wonwoo) had ever managed to even touch. that's why you were nervous about that night, along with the fact that you really liked that boy.

you were waiting for the boy outside your house at 9 p.m., dressed comfortably but elegantly (mingyu promised to take care of the necessary clothing on the motorbike). you were trying to focus on the background music of the bar next door to block out the distracting thoughts that were racing through your head.  

all your stoic resistance suddenly collapsed when you noticed from afar a tall boy, with dark and slightly long hair, waving at you with a smile. he arrived carrying a bag and one with a motorcycle helmet. before you knew it, he came close to you, and looked at you through eyes that were filled with a thousand different emotions, shining through like lights in a completely dark sky. you were briefly startled back to reality by the gleam in his eyes, but it was short-lived as he called your name. "hey yn, sorry for my late. have you waited a long time for me?"

"not much. you gave me time to prepare me psychologically" you replied, nodding and looking towards his helmet. he smiled at you, and shortly after you naturally started walking towards where he had parked the motorbike. "is this your first time on a motorbike?" he asked you "I remember I had tried it once, but it was less powerful than yours"

"oh I see, you scared?"

"no," you replied convinced. "look, I see you smiling and opening your eyes wide. now I know how to recognize when you're lying" he replied amusedly. you were about to answer him, but just then you noticed that your eyes were really wide… you giggled and agreed with him. a few seconds later, you arrived at the motorcycle. it was bright red and appeared much larger in real person than in the pictures. mingyu instantly gave you a motorcycle jacket and a helmet that fit you perfectly.

“here, let me help you close it,” he told you while you were busy fixing your helmet. then you saw the boy leaning down and gently pulling the laces to close the helmet. he was almost on his knees on the ground, checking that the helmet was not too tight and that its length was right for turning on the headphones that would be connected to it during the trip. you remained stayed and barely swallowed so as not to make too much noise. just proximity had already allowed you to detect the pleasant and refreshing perfume that distinguished him. "perfect, we can go," he said as he immediately got up and put on his helmet. (it's pointless to recall how enchanted you were watching him as he closed his own helmet...)

he got on first and signaled for you to get on, so you did. lifting your left leg first, and helping yourself with your hands resting on the saddle you quickly climbed up. he still had his legs on the ground and the motorbike was spent. after getting in, you instinctively lean against his back. due to the poor visibility given by the helmet, you hadn't realized how big his back was and how well-defined his muscles were, despite them being hidden by the motorcycle jacket. “you can hold on to me…” you heard directly in your ears. you immediately understood that it was due to the Bluetooth headphones that connected the two helmets. “…or there is a handle behind which you can hold” mingyu finished the sentence.

"all right," you replied placing your arms around his waist, and your hands gently on his hips.

"are you ready?" he asked you. "let's go" you replied convinced and unconsciously squeezing your hands at his sides making him give in to that contact.

noise and lights. mingyu lifts his legs from the ground, lowers his helmet visor, and takes off. and so you left. You went through the city, till you reached more rural places and long trails between the fields.

the speed increased as soon as you arrived there. you felt your heart racing, but you were getting used to the adrenaline-fueled sensation. the tension in your hold had gradually relaxed, and the wind on you made you feel more alive than ever. "woah," you said without realizing it, out of joy.

in response, you heard his laugh and a slight increase in speed. that speed made us feel it, but your feeling of safety returned as soon as you leaned on the boy with your helmet. you wanted to talk and express the thousand emotions that had gripped you at that moment. "MINGYU THIS IS FANTASTIC OH MY GOD" 

"you'll have to get used to it," he replied

“yeah...I think I might get used to it"

"is that a yes?" the boy asked you with a seemingly confident voice. "are you asking me to get used to your bike or you?"

"to us"

and for the umpteenth time that day, that boy made your heart beat wildly.

"yes mingyu. it is a yes"

And as you rushed through the night, the stars witnessed that lovely first manifestation of you both.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 

Until now, of course. 

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 

And Simon? 

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious. 

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more. 

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 

The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 

Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 

This man saved your life. 

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 

Graham. 

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning. 

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You. 

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance. 

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 

You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 

It wasn’t like the termites could help. 

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 

Run. Run. Run. 

Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 

Lose him in the storm. 

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder. 

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 

Simon Riley was dressed for war. 

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 

You nod, but he still waits. 

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 

Your body is shielded in an instant. 

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you. 

Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 

But Graham. 

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent. 

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better. 

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

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[qwertywriting]

I honestly have no idea what happened here and I might have gotten a bit carried away...

this was based on my brainrot about biker!boothill

not edited or proofread

-☆☆☆-

Biker!Boothill who decided to get into motorcycles because of the thrill, going at high speeds, weaving in and out of traffic it was a rush of adrenaline with no- minimal risks. Dangerous? Dangerous for who? Definitely not him. Reckless?? It's all calculated, baby.

Some have tried and pick a fight, for whatever petty reason, but they soon learn it’s futile, a flash of teeth and a gun gets the point across pretty quick.

Biker!Boothill who downloaded lots of fashion magazines, because he it's cooler aesthetically, and he can make a good first impression. 

Biker!Boothill who drives around randomly just to see where his heart takes him, getting lost is the point- which is how he ended up spotting a familiar head of silver hair, down the street.

Boothill doesn’t really think through his next actions but a low rumble and high pitched whistle catches you and Stelle off guard.  Both of you, like everyone else around you, turn to the direction of the sound only to see a black motorcycle with streaks of red rolling up towards you and Stelle.  The tall figure steps off the bike, and lifts up the visor to peer at the both of you before pulling off the red helmet and giving his head a small shake. His intimidating expression morphs to excitement. “Fudge me sideways — Stelle, it really was you! I’d recognise that head of hair anywhere.”  Boothill only realised Stelle wasn’t alone when he arrived on the sidewalk, as you stood slightly behind Stelle. Giving you a small wave, flashing you a grin, showing off his augmented teeth. “Whoops, I almost didn’t see ya there darlin’” “Oh my god.” Stelle groans, “why did you have to yell loud enough to alert the entire street?”  Boothill clicks his tongue, running a hand through his hair. “I was just excited to see ya. So are ‘yer gonna introduce your friend to me or nah?” 

Biker!Boothill who was bugging Stelle for your phone number only to be surprised when he gets added into a group chat consisting of him, Stelle and you, along with an invite to go to a cafe hosting a collaboration with your favorite characters. 

Biker!Boothill who is constantly jumping at opportunities to invite you out for rides, Stelle is quick to shut down that idea at first, recalling several incidents of weaving through cars at high speeds and too many close calls.

Boothill, just grins at you, assuring you nothing bad would happen but you get the feeling that as long as he’s in the driver’s seat it would always end up like a rollercoaster. 

The one time you accept his invitation, it ends up involving the wails of sirens following behind, as you speed down the highway, and Boothill seemingly unfazed as he accelerates to even higher speeds that leave you feeling dizzy.

It probably takes you a long while before you accept another invitation to go for another ride. 

Bonus:

Stelle mentions braiding Boothill's hair while stopped at traffic lights for fun and surprisingly Boothill just lets you do it, but he also takes an extra second to make sure you’re clinging onto him before he speeds off again. 

[cazzyf1]

An Article about Lella Lombardi - Nobody makes jokes about women drivers around Lella Lombardi

The sleek Lola T-332 racing car crossed the starting line at the river side, Calif, Grand Prix, hurtled ahead of three cars, and swooped back inside with split-second timings.

"You mean that's really a girl?" Muttered three times indianapolis 500 winner A. J. Foyt, looking on in incredulously from the side liners.

For Lella Lombardi, the first woman in 17 years (and the second ever) to compete on high performance Formula One circut - the big leagues of professionals auto racing - the question is all but invetable. What in the world is a nice Italian girl like Lella doing in overalls and a crash helmet, risking her life at speeds close to 200 miles an hour?

"That's what mama keeps asking me," says the tomboyish 31-year-old Lella, "I guess she thinks I should be home with a good husband and a houseful of bambini."

It was obvious from the beginning, to Lella at least, that she was cut from different cloth compared to most girls. Born in the little Piedmontese village of Furgarolo, she was hooked on auto racing before she was out of diapers.

"The first I remember, I am perhaps 4 or 5 years old," she recalls, "I was making little cars from things I found in my mum's sewing box. When I was 8 I decided I shall be a racing driver. I didn't say anything but I made up my mind."

As a teenager Lella raced motorcycles with boys in her village. The boys were scandalized she beat them - their mothers that she was racing at all. Eventually the village priest came to call.

"He explained why I should be like a girl and what a girl must do," she remembers. "So I told him, 'yes father' but all the time I am thinking why am I not allowed to do as I want."

Nothing if not persistent, Lella saw her first race at 18. Five years later she brought a car of her own, secondhand, Formula Monza 500 that she tinkered with and drove in races herself. Last year, nearly after a decade of coming up through the ranks, she was approached by March Racing Ltd, of England which was looking for a driver for its two-man Grand Prix team.

"Formula 2, Formula 3, Formula 5000 - I raced in them all," says Lella, "I win a lot in Italy - six times women's champion. So when March comes to ask me to try out for them, I say to myself, 'Why not?'"

March's decision to hire her was hardly made lightly. A single Grand Prix car costs $100,000 and putting it through a season of racing costs several hundred thousand dollars more.

"Putting a woman into a Grand Prix cockpit means shattering a lot of tradition," acknowledges March team manager, Max Mosley. "Of course, my wild told me, the only reason I was hesitating was because of Lella's sex, no doubt about her skill, in the end, I guess my wife was right."

Now prepping for this Sunday's Monaco Grand Prix, Lella is given little chance of winning a race this season (although she finished a respectable sixth in last week's accident-shorter Spanish Grand Prix) since March is designing its cars. Some drivers perhaps disturbed by Lella's invasion of their male peserve, doubt the chunky, 5"2, Lombardi has the stamina for long-distance racing. But March chief Roy Wardell, was watching her during a gruelling test of the company's racers, disagrees.

"Thrasing a car about it bloody hard work," he says, "most male drivers would have been bitching and complaining but she drove more than 300 miles flat out without a whimper." Her main fault, says Wardell, is a rookie's understandable caution. "Lella is still a bit afraid that if she spins out everyone will say, 'see a woman driver'" he says, "but her confidence is building. Pretty soon she'll be mixing it up with the best of them."

[haitani-bruvz]

FAMILY AFFAIRS

Chapter 3

First Meetings: Mikey

previous part

Shinichiro x Reader, Mikey x Reader, Izana x Reader

DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Chapter preview: Introduction part 3 of 3. Reader's first time meeting Mikey.

Series TW: Yandere, smut, murder, noncon/dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, pseudo-incest (reader is considered a sibling but not blood-related), physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of child abuse and neglectful parents, ages of characters are shifted around a bit (Shin is younger)

July 25th, 1998 No amount of caution could have prepared you for the blazing fire that was Manjiro Sano.

The sun beamed down warmly as you found yourself once again at the local 7/11, a familiar destination since meeting Shinichiro just a couple of weeks prior. It had become a tradition of sorts, as he had been visiting almost every day, taking you out for various adventures, both alone and with Izana. In the past week, you had explored new places, shared laughter, and made memories you were sure would last forever. As you walked together, savoring the cold treats he purchased, a sense of anticipation filled your heart, wondering what exciting stories Shinichiro had in store for you this time.

His voice echoed in your mind as you recalled his stories, the teen often boasting about his remarkable fighting skills and the numerous bike enthusiasts who sought his expertise. While you weren't foolish enough to blindly believe his words, especially if the countless bruises littering his body and Izana's teasing callouts were anything to go by, you couldn't help but be captivated by his ambitions. He spoke with confidence, painting a picture of a future where he would open his own motorcycle shop- a place that would be a safe haven for delinquents and outcasts of every shape and form.

But despite the charm in his spirited narratives, a sense of unease crept into you.

Darkness was hidden beneath the surface, an unsettling feeling that lingered within. Shinichiro, who had always been accepting and kind, seemed to be holding back more and more with every interaction. There were moments when his eyes seemed distant, as if he was purposefully concealing certain details, hints of shadows lurking in his tales.

The very thought perplexed you, for he had always been open and forthcoming. Yet subtle clues in his demeanor whispered of secrets. Confusion washed over you as you questioned your own instincts. Why did you feel this discomfort, this uneasiness, when everything between the two of you had been nothing short of genuine warmth and friendship?

Being with the teen had Shadows dancing at the edge of your consciousness, teasing you with half-formed memories that refused to fully materialize. For instance, you had never touched a motorcycle before meeting Shin, let alone ridden one, so why did the weight of the helmet and the scent of the rubber feel so familiar? Why had you known exactly where to place your hands and feet?

And it wasn't like it was an isolated experience either- an invisible thread connected him and Izana, binding them together in shared secrets that eluded your grasp.

Since Shinichiro started visiting more frequently and your relationship grew, Izana's restlessness intensified. His already short temper seemed to shrink even further, lashing out at anyone within a 6-foot radius. Finding a mere five minutes of solitude became a rare luxury as Izana's grip tightened around your throat, dictating your every move with an iron hand. Even Kakucho, who was usually lax on the 'rules' when Izana wasn't around, took the new role of personal guardian extremely seriously. The only reason you found yourself on this ice cream outing today was because the tanned boy insisted on your absence from the orphanage, claiming that he had personal matters that he didn't want you in attendance for. Despite the challenges and secrecy that surrounded him, you couldn't help but love and be profoundly grateful for his presence in your life. Through it all, he had been a fiercely loyal and caring friend, offering protection and support when you needed it most.

You often speculated on what his life might have been like before the orphanage. Did his parents die like yours and Kaku's did? Was he abandoned like some of the other kids were? Whatever happened, you know his reluctance to speak about it only further fed into your belief that it was his pain that forged the protective shield around him. It was easy to convince yourself that his overbearing nature stemmed from a place of genuine concern and care. After all, it was only natural for someone who had experienced loss to be fiercely protective over those they held dear. With each passing day, you couldn't help but construct a narrative that lent understanding to Izana's behavior, almost as if his undisclosed past justified his actions in the present. In doing so, you unknowingly excused the uneasiness you sometimes felt, seeking solace in the belief that his intentions were pure and his overprotectiveness was a testament to his love for you.

Lost in thought, your attention only snaps back to reality when Shinichiro calls your name a second time. Raising your gaze, you become aware of how long you've been staring blankly at your spoon. Offering him an apologetic smile, you silently hope that he didn't catch onto your deep distraction.

"Sorry, what did you say?" You ask him, trying to sound as casual as possible.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Shinichiro's lips as he spoke, his eyes filled with anticipation. "Well, my birthday is coming up in a couple of days, and I wanted to know if you'd like to come over to my house for dinner. It's going to be a small gathering, just my grandpa and a few others," he explained, a hopeful tone in his voice.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest at the invitation, realizing that it would be your first time attending a real birthday party. It was a chance to be a part of Shinichiro's special day, to share in the warmth and celebration of his family, something you never got to experience in your own home.

"I'd love to come, Shin-nii! Thank you for inviting me," you replied, a huge smile brightening your face.

But then, Shinichiro's expression shifted slightly, a shadow of hesitance crossing his face. "There's something you should know, though," he said, his voice taking on a tone of concern. "Izana… well, I'm sure you've noticed that he's not very comfortable around people he doesn't know. It stresses him out, and I don't want him to feel uneasy during the meal." He paused for a moment, turning his gaze to search your expression before continuing, "That's why I think it's best if we keep it a secret from him."

Conflicting emotions stirred within you. On one hand, you understood where Shin was coming from. His genuine concern for Izana was apparent; He knew the boy much longer than you had, and you didn't want him to feel overwhelmed or forced into a situation that made him uncomfortable. But on the other hand, a small part of you questioned the true intentions behind Shinichiro's request. Was it solely for Izana's well-being, or was something else hidden beneath the surface? He never had seemed to have a problem bringing Izana around others before,so what made this time so different…?

Your mind raced with thoughts and doubts, unsure of the best course of action. You looked at Shinichiro, searching for answers in his face, but found only sympathy and determination.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you hesitantly voiced your concerns. "I think Izana could relax and have fun if we were there with him. Me and Kaku could maybe help if…" you trailed off before speaking again, "I don't want him to think that he isn't fun to be around."

Shinichiro's eyes held yours, his gaze unwavering. "He has his own way of handling things, (Y/N). I just thought it would be better for everyone if we kept this separate from him. It's not that I don't want him to be there, but sometimes… sometimes it's easier to avoid unnecessary conflicts," he explained, his words carrying a weight you couldn't quite grasp.

You slowly nodded as you took in his words.

Gratefulness filled Shinichiro's smile as he responded, "Thank you, (Y/N). I knew I could count on you. It means a lot to me, and I promise you'll have a great time, my grandpa makes a mean Hayashi rice!."

August 1st, 1998

The days leading up to Shinichiro's birthday had flown by, and you had successfully kept the secret hidden from Izana and Kakucho. Surprisingly, it hadn't been as challenging as you had initially expected. Both boys were serving some form of punishment following your last outing with Shin, and the two were kept separate from the rest of the kids. You didn't know the specifics, but apparently, they had snuck out and gotten into some trouble with a few middle school kids.

As for Shinichiro, you hadn't seen much of him either since that eventful day. However, a brief encounter occurred when he visited the orphanage workers to discuss Izana's current situation. During that fleeting moment, Shinichiro approached you and explained that Izana and Kaku would be on what the orphanage referred to as 'isolation' for the next two weeks. Additionally, Shinichiro mentioned that he, too, wouldn't be around as frequently due to pressing matters that required his attention at home with his grandpa. Nevertheless, he reassured you that he would be present on his birthday to pick you up and take you to his house.

The news of Izana and Kaku's isolation, along with Shinichiro's temporary absence, left a void within the familiar dynamics of your interactions. The orphanage felt eerily quiet without their presence, and it made you realize just how much you had grown accustomed to their company. Though uncertain about the exact nature of their punishment, you couldn't help but hope that the two boys would learn and grow from this experience.

During these rare moments of solitude, you devoted yourself to creating a special gift for Shinichiro. It was a keychain with the letters "S&S" for Shinichiro Sano, messily intertwined with beads and string. You envisioned it as the emblem for his future motorcycle shop, hoping to tease him about how it was far cooler than the corny name he had initially chosen, "Black Dragon Bikes." A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you imagined his reaction to the playful jab.

As the day of Shinichiro's birthday arrived, a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttered in your chest. You stood by the window, watching for his arrival. The gift was safely tucked away in your pocket, ready to be presented to him. Thoughts swirled through your mind, wondering if he would like it, if it would be meaningful enough.

Moments later, you saw Shinichiro approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face. He exuded an air of excitement, and your heart swelled in response. Stepping outside to greet him, you held out the carefully crafted keychain, the metal gleaming in the soft sunlight.

"Happy birthday, Shin-nii," your voice shyly uttered as you extended your hand, presenting the carefully crafted gift. "I made this for you. The 'S&S' can be a logo for your motorcycle shop, way cooler than 'Black Dragon Bikes,' don't you think?" A playful glimmer danced in your eyes as you teased him, awaiting his reaction to your light-hearted jab.

A wide smile spread across Shinichiro's face as he accepted the gift, his eyes lighting up with appreciation. "Thank you, (Y/N). This is amazing," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "And hey, don't be too hard on Black Dragon Bikes. It has its own charm, you know?" He chuckled, gently nudging your shoulder playfully. "But you're right, 'S&S' has a certain ring to it. Maybe I should consider rebranding in the future."

The playful banter between you and Shinichiro always brought a sense of warmth and comfort. It was moments like these that reminded you of the genuine connection you shared. You couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness, knowing that your small gesture had brought him joy on his special day.

Just as you were about to climb onto his bike, a movement caught your eye. Glancing up towards the second-floor window of the orphanage, your heart skipped a beat. There, partially concealed behind the glass, was Kakucho's scarred eye, watching you intently. A jolt of unease ran down your spine as a wave of realization washed over you.

Your gazes met just as the engine roared to life, and in that fleeting moment, the weight of the secrets you were hiding from Izana and Kakucho crashed back into your consciousness. Doubts and questions flooded your mind, and a wave of guilt washed over you. Were you betraying the trust and bond you had with both Izana and Kakucho? The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't shake the unease that settled within you.

Shinichiro, unaware of the silent exchange between you and Kakucho, revved the engine of his motorcycle, breaking the tension that had settled upon you. His voice carried a hint of excitement as he called out to you, "Ready to go?" Swallowing hard, you forced a smile and nodded. Pushing aside the unease that had taken hold of you, you climbed onto the back of the bike, wrapping your arms around Shinichiro's waist.

The ride to Shinichiro's house was a short one, lasting only about 30 minutes, but it felt much longer as your anxious thoughts consumed your mind. As the wind rushed past you, you couldn't help but wonder if Kakucho had somehow found out about your secret rendezvous with Shinichiro. What would he say to Izana? Would he be disappointed in you? And what about Izana himself? Would he be angry or hurt by your actions?

As Shinichiro and you arrived at his house, the motorcycle's engine cut off, casting a hush over the surroundings. Shinichiro took the lead, his steps confident and familiar, while you followed closely behind. Approaching the front door, subtle signs of a well-lived home caught your attention. Your gaze wandered, taking note of the pairs of shoes neatly arranged near the entrance. Among them were larger shoes that undoubtedly belonged to Shinichiro's grandpa, a reminder of the elder's presence in the household. But what caught your attention were the smaller pairs of shoes, seemingly for kids your age.

The weathered welcome mat greeted you as you crossed the threshold into Shinichiro's world. Guiding you inside, Shinichiro steered you through his living room, "Please have a seat on the couch," Shinichiro gestured, his voice warm and inviting. "I'll just park and lock my bike. I won't be long."

As you settled onto the couch, the tantalizing aroma of savory food wafted through the air, hinting at the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen. However, your attention remained fixated on the impending conversation with Izana.

"I just hope he isn't mad at me," you thought, your fingers nervously tugging at the loose threads on your t-shirt. The uncertainty gnawed at your thoughts as you anxiously awaited Shinichiro's return from locking up his motorcycle. The seconds felt like an eternity as your mind raced with possibilities and apprehensions.

Interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared, your attention snapped to the source of the disturbance.

Approaching you with a serious expression was a young boy, his short blonde hair contrasting with his striking black eyes that closely resembled Shinichiro's.

The boy wasted no time sizing you up, approaching you with a question that caught you off guard.

"You're new," he said, his tone challenging. "You here to fight me?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, you found yourself momentarily at a loss for words. People at the orphanage had often avoided you due to Izana's intimidating presence, so this direct interaction was unfamiliar territory.

Before you could respond, Shinichiro entered the room, swiftly diffusing the tension. "Hey, what did I tell you about picking fights with people?" he scolded the blonde boy, playfully tapping the back of his head. "This is YN, a friend from the orphanage. YN, this is my little brother, Manjiro."

The revelation that Shinichiro had an actual little brother left you momentarily stunned.

The blonde let out a hum, suddenly very invested in your presence.

'Orphanage?" he eyed you suspiciously before continuing, "So do you know Iz-",

Shinichiro quickly interrupted him, shooting him a warning look.

"Don't even start."

It sent a shiver down your spine, but Shinichiro quickly shifted his demeanor, offering you a reassuring smile. Manjiro pouted at the interruption but agreed to put the challenge aside. He extended his hand to you, addressing you as "yn-chan" and requesting you to call him Mikey instead.

He's always like that with new people," Shinichiro explained, ruffling your hair reassuringly. "Don't take it personally. Grandpa should be back with Emma soon, so why don't you two go play and get to know each other better? We'll have that Hayashi I promised when they're here."

With a nod of agreement, you allowed Mikey to drag you to his room. He informed you that Emma was their little sister and that although she was 'kind of a weirdo' (Mikey's words, not yours), she was cool. He enthusiastically shared stories about a toy plane Shinichiro had given him and his adventures with his friends, promising to introduce you to them in the future. While you were interested in meeting his friends, you weren't so sure about this Baji kid. Mikey's stories didn't paint him as the friendliest, and you had a feeling Izana wouldn't approve of you befriending someone who seemed to have an even shorter fuse than he had.

Mikey's enthusiasm was infectious as he bounced on his toes, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, YN! Let's have a little spar. I want to show you how strong I am and how I can protect you!" You hesitated, recalling Shinichiro's warning not to engage in any fights. Besides, you weren't exactly the most skilled fighter, and the idea of going up against someone as energetic as Mikey seemed daunting. "I don't know Mikey, Shinichiro said no fighting," you replied, trying to reason with him. But Mikey's persistence knew no bounds. He continued to urge you, his determination shining through. "Aw, come on! Just a friendly little match. It'll be fun, I promise!" he insisted.

Reluctantly, you gave in, unable to resist his infectious spirit. "Alright, just a friendly spar," you conceded, realizing that Mikey wouldn't let it go until you agreed.

The two of you found a suitable spot in his room, preparing yourselves for the impromptu match. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on your limited combat skills. However, before you even had a chance to gather your bearings, Mikey sprang into action. His speed was astonishing as he swiftly closed the distance between you. Within moments, he had pinned you down, his laughter filling the air. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, his playful grin widening before suddenly stilling.

You couldn't help but laugh along with him, realizing just how quick and agile Mikey truly was. Despite being caught off guard, you couldn't deny the excitement of the friendly tussle. "Okay, okay, you win," you admitted, acknowledging his victory and waiting for him to move so you could get up.

A few tense moments lingered as Mikey continued to hold you down, his grip tightening with each passing second. You tried to break free by wiggling underneath him, hoping to alleviate the pressure but his hold remained strong.

"Okay, Mikey, you're strong," you uttered, your voice laced with a hint of desperation. "Now, let me up. I don't want to play this anymore."

But his gaze remained fixated, almost vacant, as if he couldn't hear your pleas. It sent a shiver down your spine, the fear slowly creeping in. You felt trapped, uncertain of what was happening and how to make it stop. Just as panic started to rise within you, you heard Shinichiro's voice calling from downstairs. "Mikey, YN, come down! Emma and Grandpa are here!"

The sound of Shinichiro's voice seemed to break the hold over Mikey. His expression shifted, returning to the mischievous boy you had come to know. He grinned and shrugged as if attempting to play off his previous behavior. "Heh, just messing with you, YN-chan. Let's go meet Emma and Grandpa!" he said, his voice lighthearted once again.

As the day progressed and you spent more time with Mikey, his company grew more enjoyable. His humor and kindness were endearing, and he proved himself to be a skilled teaser, constantly poking fun at Shinichiro just as much, if not more, than Izana did. The room was taken aback when he surprised everyone by offering you the last slice of cake, a gesture he had never made, according to their Grandpa.

Yet, beneath the surface of his cheerful demeanor, a nagging feeling tugged at the back of your mind. There was an underlying darkness, an unsettling presence that seemed to emanate from Mikey. While he assured you that the earlier sparring incident was all in good fun, a part of you couldn't shake off the fear it had instilled. It was as if he wasn't entirely himself during that moment, and it left you on edge.

Spending time with Mikey throughout the day, you couldn't help but draw comparisons between him and Izana. While Izana had an intimidating presence and a fierce determination to shield you from harm, Mikey possessed a different kind of charm. He shared the same striking black eyes as Shinichiro, which brought a sense of familiarity and comfort, but there was something in the depth of Mikey's gaze that reminded you of Izana. It was as if a flicker of intensity and underlying darkness lurked behind those eyes, hinting at a complexity that mirrored Izana's enigmatic persona.

It intrigued you how Mikey could possess Shinichiro's lightheartedness yet harbor a depth reminiscent of Izana. It was a unique blend of contrasting qualities that made him even more intriguing. His playful nature and mischievous spark were juxtaposed with the hint of an untamed spirit and an unwavering determination. It became evident that he was deeply connected to Shinichiro and, as his little brother, must have inherited some of the qualities that made Shinichiro so cool in your eyes. If Shinichiro trusted and cared for Mikey, perhaps befriending him wouldn't be a mistake. After all, Shinichiro had become a significant part of your life, and his judgment now held weight in your decision-making process. You found solace in the fact that Mikey, being related to Shinichiro, had the potential to be a reliable ally and friend.

As these thoughts swirled in your mind, you decided to give Mikey a chance. Despite the nagging feeling of something hidden beneath his cheerful facade, you acknowledged that everyone had their complexities. Just like Izana, Mikey might have his own struggles and dark moments, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a good person or a true friend.

If only you had realized that comparing others to Izana as a measure of goodness was a flawed approach, perhaps you could have protected yourself from the impending dangers that awaited you.

a/n: I hope you all enjoyed it! Sorry for the long wait, life has been so crazy lately. New chapter is already in the works so please wait for it <3

TAGS @wildartist @rosemary108233 @devils-blackrose @teesissy @jcrml @soushswag @inurmom00 @spookychaossuit @shinslover @stalkergirl512 @miyuaditt @lurvelybones @kthyyxz @missanonymous1999 @kokonoiscoconut @ang3liclov3ly @josuke8 @bunn1rabb1t @gata-preta08 @chocomori @whyulyinggurl @Imbiafandbored @kazusbby @jcrml @the-grimm-writer @tamaki-jiki-reblogs @kookieszme @Berriesandcrem @bloobewy @thetruepair @madness-puppy @spookychaossuit @caramelcandescence @pongster @lostsomewhereinthegarden @k1nkyshoto @luno-614 @a-cult-leader @imbiafandbored @lovlessbish @kenmasbimbo @hnmashji @valeriinee @mel-star636 @mikeyaki

Please comment or message me to be tagged 💚💚

[maitanii]

this is just a little scene after about you that i didn't add because i liked how i ended it :) enjoy &lt;3

— YOU FEEL YOUR LEGS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY. You're not even entirely sure of what you're about to do. The faint smile on Inui's face conveys some confidence, but you know he's trying to persuade you not to go through with your idea. After all, half a year is more than enough to understand the tactics he uses to get his way.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, okay? We can go to that café you love. I'll treat you to the pistachio New York Roll; I know you're dying to try it."

You fiddle nervously with the helmet straps in your hands. You weren't afraid of riding a motorcycle; Draken gave you lessons two or three times a month (to your mother's dismay). But the idea of taking Inupi on the back does make you a bit more nervous. You take a deep breath before giving your boyfriend a confident look. He's wearing the leather jacket you gave him for Valentine's Day and a plaid shirt underneath. You won't waste a single minute of this special day.

Carefully adjusting the helmet, you make sure it's properly in place before heading towards the motorcycle parked in front of you. Inupi watches you calmly. Lately, it seems like nothing can disturb him.

"Ready?" Inupi asks while putting on his helmet. His eyes reveal a hint of excitementthat makes you smile.

You nod, trying to appear more confident than you feel. You get on the bike carefully, feeling the added weight and recalling Draken's instructions on how to balance the vehicle with a passenger.

Inupi wraps his arms around your waist and lightly strokes your abdomen with his thumb. You suppose it's his way of reassuring you, and although it makes you shiver a bit, you feel comforted by his closeness. Although a helmet covered almost all of his face, you knew that the corners of his lips were raised, forming a smile. A smile he used when both of you were working, and he would drop a false piece of information that you ended up believing. A smile he used when some customer flirted with you, and you sought help with just a glance.

You start the engine and pull away slowly, feeling adrenaline mixed with nervousness coursing through your body.

"I hope today's date ends at the café and not at the hospital," Inui comments as he feels you accelerate.

"You know what? You're right, maybe one of us will end up in the hospital"

The wind gently hits your face as you navigate the streets. Inupi points out familiar places, recalling funny anecdotes to distract you from your nerves. Little by little, you begin to relax, letting the excitement of the adventure overpower the initial insecurity.

The journey goes smoothly, and upon reaching the café, both of you get off the bike with a smile. You take off your helmet, feeling proud.

"What? What do you have to say about my incredible driving skills?" Holding the helmet on one side of your waist, you smiled widely, looking at your boyfriend. "I've left you speechless, huh? Now you "

"You ran a red light."

"What?" All excitement vanished like gunpowder. "Sei, what are you saying? That can't be. I've been attentive the whole way."

Leaving the helmet on the seat, you run your hands through your hair. It couldn't be possible; you had studied the route a thousand times. There was no—

"Seishu, idiot!" You lightly slapped his arm. "We didn't pass by any traffic lights on the way here."

A grin spread across the blond's face.

"Well," he held out his palms for a high-five, "congrats on been attentive, you deserve a reward."

"With you, I deserve more than one, honestly." Passing by his figure, you began to walk towards the establishment. Lowering his outstretched arms, the young man jogged closer to you.

"Come on, don't be mad." Despite trying to speak seriously, the mischievous tone didn't leave his voice.

"But did I do it right?" Standing at the restaurant's door, you turned to look him in the eyes.

"Not even I could drive better. And that's saying something." Approaching you, the blonde placed an arm around your shoulders and planted a kiss on your forehead. "However, you forgot to lock the motorcycle. And I would appreciate coming back home with my girlfriend and with my bike".

next thing i'll post is kokonui conent, so be prepared >:) bye! &lt;3

[ijustwant2ride]

Motorcycle Recall January 2023: Triumph, 30K Bilt Helmets, Indian

Be aware that this motorcycle recall list is for the United States for the last 30 days, there is no way I could cover the entire world. But in the world of global manufacturing, if a motorcycle is being recalled in one country there is a good chance it is under recall in others. Also, this should not be considered a definitive list, check for yourself if you have any questions. If you are US…

[spookuzm]

So uh I'm just gonna post my one shot from three months ago here

You can also read it on AO3

I'm kinda nervous for sharing this but I hope you guys will like this...

Tw: Brief mention of abuse, slightly suggestive (aka flirting)

—————

Summary:

You had been living with the skeletons for a while now. You get along with most of them, thankfully. Then one day, the skeletons decided that you were trustworthy enough to let you in a very big secret— all of them were the same two monsters; Sans and Papyrus!

And if that wasn’t shocking enough for you... They were also hiding their other alternates! The bigger versions of themselves!

Nervous to meet them was an understatement. Especially Red’s bigger alternate self. Just the thought of that made you terrified to your core. Red alone was scary enough for you, thank you very much.

—————

Read under the cut

“So wait,” you started, baffled by this. “The Multiverse Theory is true, and all of you are the same two monsters? Like, no joke?”

“yep,” Classic said, popping the ‘p’. “i may be a comedian, but there are some things even i won’t joke about. and this is one of them.” he gestured to himself and then to Blue and Red. Blue waved enthusiastically with a beaming smile as Red scoffed at the attention.

This was insane but the proof was literally right in front of you, and Classic himself even showed you the machine that pulled them into this timeline.

“But why..?” You muttered under your breath, gaining the trio’s attention. “Why trust me?”

“dats cause yer pathetic,” Red said harshly as you shrank from his words. Blue sent him a disappointed glare before turning to you with a gentle smile.

“WHAT RED MEANS, FRIEND, IS THAT YOU ARE A VERY TRUSTWORTHY AND NICE PERSON! AND YOU WOULD NEVER LET YOUR FRIENDS DOWN WITH BIG SECRETS!” Blue stated confidently.

You felt your heart warm up as you blushed slightly, giving him a soft smile. Blue has always been a positive guy, always spreading cheer to anyone around him. And the same goes to Creampuff. The three of you were the best of friends.

Red grumbled bad-temperedly as he left the room, Classic just shrugged at the interaction before teleporting away.

Blue lets out a ‘tsk’ before grabbing your hand as he begins to lead you to somewhere. “LET’S GO TO THAT RESTAURANT WE WERE TALKING ABOUT EARLIER, BEFORE THE WHOLE MULTIVERSE REVELATION THING.”

You arrived at where the skeletons parked their vehicles. Blue’s ride was a blue motorcycle, and he calls it ‘his precious’.

“Uh, sure,” you agreed, watching as Blue hopped on his motorcycle and put on a helmet.

“AND, FRIEND?” he said your name nervously as he gave you a helmet and you put it on, making sure it’s secured onto your head. You adjusted the straps, feeling the reassuring click of the buckle.

Blue inserted the key and brought the motorcycle to life, the roar of the engine echoing through the quiet lodge. “Yes?” you replied, hopping on the back.

“DID THAT— DID IT CHANGED YOUR PERSPECTIVE OF ME AND THE OTHERS?” he asked you nervously. “I MEAN— IT’S STRANGE, RIGHT? I’M LITERALLY THE SAME PERSON AS CLASSIC, BLACK, AND RED.”

He looked at you in concern, frowning. You stared at him for a moment before chuckling as you pat his shoulder in reassurance. “Blue, it doesn’t change a thing at all. You guys are so different from each other despite being the same person. I still see you as the Magnificent Blue. Classic as his punny self, Black as his calm and collected self, and Red’s a jerk.”

Blue sighed in relief before smiling once more. “LOOKS LIKE MY WORRIES WERE FOR NOTHING THEN.” he said as he revved the engine, propelling the motorcycle forward with a confident twist of the throttle.

~~~~

It was now the next day since they revealed their shocking secret to you. Nothing really changed, it was still the same as ever. And you aren’t planning to tell anybody.

You made your way to the kitchen, wanting to get some coffee as you stretched a bit. You glanced around as you recalled when you first got invited to live in with the skeletons. Blue was the one who instigated that invitation when he witnessed you get kicked out from your abusive ex.

You bumped into Black along the way as you stammered out an apology. He scoffed indignantly at that before he spoke. “HUMAN, I SUPPOSED THAT THE INSUFFERABLE VANILLA FINALLY TOLD YOU THE TRUTH?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Vanilla? Do you mean Classic?”

“YES, NOW ANSWER MY QUESTION, HUMAN.” he spat as he crossed his arms, waiting for your answer.

“If you mean all of you being the same two monsters, then yes, he did.” You replied.

He nodded solemnly. “GOOD. NOW, THAT’S ONE WEIGHT OFF OUR SHOULDERS.” he stated vaguely, looking thoughtful.

“Huh? What do you mean?” You asked him as he stared at you for a moment.

“WOULD YOU BELIEVE ME IF I SAID THAT THERE ARE OTHER SANSES AND PAPYRUSES WE’RE HIDING?” Black told you with a smug grin, which caught you off guard. This was the first time you saw him having a different expression other than a neutral scowl.

You stepped back from shock, feeling a migraine coming from this sudden revelation. “Oh for star’s sake, dude, really?” you asked exasperatedly as he laughed, amused from your reaction.

“I’M BEING TRUTHFUL HERE, HUMAN.”

You sighed tiredly, rubbing your temples. “Well, at least you told me now rather than later. I really don’t want to suddenly see a new skeleton and not expect it.”

You went past him, wanting to grab a coffee. He followed you to the kitchen, and requested for coffee as well. You gave him it and cooked breakfast with Black for everyone in the lodge.

You placed all of the pancakes on the dining table, knowing full well that the lazy or laidback skeletons will wake up soon.

“So, how many of them are there? And what are they like?” You questioned him curiously as you took a sip from your coffee, sighing contently.

Black looked at his coffee before looking up, his eye lights bore onto you. “THERE ARE THREE PAIRS OF SKELETONS, YOU HAVE YET TO MEET. AND THEY ALL LOOK THE EXACT SAME AS CLASSIC AND CREAMPUFF, BLUE AND ORANGE, AND RED AND EDGE.”

You hummed, nodding along. “They are pretty much clones.” you couldn't help but comment.

“INDEED,” Black nodded as he drank his coffee. “BUT OF COURSE, THERE ARE SOME DIFFERENCES…” he trailed off for dramatic effect, making you anxious.

“Like what?” You asked, sweating slightly.

“SIZE DIFFERENCE, FOR ONE; THE SANSES ARE ALL SIX FEET FIVE INCHES TALL, AND THE PAPYRUSES ARE SEVEN FEET SIX INCHES,” he informed you nonchalantly as your jaw dropped.

“Holy shi-” You backpedaled when he narrowed his eye sockets at you. “Schnitzel! That’s crazy!” You quickly said.

He snorted in amusement as you slumped in your chair, staring at the ceiling. You wondered what they are like. Are they the same as the skeletons you know in terms of personality? Then your thoughts eventually landed on Red— the guy who always seems to despise you, perpetually in a sour mood every time you see him. Even his brother, Edge, managed to be friendly with you, despite his backhanded speech.

What was the bigger version of Red like? Was he the same as Red? Just imagining Red, but so much larger, looking down at you with scorn… The thought of it terrifies you.

“HUMAN,” Black’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “I RECOMMEND MEETING THEM TODAY, RATHER THAN LATER. THAT WAY, YOU’LL HAVE GOTTEN USED TO THEIR LARGE PRESENCE THE NEXT TIME YOU MEET THEM.”

“I don’t know, Black.” you muttered, uncertain about meeting them today.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMING WHEN THEY SUDDENLY APPEAR HERE ONE DAY,” he deadpan.

You thought about it once more, once again terrified meeting a larger version of Red. But after a few moments, you eventually nodded. Black huffed as he finished his coffee as Rus walked in, yawning.

Rus was a very quiet guy, only speaking when Black addressed him. You watched as Black yelled at him to get his own coffee, and Rus complied.

Rus took Black’s empty plate and mug, and surprisingly, yours too. He usually doesn’t want to involve himself with you, always so distant. Maybe he’s just in a good mood, You deduced.

“BY THE WAY, HUMAN. I WILL NOT BE ACCOMPANYING YOU WITH MEETING THE OTHER SKELETONS. YOU WOULD HAVE TO GET EITHER CLASSIC, RED, OR BLUE, TO GO WITH YOU.” Black told you as he stood up, his back turned. “I HAVE WORK TODAY, AND SO DOES MY BROTHER.”

You shrank in your seat, disappointed yet understanding. “Alright, I’ll go do just that. Thanks, Blank, it was nice chatting with you.” You said sincerely. If Black didn’t have his back turned, you could’ve seen the purple blush on his face.

You heard him huff before he left the room, leaving you alone with Rus.

You tried to start a conversation with him, but he only ignored you. You supposed that it was okay, the silence was comfortable anyway. You eventually decided to find Classic or Blue, to take you to the other skeletons Black was talking about. You waved Rus goodbye before going on a search to find Classic or Blue.

~~~~

You couldn’t find Blue and Classic anywhere. You went to their rooms but nothing. You even go to their favorite spots in the lodge, also not finding them there. You were getting a bit frustrated trying to find them before you bumped into Red.

“so what got you all worked up, huh?” Red spat, looking at you in disdain, and you felt yourself getting irritated by his gaze.

You clenched your jaw, trying to maintain your composure. “I’ve been looking for Classic and Blue, but I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

“they’re visiting their friends together,” He shrugged.

“Their friends?” You asked curiously, calming down a bit.

“yeah,” he said simply. “and what do you need them for?” Now it was his turn to ask.

“Black told me that I should go meet the other skeletons you guys are hiding.” you told him bluntly. “And he said that I should go ask Classic or Blue so I can meet them.”

Red scoffed, crossing his arms. “of course that fucker did.” he grumbled. “if ya want to find classic and blue, they’re actually with the others right now.”

You deflated. “Oh, okay then.”

Red stared at you, then groaned, running a hand over his face. “aight, stop making that dumb as fuck face, i’ll take you over there instead. i was gonna go there anyway.”

“Really!?” you beamed, grabbing his hands in your excitement.

“yes, now can you let go of my hands.” he scowled at you, sweating a bit.

You blushed slightly before letting go of his hands, embarrassed. Red sighed before walking to the door that leads outside.

“ya coming or not?” he called out as he opened the door.

You ran up to him.

~~~~

You and Red were walking deep into a forest, surrounded by the sublime sights of nature. You were starting to think anxiously— thinking that Red was planning to murder you or something, finally getting rid of the person he despised.

As you look around your surroundings, you couldn’t help but glance at Red every now and then. He was ignoring you as he walked forward, an awkward expression on his face, sweating.

Ok, maybe you’re overthinking things; maybe Red was really leading you to wherever the other skeletons were, and not planning to kill you. But it was extremely awkward— you couldn’t muster up the courage to start a conversation with him at all. It was just that awkward.

But this was so much better than his usual demeanor; completely standoffish around you.

Red suddenly stopped in his tracks, and you followed suit, albeit in confusion. Then he pulled out a futuristic-looking device, pressing a couple of buttons. You watched as the trees in front of you shifted into a large mansion, making you gape.

“WHAT?!?” you screamed, trying to process what had just transpired. If you were looking at Red at that moment, you could’ve seen him looking slightly amused at your reaction.

“a big house for big idiots,” Red stated as he walked towards the mansion. You stood there for a moment before catching up to him.

The two of you eventually reached the fancy-looking front door as Red rang the doorbell. You heard loud noises coming from the other side, making you nervous. You watched as the door swayed open, revealing Blue, but he was much larger, making you feel tiny.

“Oh, Red! And You Have Brought A Friend Along!” his voice boomed. He had the same volume as Blue, thankfully. Though you had a feeling that it wasn’t his real volume.

“fuck no, they ain’t my friend.” he scowled.

“So, Just Acquaintances?” Larger Blue questioned, tilting his head in confusion. Red nodded at that as you sighed.

“Yeah, we’re just acquaintances, uh-” You trailed off when you didn’t know his name.

“Oh! I Forgot To Introduce Myself, Silly Me!” He chuckled heartily as Red went past him, getting inside the mansion. Larger Blue ignored him as he beamed at you. “I Am The Grand And Dashing Azure, At Your Service, Maiden!”

Aww, that’s such a fitting name— Wait, Did he call you maiden?!?

You blushed slightly as you told him your name. He knelt down as he kissed your hand gently, making your face explode, flustered.

He chuckled as he gestured for you to come in, a warm and welcoming smile on his face. “Come In To Our Lovely Abode, Dear Maiden. No Need To Be Shy.” You snapped out of your daze as you stepped in.

“Uh, Azure, have you seen Classic and Blue anywhere?” You asked as you watched your steps, feeling unworthy of walking around in such a grand mansion.

“They’re In The Living Room, Informing Us About You, Actually.” Azure hummed. “They Have Told You About Us Being All The Same Two Monsters, Right? Sans And Papyrus?”

You nodded as you smiled up at him, he smiled back but with a faint blush in his cheekbones.

He led you to the living room. If he weren’t there to guide you, you definitely would’ve gotten lost. You looked around in awe, spinning around. You caught Azure looking at you with adoration; you swear you saw his blue eye lights become hearts for a second.

You then suddenly got tackled into a tight hug. You knew who was hugging you, after all, he was the only person to tackle someone into a hug.

“MY FRIEND! YOU’RE HERE!” Blue exclaimed happily, making you giggle.

“Indeed I am,” You said as you hugged back.

Then Classic and his bigger self approached you, curious about the commotion. The gaze of Classic’s larger self landed on you, eye lights dilating. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Blue stopped hugging you as you looked between Classic and bigger Classic.

“sup, kid. looks like you’re here.” Classic greeted you, his trademark grin on his face. Bigger Classic continued to stare at you, his eye lights wobbly, blushing slightly.

“Mhm. Red helped me get here, actually.” All of the skeletons present were genuinely surprised at that.

“MWEH HEH HEH! IT SEEMS RED IS FINALLY OPENING UP TO YOU!” Blue laughed as the others chuckled.

You blinked, recalling Red’s face as he led you earlier in your mind. “You really think so?”

“OF COURSE!”

You giggled at that, before looking up to the bigger Classic, who seemed to flinch at your gaze, his blue blush became brighter. The others were trying really hard not to laugh, they would feel very bad for him if they do. 

You watched as he started to sweat nervously, looking away from you. You feel bad for this sweetie, he was just really shy and anxious to meet strangers like you. You were like him once, but you got over your anxiety after you met Blue. He was very gentle with you, always soft spoken back then. 

You don't want to scare this guy.

“What’s up, big guy?” you greeted softly, smiling gently.

“um- uh, hi!” he squeaked before pulling his hood up, hiding his face from the world.

Classic nudged him gently, a smug grin on his face. “kid, we call this sweet guy ‘marsh’.” you heard Marsh groan in embarrassment at Classic’s statement.

“Aww, his name is cute! He’s really mallow out.” you giggled at your own joke. If he's anything like Classic then jokes would make him open up, right?

“oh stars- marry me.” he muttered under his breath, but you could hear him just fine, your face turned pink as you looked at him in shock.

He immediately backpedaled, his eye lights dilating in horror. “wait! i didn’t mean-!”

Classic burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, and the others followed suit. You hesitantly chuckled along when Marsh laughed awkwardly.

“ay, what’s all this ruckus about?” A deep and gruff voice interrupted, gaining your attention. You immediately shrank, already intimidated by this new large skeleton. Oh god, you dreaded this, but you need to be brave.

You were already sweating a lot, just his presence was enough to scare you. Big Red’s gaze landed on you before smiling, his red eye lights seemed to soften, which caught you off guard.

“heh,” his expression screams ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment’. “do you have a map of this place? i keep getting lost in your eyes.”

“What?” You said, dumbfounded.

He reached out to you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek, making your face explode in red. He chuckled as he spoke. “do you have sunburn in your face, or are you always this hot?”

You were stunned by the difference between him and Red.

He withdrew his hand, grinning wolfishly. “but damn, i wish i had a picture frame with me, ‘cause, sweetheart, yer picture-perfect.” He said, his voice low and suave.

The other skeletons were watching this unfold, some were amused, and some were jealous at the easy flirting.

You sent him a pointed look, pointing your finger at him. “Stop,” he chuckled as he raised his hand in surrender.

“the name's crimson. can i get yours or can i call you—”

“Oh my god, please stop.” You pleaded, groaning as you covered your face.

“aww, don’t hide your cute face, sweetheart.”

You glared at him, feeling extremely embarrassed. The skeletons in the background (except Blue, he just stood there in shock) were watching this like a romcom show, entertained, making you groan in exasperation.

Blue snapped out of whatever stupor he was in. “ALRIGHT! ENOUGH OF THIS, CRIMSON! YOU’RE MAKING THEM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE!”

But this was okay with you... You had expected the giant skeletons to be intimidating, but they weren't like that at all; they were charming, sweet, and giant softies.

~~~~

Red was watching this from the background, appalled and disgusted. He just couldn’t believe that this guy was a version of him! He’s just a complete idiot!

He was embarrassed to be in the same room as Crimson. He didn’t want to be compared to that idiot.

B̶u̶t̶ ̶C̶r̶i̶m̶s̶o̶n̶ ̶ia ̶l̶i̶t̶e̶r̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶was brave enough ̶to show h̶i̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ ̶s̶e̶l̶f̶

H̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶C̶r̶i̶m̶s̶o̶n̶.̶

[beatricebidelaire]

the other day i was thinking about olaf being described as tall in the books, and then i paused to consider, was he "much taller than average", or just "seemed tall from a child's perspective"? after all, olaf's age, according to DH, is "however old children think old people are". so when he was described as tall, could that just be that he looked tall to the three kids.

so i thought, were other people described as tall? off the top of my head the one thing i recall is, jacques was described as " not as tall as olaf" and "not as thin as olaf", and possibly the only adult character whose height is directly compared to olaf's iirc

for comparison's sake, i went back to check if other adults were described as tall as well. olaf and each of his disguises were repeatedly described as tall. within his troupe. the bald man has been described as tall, and fernald, while in disguise, has also been described as tall. charles and sir were both described as tall at some point. so were georgina, esme, jerome. and some more.

esme, like olaf and fernald, has also been described as tall when in disguise and using a fake name. she's also been described as slender.

denouements are also tall, and more than once described as "tall and skinny, with legs and arms sticking out at odd angles"

side note: this has nothing to do with height but: georgina is described to have blond hair. this is interesting because in the books it wasn't that often that a character's hair color is specified. aside from georgina, olivia is described to have blonde hair - "with a flick of her wrist, she unraveled the turban, and her long, blond hair fell down around her tearstained face" (she, on the other hand, was not described as tall)

references below:

poe:

 a tall figure striding toward the Baudelaire children. (tbb)

charles:

the children turned to see a very tall man with very short hair. He was wearing a bright blue vest and holding a peach. (tmm)

nero:

a tall man with a violin under his chin and an angry glare in his eyes. (taa)

georgina:

Dr. Orwell was a tall woman with blond hair pulled back from her head and fashioned into a tight, tight bun. (tmm)

esme:

in walked a tall, slender woman, also dressed in a pinstripe suit. (tee)

Officer Luciana was a very tall woman wearing big black boots, a blue coat with a shiny badge, and a motorcycle helmet with the visor pulled down to cover her eyes. (tvv)

a tall, skinny figure walking down the B aisle STOP. (thh)

jerome:

a tall man wearing a suit with long, narrow stripes down it. (tee)

hector:

A tall skinny man in rumpled overalls stood up from one of the folding chairs as the Chief of Police stepped off the platform with a lipsticked smile on.  (tvv)

jacques:

He wasn’t as tall as Count Olaf, and he wasn’t quite as thin, and there wasn’t dirt under his fingernails, or a nasty and greedy look in his eyes. (tvv)

colette:

a tall skinny woman with curly hair squinting down at them, and in the third was a man with a very wrinkled face who was still asleep. (tcc)

denouement:

He was very tall and skinny, and his arms and legs stuck out at odd angles, as if he were made of drinking straws instead of flesh and bone. (tpp)

even the tall, skinny figure of either Frank or Ernest, who would occasionally rush by them on errands of his own. (tpp)

it was a man, tall and skinny, with his legs and arms sticking out at odd angles, as if he were made of drinking straws instead of flesh and bone. (tpp)

taxi driver from tpp:

the children felt a shadow over them, and looked up to see a tall, skinny figure standing over them. In the darkness the children could not see any of his features, only the glowing tip of a skinny cigarette in his mouth. (tpp)

sir:

The door of the sauna swung open, and Klaus saw a tall, dim figure step into the steam. (tpp)

[ddejavvu]

omg can you write a smutty and fluffy fic about reader discovering that aaron has tattoos under that suit of his and also could he drive a motorcycle 🤭 like imagine aaron having a helmet for her and teasing her on it and her grabbing his hips

Perhaps you're crossing an invisible line when you begin thumbing through the pages of a photo album that had been tucked away beneath Aaron's coffee table, but you're a nosy drunk, and he'd invited you to sit on his couch. It's his fault, really.

Emily peers disinterestedly over your shoulder, only paying attention because it's more entertaining than listening to Spencer talk Star Trek. You find baby pictures of Aaron, grainy photographs of a moderately chubby baby, and your giggle is heavily laden with booze.

After the fifth nondescript baby portrait Emily turns away, and only a few pages later, he's graduating high school. Something is unsettling about the way that his memories had so quickly switched from infant to adult, but his smile is dazzling under the weight of his cap and gown, so you let the uneasy feeling wash away in exchange for some belated pride.

"You're a snoop," Aaron observes, when he comes back from the bathroom to find you transfixed by his photo album. He smiles, his own demeanor loosened by liquor, "That was my graduation day."

"I know,' You gush, "I'm not that drunk."

He rolls his eyes at you, but a grin is firm in place over his lips.

Then you turn the page, and it's not Aaron anymore.

Oh, fuck, it is Aaron. Aaron with tattoos littering his toned torso, jeans hanging low on his hips, a cigarette in his hand and his legs straddling a motorcycle. He's polishing the body, pinning it between his knees to do so.

You hadn't realized your jaw dropped, but it did.

"Those were my teenage dirtbag years," Aaron recalls, with a snort that's a mixture of fondness and ridicule, "I thought I was some rebellious-" His brain falters, failing to provide him with the proper connection, and he falls short, "-Uh, rebel."

"Woah," Is all you can muster, tracing your fingers over the page wistfully. He laughs, and you blink up at him blearily, "Do you still have those?"

He quirks a teasing brow at you, "My tattoos? Well, they're kind of permanent. I thought you said you weren't that drunk?"

"You could have gotten them removed," You grouse, "So... do you?"

"Still have them?" He verifies, and when you nod, he bites back most of the force of his smile, "I do."

"Lemme see." You demand, before you can process that you're asking your boss to take his shirt off. His eyebrows raise, nearly merging with his hairline, and you stammer, "Not- like, I'm just curious, they're so... unlike you."

"I've changed a lot," He lets your slip of the tongue slide and you're grateful for it, "I'll show you one."

You watch with wide eyes - you're not aware that you're gawking at your boss, but you are - as he peels away the hem of his shirt from his skin, exposing black ink that you've never seen before tracking up his torso. It's on the left side of his stomach, near his groin: a pair of handcuffs.

"I was into some weird shit," He muses, tongue loose from the drinks he's had. You don't bother gaping at his unprofessionalism, you're stuck staring at the handcuffs.

"Twenty-year old me thought I was gonna be the one in handcuffs, not the one locking them on people," He laughs, and drops his shirt, covering the tattoo. "So, you have any wild teenage tattoos of your own?"

You're a changed woman. Twenty years ago your boss had been whorishly draped over a motorcycle, handcuffs tattooed above his pelvis. You finish the night out in a trance of absent-minded conversation, but it's less from the liquor and more from the stun of seeing Aaron's past self.

If your boss suddenly notices your eyes roving over the spot where his tattoo lies beneath his button-up from then on, he doesn't say a word.

[sweatermuppet]

can't remember the poem title/author/collection it belongs to BUT there is a poem out there abt getting into a motorcycle crash while riding with a buddy & i distinctly recall the author saying smthng abt kissing the helmet of his friend & it's so insanely homoerotic i wish i could find it