#I AM F R O T H I N G AT THE CHOMPERS MATE- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emmyrosee · 1 year

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Emmy I just thought about motorcycle man samu in the tight sports leathers and helmet and I’m literally (s)creaming so bad rn. Imagine him with a strong but still soft body all wrapped up in those tight outfits. He’s an upperclassmen in your college and an occasional costumer at the small noodle shop you work at on your days off. The first time you meet him was brief and you don’t actually know it was him. To be fair you were rushing to a lab you were late for and you weren’t looking where you were going -honestly though, how can you miss a man so deliciously big as him?- he had just stepped off his bike right into your path and now you’re face first into his tits with your books scattered on the ground (this is sounding suspiciously similar to the piece you did for college Samu IT WAS SO GOOD EMMY PLS MORE). The next time you meet him he’s leaning against the wall in your living room waiting for your roommate to lend him some notes from a lecture he missed. He has his helmet off this time but he’s still all decked out in his motorcycling outfit and you don’t normally stare but it is genuinely a crime for him to look that good. You stumble out a quick hi before darting to the fridge to get some water and a snack and the whole time you can feel his eyes on you (I don’t know where to go from here but GOD I just want this man to be so smug about himself and wrap my arms around him while riding on the back of his motorcycle. Pls I would literally let him do anything to me) -pip anon

COLLEGE OSAMU MY BELOVED I MISS HIM SO MUCH HES SO DELICIOUS

Also my former mechanic/mechanic k1nk really comes through so I am sorry for any sin you might see PFFFF- also this isn’t what you asked for but I make the rules so-

But unlike his brother, Osamu is just not into the sport life anymore. He’s still bulked up and muscle, hell he is still Atsumu’s brother, but there’s no volleyball in his blood anymore. He turns himself into a love for working with his hands, and the minute he lands his eyes on a pretty motorcycle for cheap- just needed some touch ups with the spark plugs and ignition, there was no way it wasn’t meant to be.

And he pimps it out good.

It’s hot, he’s hot with it, it makes the ladies sweat and men intimidated, he’s always working on it outside of classes and he always takes it on a first date to make anyone behind him squeak and hold onto him tight.

You hate him and that stupid bike.

He’s so ridiculous with it, it’s so goddamned loud every morning, when he rolls up to the small shop you work at- who cares if the nice old couple who owns the store loves the bike and sends him on little errands, it’s obnoxious, and it causes major backups in your line from people staring.

(It definitely doesn’t do that, people just stop and look because they’re interested in the beautiful metal. But that’s not the point, okay, it’s obnoxious.)

You wouldn’t even care, okay, if he wasn’t so obvious about owning the bike. It’s his personality trait at this point; one time, when you were making a mad dash to your class, you literally ran into Osamu, who’s built like a damn house, and he sent you flailing back onto the curb. His helmet and keys clanged down next to you, and at first he looked at the helmet, then he looks at you.

A flurry of apologies came out from his lips, accompanied by an offer to give you a ride, but your scraped palms and sore tailbone caused tears of frustration to well in your eyes, and you shoved him away with a bark.

You hated the motorcycle. And you hated how much he cared for it. It’s a piece of metal, why does anyone love it sooooo much?

It doesn’t help that every Tuesday, you come back to your apartment, your home, your safe space, and the damned hunk of junk is parked, because one of your roommate’s is best friends with Osamu (actually, it’s your roommate’s boyfriend’s bestie, which makes it even worse bc he doesn’t even live with you-) and he comes by to catch up on some notes; that ugly ass helmet with corny ass gold embossing just sits on the table that you eat at, mocking you.

You grumble, slip your backpack off and stomp to your bedroom to get away from the smell of gasoline and sweat and absolutely flowing testosterone.

You’re in the middle of your pity party when there’s a knock on your door, and when you answer it, there’s a fuckin’ barn standing in your doorframe, that horrendous smirk on his face.

“Hey sunshine,” that stupid slight accent drawls, and you snarl. “Gonna run to your noodle bar, you hungry?”

“I’m there every other day, I’m more than fine.”

“Shame,” he sighs dramatically. “Only reason I go everyday is to see you.”

“Get OUT!” You bark, grabbing a pillow and swinging it at him, but before you can hit him with it, he’s laughing and slammed the door shut for protection.

“And don’t ever go out of your way to see me, you freak!”

Spoiler- he does continue to go out of his way to see you.

Granted, you never saw it like that, it was more him flexing off his motorcycle than anything else, but now with the idea he was doing it to see you makes you even more shy around him. You can’t meet his eyes as easy, when he makes an innuendous comment, your cheeks get embarrassingly hot, and god, those fucking compression shirts he wears because of how long he rides starts to drive you up the wall.

Stupid shaggy hair and stupid big muscles and stupid cocky smirk and stupid arms that could easily scoop and pin you to the wall and stupid lips that could mark the deepest of hickeys on your neck.

God damn it.

You hate stupid sexy Osamu and his stupid sexy bike.

The one sliver you’re able to get away from it is when you’re locking up the shop for the night, no sight of anyone for the last hour and a half, and despite the hot broth it’s too cold to walk into the shop, and it’s a time of peace.

Well- at least until you hear the reviving of an engine behind you.

“Hey,” he smirks. “You need a ride? Dangerous for you to be walkin’ ‘round out here alone.”

“Are you stalking me, you freak?”

“No,” he shrugs. “But roomie told me you got out at 10. This is me picking you up to drive you back to your place.”

You scoff as you cross your arms, “I’ve walked this route plenty of times by myself. I can handle it tonight too.”

“Wasn’t a question, doll.” He reaches behind him for the rear compartment’s helmet, shoving it towards you for you to put on. “I’m driving you back.” He gives you a playfully cock of his head and pokes his tongue in his cheek, “what would I do if somethin’ happened to you?”

You cock your brow, “you practically shoved me on the concrete a few months back and you checked on your precious helmet first; you don’t give a shit what happens to me.”

“You’re still on that?” He sighs, taking off his helmet to make direct eye contact with you. “I told you I’m sorry, I heard the loud noise before I heard you. You know I’d never fuck around if you were hurt.”

“I was hurt. I couldn’t write notes for three days.”

His brow cocks cheekily and he gives you a cocky shrug, “well then next time I’ll be a little more gentle with ya, hm?”

Your cheeks flush and your hands ball into fists, trying to ward off the clamminess. Your little heart pounds, and with those giant grey peepers looking you up and down, you hate the way the dynamic shifts. “You’re such a fucking-“ you let a shaky exhale out of your nose. “Fine. Take me home.”

“With pleasure,” he purrs, letting you put on your helmet and swing a leg over the back of his motorcycle. A gasp slips through your lips as your hips shift to try and get comfortable behind him, but it’s taller and it looks and wide enough for his massive legs to stretch over but not necessarily yours, and for fucks sake how does he deal with these vi-fucking-brations-

“Hold on tight,” he calls behind to you, revving the engine once, twice, and a third before he feels your arms cling tight around him. You practically hear the smirk in his voice when he chuckles:

“I like to go fast, babe.”

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