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slvttyplum · 1 month

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suguru was a motorcycle rider, he loved going on the tracks and busting it up, it was something that brought him joy and made him feel free, you know who else made him feel like that? you. so why not mix both and bring you along? and that's what he did.

on your free days, he would happily drag you along to the tracks and have you ride with him, get you out of your comfort zone and just let the breeze and sun slide across your pretty face.

that was all fine and dandy, but something started to bother you. suguru would wear his regular all black gear, making him look scrumptious, divine, eatable, and you never got to indulge in that because once he got back home he slipped it right off, returning to his regular clothes.

so you had to catch him when he wasn't doing anything while he was in his cute little uniform, but he was always on that damn bike, so you had to resort to something else.

there you were with your cute matching helmets with your arms wrapped around his waist and your booty propped up on the seat, the heat, and wind combining just right as he zooms on the empty track.

your hands slowly sliding down and rubbing his stomach, just testing the waters to see how he reacts. there it was, he takes one hand off the bars and places it on top of yours, rubbing over a couple of times before placing it back on the handle.

slolwy running down your hand on his bulge and then into pants and briefs, feeling his warm length and pulling it out.

“what are you doing?” suguru looking back at you then back ahead of him, his driving getting slower as he tries to focus in on what he's doing, but all you do is nuzzle into the side of him trying to watch your hands.

“just keep going.” your hand going uo to your mouth, spitting on it and replacing your hand that was previously on it, pumping him. you could feel his breathing getting heavier from the feeling on his back, a bright smile on your face as you continue.

your arm wrapping back around his waist for stability as you keep pumping, hearing his faint moans as he continues to drive and go faster. a laugh erupting from your throat by how good of a time you were having.

the pumping on his dick getting faster and your thumb swiping over his tip as you feel pre-cum leak up and down his length.

“im gonna get you for this.” suguru swerving a little but keeping the balance on his bike going as he increases his speed, the grip he had on the handles making his knuckles turn white. moans sliding up his throat as he feels the pleasure keeps bubbling.

his head threatening to fall down, but he had to keep going. your hand doesn't stop even for a second, and you keep going, wrapping your other arm around him tightly and using both your hands to pump him.

“fuck.” his voice low, but he keeps going and doesn't stop. he's doing great, and you're not surprised because he knows how to control himself, but not for long. the speed the both of you were going increased his arousal, and there it was.

his warm cum leaking onto your hand and a laugh erupting from your throat before you give him a kiss on the back and whispering a “good job.”

suguru speeds up to the entrance and slowly stops, putting down the bar to park and quickly putting his dick in his pants. you quickly get off and go to the station and wipe the cum off with his towel.

he leans over you and laughs.

“you really got me, huh?” and with that you run, and he chases you, the both of you laughing.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x reader #jjk suguru #jjk geto #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #geto #jujutsu geto #geto x reader #geto smut #suguru

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url-is-url · 2 months

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So, the headcanon that ghosts fight to socialize, and also to teach baby ghosts how to use their powers, right?

Johnny 13 is in Gotham. No particular reason, he's just hanging out. He manages to goad the day shift bat kid into a motorcycle race! Fuck yeah, what's better than harassing high school aged superheroes?! Anyway, he and this kid are tearing up the streets and the kid whips out some crazy fucking shadow powers. Um? What happened to Batman doesn't like metas??? (Obviously Batman isn't actually prejudiced against metas, he just logically doesn't want to deal with superpowers + fear toxin and shit, but... his PR could use some work on this front...) Well then, Johnny has crazy fucking shadow powers too, so OBVIOUSLY he needs to compare notes with the yellow kid. By escalating.

Duke Thomas is having a No Good Very Bad Week. This crazy blond dude on a bike is TESTING HIS PATIENCE. And is a total bad luck magnet, the ONLY reason nobody's gotten killed by their chases is that Duke can see when something terrible is about to happen just in time to prevent the crazy coincidence of the moment. Also he can drive through walls? Duke learned that he can take his bike through shadows, that's pretty cool, but this whole situation is still very frustrating. HE IS TOO YOUNG TO HAVE A NEMESIS!!! He asks Babs to run some facial recognition magic and the only match is some guy who died in a motorcycle wreck like twenty years ago??? Duke compiles a file to present to the Batfam, fully expecting them to call him crazy when he explains his theory that his nemesis is a ghost.

Batman: That tracks actually. I've dealt with a dead highwayman who calls himself Gentleman Ghost, and there's a ghost on call with the League. Here, have some nth metal gear, it's ghost proof, good investigating :)

Duke: *TheSignal.exe has stopped working*

Duke finally manages to catch his ghost guy! He goes to question him about why he feels a need to be such a nuisance.

Johnny 13, grinning, not answering shit: Hey, you guys are detectives or whatever right? Have you ever tried hiding in the shadows under someone's clothes to stalk them?

Duke: ***TheSignal.exe has stopped working***

Duke: WELL NOW I'M GONNA

#it is of the UTMOST IMPORTANCE to me that duke thomas is just as feral as the rest of the batfam #dpxdc #i have an elaborate headcanon about why johnny 13 is Like That vis a vis his luck and sentient shadow but it is not the point of this post

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fluffy-dixon · 21 days

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I'm not tired

Daryl Dixon x Fem reader drabble No warnings just fluff

In the cozy confines of your shared home in Alexandria, you sat on the well-worn sofa, anticipation humming through your veins. Daryl, the rugged hunter, had been out tracking, his absence leaving an ache in your chest. Unlike his usual motorcycle rides, today he’d ventured on foot, and you couldn’t rely on the distant rumble of an engine to herald his return.

An hour later, the scrape of boots against the wooden floor announced his arrival. Daryl stepped in, his eyes lighting up as they met yours. Gear clattered to the ground, forgotten, as you enveloped him in a tight hug. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs winding around his waist, and nestled into your embrace. His smile pressed against your chest, a silent confession of longing.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled, words barely forming as he rested into your chest, shortly followed by a sigh of relief.

“You sound tired, my love,” you teased gently.

His response was immediate, stubborn: “I’m not.” Daryl was a night owl, sleep a rarity for him, yet somehow your presence always worked its magic. You guided him to the sofa—a nest of blankets, cushions, and scavenged pillows from various runs. He hesitated, those piercing blue eyes studying you.

“I know what you’re trying to do, woman,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. But he settled next to you, sinking into the warmth of the cushions. As he did, you brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers tracing the rugged contours of his face—the sharp jawline, the faint stubble. His eyes fluttered closed, and the crackling fire painted shadows on the walls.

“Tell me about today,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm. “What did you find out there?”

His half-smile spoke volumes. “Same shit, different day—brought two deer back.” You listened as he recalled moments from his day, your fingers never still, threading patterns through his hair. Each stroke seemed to unravel the knots of tension, pulling him closer to the edge of slumber.

Ten minutes slipped by, and his breathing grew deeper, more rhythmic. The lines etched on his face softened, and you marvelled at the vulnerability he allowed only in these quiet moments. His head rested on your lap, and you continued your gentle movements—the soft strokes down his back.

And then, unexpectedly, he snored—a low, rumbling sound that made you chuckle. You draped a cozy blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders, and settled back into the sofa. The fire’s warmth cocooned you both, and you opened your book, the pages rustling like leaves in the wind. You were content, as much as one could be in an apocalypse. The man you loved, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your thigh, the fire crackling, while you lost yourself in the pages of your book, stealing glances at his peaceful face now and then.

---

Sorry I've been quiet, Life shit.

Will be updating my masterlist for you all later.

All my love, thank you for your support while I have been AFK.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #norman reedus #twd #daryl x reader #daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon drabbles #fluffy dixon drabble

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thestarkinternship · 27 days

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Whenever, Wherever

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader: One Shot (Angst)

Summary: As Bucky's nightmares about his time as The Winter Soldier continue to plague him, there is only one person who can help him through it.

Word Count: 2.5k (No mention of Y/N)

Warnings: mention of graphic violence (we know what happened to Maria and Howard), angsty! Bucky

A/N: This is loosely inspired by the chorus of the song 'Whenever, Wherever'. I don't know, I just thought it made a good writing prompt.

Masterlist

“Ready to comply."

James' metal hand flexed around the accelerator of the motorcycle, giving it a tight squeeze. Its shiny edges glinted under the light of the full moon. His body moulded into the supple, leather seat like it was made for him. Still his rigid body refused to relax. The powerful engine revved as the bike shuddered to life beneath him, gearing up to go. Gas gurgled out from the exhaust, cutting through the thick silence of the quiet evening. One swift kick up on the safety bar and the bike was now fully under his strong control. Releasing the clutch, he sped off into the distant night.

Weaving through the inner-city traffic was effortless for him, the numbered streets mapped out in his mind. Standstill cars hummed patiently for the lazy traffic lights to turn green, but James didn't have time for that. Cutting through the backstreets of Washington, he quickened his pace. A light breeze swept his mass of dark hair back, exposing the heavy mask tightly secured across the lower half of his face. Each passing block was filled with clueless individuals too wrapped up in their own business to notice the mysterious stranger. The city was simply a colourful blur to James as he made his way towards the outskirts of town. Skyscrapers and apartment buildings faded into quiet suburban homes. Soon enough, the buzz of the city was long forgotten, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

James' mission was clear: retrieve the new variant of the serum. Leave no witnesses. The orders burned deep into the depths of The Winter Soldier's mind. He could think of little else as he continued on track towards his target.

The glow from the city lights faded until only the bike's headlights remained. Heavy trees hung overhead, closing in on James as they cast out the moonlight. His wheels crunched over the gravel of the barren, country path. Dirt spat out behind the tyres, leaving murky clouds that hovered in the air behind him. It was a foggy view for anyone who might be watching him.

He wasn’t far off now – his target had only a mere half an hour head start. His grip on the accelerator hardened, propelling him further into the night. The motorcycle's rumble grew until it was all James could hear.

And there it was. Just a few hundred yards ahead of him was the unmistakable red burn of a car's rear lights. It couldn't have been going more than 20mph.

Now was his time.

James made a sharp right turn, barrelling himself down into the woodland surroundings. He drove down the steep bank until he was concealed from the view of the main path. The tyres bounced across the rough earth, shaking him in his seat. His thighs squeezed against the warm bike, maintaining his grip. Gently steering around the thick tree trunks ahead of him, he slowly edged the bike forwards across the rugged ground against its will. He was parallel with the target now, but it wasn't enough. James' right knuckles bared white as his desperation to overtake them grew. Glancing down at the speedometer in front of him, his jaw hardened. He could do better than that.

Just a little more.

He didn't let up until he could no longer hear the target car's engine behind him and he was alone again. Veering upwards, the bike strained under James' demanding grasp. As he reached the edge of the treeline, James finally allowed the bike some refuge as he came to a halt. He slid the heavy bike to the pine needle floor with a soft thud. James paced forwards until he got to the road clearing. Concealing himself in the shrubs outlining the road, he froze in a poised crouch.

The Winter Soldier took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He listened out for the low hums of the fast-approaching car. At first, there was nothing but the leaves as they scratched against each other in the breeze. Exhaling, James closed his eyes and allowed his heightened senses to search his surroundings.

A delicate bird song. An owl crooned overhead. The scuttle of a wood mouse, burrowing deep into the ground. And then pounding gravel.

He could just about make out the constant switch between the gas pedal and squeaking brakes as the car grew nearer. Allowing his eyes to open, he saw long shadows form behind the trees. They stretched tall in all directions, ghostly branches curling their wicked fingers that beckoned the car forwards in his direction. The dim headlights finally broke out into the clearing ahead. James counted the passing seconds as he waited for the target to finally be in his reach.

One. Two. Three.

Springing forwards, James swiped his left arm out at the closest front tyre. A putrid, burning scent filled the air as the titanium arm sliced through the soft rubber. Vibrations rooted through the metal and spread up all the way to his shoulder. Rolling it back, he straightened himself back out. Screeching pierced his ears whilst the car rolled out of control. Tyre marks dug deep into the soft dirt as it lost its grip on the road. His eyes narrowed as the bonnet wrapped its way around a nearby tree. It finally came to a halt. A warbling alarm faded into silence, too destroyed to cry out for help. The dented metal sprang free as smoke erupted into dark clouds above him. It billowed out in the wind, travelling back towards the city James had left behind long ago.

As he approached the wreckage, he finally got a clear view of the two witnesses. A man and a woman. She was slumped back in the passenger seat, sticky blood trickling down her pale face. The seatbelt had imprinted on her fair skin, leaving a deep, maroon mark. Her shoulders were slung back into the leather, struggling to lift with each faltering breath.

The man was a different story. He convulsed as he struggled in the compressed front end of the vehicle. His hands flapped at the seatbelt as it welded itself into the trapped buckle. Rocking back and forth, his feeble attempts at escape were short lived.

Tucked away on the backseat, a shiny briefcase laid unharmed. The Winter Soldier's glare darted back and forth between that and his own reflection the window. His eyes were dark pools, his pupils dilated with greed as he locked onto the prized serum. Hard grooves across his forehead dipped down into furrowed brows. Sweat silently dripped down past his mask and onto the floor.

He watched as his metal arm flexed in the window, before colliding with the reinforced glass. Tiny shards shattered out in every possible direction. They littered the floor and turned to dust under James' heavy steps. Cracks splintered through the pieces still clinging onto the window frame. With the barrier gone, he was brought face to face with his witnesses.

Howard Stark's pleading eyes flickered between James and his dying wife. His face softened at the sight of this shadowed stranger who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Someone had come to save them.

"Help... my wife." His deep voice choked.

The Winter Soldier stayed silent, the only noise from the witnesses’ exasperated breaths. Howard dipped his head level to the window to get a better look at his saviour.

The hope in his voice was soon replaced by dread as he finally recognised the man standing before him. "Sergeant Barnes?"

There was no more time for games. James curled his metal fingers into a tight fist. Built up rage flowing through the titanium as he brought his heavy arm down on Howard's face.

Bucky jolted up in the darkness. It engulfed him like an endless void. Robbed of his sight, Bucky had never felt as lost as he did in that second. His heart pounded with each rapid breath, fighting to get out of his bare chest. The heavy exhales filled the quiet room. Around his neck, the wartime dog tags tinkered against each other, leaving a ringing in his ears. The chain rubbed against the back of his neck. The metal links melted into his skin with his body heat, and small beads of sweat slid down the cool metal before dropping onto the surface around him. He grasped out in the darkness, feeling nothing but fistfuls of clammy bedsheets. The cotton material swaddling his body reminded him of where he truly was. He was at home. He was safe. The nightmare was over, but disturbing images still lingered in the stiff, summer air of the hot bedroom.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Bucky began to make out shadowed shapes in the room surrounding him. He spared a glance at your sleeping body next to him. Wrapped up in the soft sheets, you looked so peaceful letting out faint snores as you slept blissfully unaware of Bucky's late-night turmoil. Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on your head. Murmuring softly, you rolled over but thankfully didn't stir.

Gripping the mattress with shaky hands, he planted unstable legs on the wooden floor. Bucky inched himself off of the bed as not to disturb you. Pacing across the room to the window, he carefully wedged it open. Bucky clutched onto the window ledge, his fingertips tracing over the soft grooves in the woodwork. He focused on the patterns whilst his harsh breaths struggled to return to their normal rhythm. A midnight breeze blew into the room, tickling along his hardened jawline until his red face cooled. The streetlamps flooded the bedroom. Distant sirens and soft chatter drifted in from the busy Brooklyn streets down below, bringing Bucky completely back to reality as relief washed over him.

"Bucky? Are you awake?" Your tiny voice whispered out of nowhere.

He rocked on his heels to face you. Your delicate features were lit up by a sliver of moonlight that streamed in from the open blinds. Even in the low lighting, Bucky could see how your sleepy expression distorted into one of concern from the moment he turned around.

"I'm fine. I was just a little warm. I wanted some fresh air." He sighed.

Bucky steadied his agitated body. The floorboards creaked under the heavy weight of his body and mind as he made his way back towards your bed. He clambered under the sheets, sliding his body next to yours

"Are you okay? You feel flushed," worry settled in your voice as you pressed a small hand against his chest, "your heart's beating like crazy."

Bucky let out a sigh.

"You had another nightmare." You stated, rather than questioning.

"He was back. The Winter Soldier. I was him again." He whispered.

You turned until you were face to face. Reaching out in the darkness, you pulled him in close until his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. Bucky's arms fell limp in your lap as he just allowed you to hold him.

Your round eyes drooped with sympathy. "You know you don't have to keep anything from me. I'm always going to be here for you, Buck."

Salty tears collected in his tired eyes before silently glided down his face. His body went rigid in an attempt to mask his feelings. Bucky pressed his face harder into your mass of tangles, breathing in the light scent of shampoo. His shoulders jerked with every fallen tear. He always hated it when you saw him like this.

Sitting up in the bed, you cradled Bucky's contorted face in your palms. His bottom lip quivered as he was unable to supress his upset any longer. The tears broke out into continuous stream down his face. You wiped a thumb across the bags under his eyes that had accumulated from too many similar sleepless nights, sweeping away his tears.

"Oh, Bucky," you crooned, wrapping your arms around his shaking body, "talk to me about it."

"It was the night I killed Tony's parents." His voice cracked, muffling against your shoulder.

"What happened?"

"I was trying to get the Super Soldier serum. I was back on my old motorcycle, tracking them down. God, it felt so real. I could feel Howard's skull beneath my hand. It broke under my fist. His head cracked open and there was so much blood. I couldn't get it off of me. It was trapped in the hollows of vibranium in my arm. I swear, I could feel it seeping into my body. I still can." Bucky cried.

Tongue clicking, your kind heart broke for him. Rubbing a hand up and down his back, you allowed him to weep until there were no more tears left for him to cry. Bucky's sobs eventually faded into muffled sniffles.

"That wasn't you," you reassured, "you're not that person anymore."

"I can't escape him. The Winter Soldier - he's always going to be there." Bucky exasperated.

"He took up a big part of your life," you murmured softly, "he won't disappear from you straight away, you know that right? I can't pretend to understand what you went through in those times, but I'm always going to do my best. I'm always here to listen and support you as much as I possibly can."

Bucky's face fell and he confided in his love. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm pushing you away. You shouldn't have to do this for me, and it makes me feel guilty."

Gently, you tilted his chin up to look into his scared eyes. "Do you remember those vows we made two years ago?"

"For better or for worse." He recalled. Like he could ever forget the happiest day of his life.

"Exactly. For better or for worse. That includes your past as The Winter Soldier. No matter how long ago it happened, these feelings are bound to surface, and we've just got to work through them when they do. It'll take time, but what's time to a 107-year-old super soldier?"

Bucky's dry lips curled up into a small smile for the first time since he'd awoken. You always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up, even in the worst of times.

“I love you." He breathed.

"I love you too," you leant back into the mattress on your side, opening your arms to him, "now, come here."

Bucky obliged, pulling the warm duvet around you both. You hooked an arm under his neck, draping the other over his side in a tight embrace. Your fingertips traced the raised lettering of his silver dog tags whilst you spooned his worn-out body. Running your other hand through the soft peaks of his hair, you uncombed the knots that had gathered with his constant tossing and turning. Bucky lulled in the comfort of your soothing movements, finding peace with the gentle motion. His breathing slowed as he finally succumbed to sleep. This time was much more pleasant than the last. You lazily peppered small kisses along the back of his shoulder and neck, until your lips hovered around his ear.

"Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be okay." You whispered.

"Whenever?" He mumbled.

"Wherever. We're meant to be together." You affirmed. "I'll be there."

"You'll be near?" Bucky begged.

"That's our deal, my dear."

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes angst #angsty!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #mcu bucky

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libraryofgage · 3 months

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Harlequin Prince (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

This part was line-jumped on Ko-Fi, which means y'all got it sooner than I originally planned!

If you want to line jump your favorite series, you can learn more here

Ironically, even tho the post says about a week of turn around, I get so excited that somebody wants to line jump that I just write it immediately lmao

Steve finally gets a good fight in this one, but it ends way too soon the poor boy. Either way, he also gets to meet some of the party!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

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Steve knew his dad wasn't in the picture, but he never knew why. He never asked, but he started to get this horrible feeling after a while. Harley Quinn's past was well known to Steve, her previous...associate and her relationship with him isn't exactly a secret, no matter how much his mother tried to keep them from him. She couldn't protect him at school, and she couldn't protect him from hearing people talking on the streets.

So, yeah, from the age of nine, Steve walked around with this horrendous knowledge in his gut, a knowledge that he wanted to think was just him being paranoid. But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. He just couldn't admit that to himself, and he couldn't ask his mother because he didn't want to send her down that particular lane of memories. So it festered, and Steve pretended it didn't exist at all.

Until, that is, his 13th birthday. It was held at Uncle Bruce's mansion because his mother wanted to go all out. It was as much a celebration for her (a full three years without getting sent to Arkham!) as it was for him (managing to stay alive for 13 years in Gotham with Harley Quinn for a mother). Steve hadn't minded, either, especially when he saw the absolute joy she had when picking out the hugest bounce-house she could find with Uncle Bruce's sleek black credit card.

The party was catered by Steve's favorite Indian restaurant, the guests were limited to immediate friends and family, the bounce-house was extra bouncy, and a table was practically buckling under the weight of the gifts piled on top of it. It was, by far, Steve's best birthday, surpassing even the one he spent in Arkham after letting Poison Ivy out of her cell.

"Hey, Dumplin'!" his mother shouted, waving at him from the top of the bounce house she'd managed to climb. When Steve looked at her, she grinned even brighter and jumped, launching off turrets and rolling down sloped walls before landing on her feet on the ground. "Let's get to them presents!"

Steve laughed, looked at the table eagerly, and nodded. Her grin somehow getting wider, Harley turned, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, "GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR, EVERYONE! STEVIE'S OPENIN' PRESENTS!"

Soon enough, Steve was standing in front of the table, surrounded by everyone, and not at all sure where to start with the mountain of presents. "You should open mine first," Jason said, grinning as he gestured to a bike-shaped package.

It was, in fact, a bike. A motorcycle, specifically, with a red and black helmet and the promise of lessons from Jason whenever he wanted. Steve loved it immediately and ignored Uncle Bruce muttering about driving laws and how Steve couldn't operate any motorized vehicle until he was fifteen. "Well," he said, "as long as I don't get caught by Batman, who's gonna know?"

That had earned him a laugh and his mother's hand ruffling his hair. "Go on, Dumplin', choose another."

Dick got him a literal outfit's worth of Wonder Woman merch, accessories included, that made Bruce look ready to pop a blood vessel. Tim gave him small tracking pins and a hacked handheld game console to watch the trackers with the promise of free upgrades anytime he wanted. Damien gave him daggers since he "wasn't good enough for real swords, but everyone should have a blade" on them, just in case. Cass, Steph, and Barbara pooled their skills together (and Alfred, they borrowed Alfred a lot) to make him an Unofficial Robin costume, complete with shorts only slightly less scandalous than Dick's original costume.

Bruce, when he finally stopped glaring at the three of them, gave Steve a fingerprint panic button shaped like a bat and easily attached to a key ring. "For emergencies, Steve," he said, "Just hold your thumb to it for three seconds."

"This is perfect for the next time we run out of ice cream," Steve said, grinning as he attached it to his key chain.

"Emergencies."

"Oh. So if we run out of mint chip, specifically. Got it."

Bruce merely sighed and let him return to opening gifts.

Alfred gave him a tin of homemade cookies that Steve immediately had to protect from the others. Poison Ivy gave him a Venus flytrap and the promise to help him grow it properly. Selina couldn't be there, but Bruce passed along her gift: a pair of goggles Bruce had handed over with a sigh and quiet request for him to use them responsibly.

Steve opened Duke's present last, eyes widening at the red leather jacket. "Wait, seriously?" he asked, holding it up as he looked at Duke.

"You're gonna be a troublemaker, Steve," Duke said. "Might as well make sure you're bulletproof for it."

Steve grinned wider and pulled on the jacket, swimming in the leather but eager to grow into it all the same.

There was nothing from his mother in the pile, but Steve figured the party itself was his present since she'd done all the planning. When she pulled him away to a secluded room in the manor after they'd all had cake, Steve realized it was just because she didn't want to share this moment with anyone.

She smiled at him, reaching up and gently tucking a few strands of hair behind Steve's ears. "You grew up so fast, Dumplin'," she said, sighing softly.

"Ivy says I'm like a weed."

"Ives is right," Harley said, nodding once before looking away. "Okay, ready for your present?"

"Wasn't the party my present?"

"No, no, Dumplin'. The party was for fun," she said, grinning as she reached behind her and pulled a comically-large mallet from seemingly nowhere. "This is your present."

Steve blinked, leaning over to look around Harley. "Where'd that even come from?" he asked.

"Jester Logic, Dumplin'. Don't worry about it. I'll teach you the trick later," she promised, holding the mallet out to Steve with an expectant expression.

When Steve took it, the weight threw him off. He frowned, shifted his grip, and suddenly had no problem holding it up. He took a closer look, noting the scratches and marks on the mallet and the faded paint. "This was yours," he said.

"Yeah, it was."

"I've never seen it before."

Harley sighed, tugging on one of her pigtails with a slight frown. "Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly a great person when I used it, Dumplin'. Tried to forget about that Harley and all," she explained.

"Then why give it to me?"

Harley looked back at Steve and smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Cuz you're so much better than me," she said. "I think you'll do some great things, Dumplin', and maybe all the good you do will erase most of the bad this mallet's got."

Her words were so serious, her smile was so bittersweet, and she looked ready to cry and deny it. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to learning about her past straight from the source, a past he knew about it, a past that involved a certain person that haunts Steve's mind with terrifying potential. Suddenly, he had to know.

Steve didn't really think before blurting out, "Is the Joker my father?"

Harley froze, her shoulders tensing and her eyes widening as she stared at Steve. "You don't got a father, Dumplin'," she finally said, her voice quiet and her expression conflicted.

"Fine. Was he the sperm donor?"

With a sigh, Harley stepped closer and placed her hands on Steve's shoulders. "I won't lie," she said. "He is, but that don't mean a thing. His crazy ain't hereditary, Dumplin', and he's never gettin' anywhere near you."

"Does...does he know?" Steve whispered, "About me, I mean."

"It don't matter," Harley said, her voice firm and her eyes more serious than Steve had ever seen them. "I'll kill him before he gets near ya. Ives will kill him. Hell, Brucie wil---no, wait, he's got those pesky morals. Fine, Jason will kill him before he gets near ya. Actually, Jason'd kill him anyway, but the excuse will be good if Brucie scolds him for it."

Steve couldn't help laughing at that, feeling a little lighter when his mother smiled back at him. When his laughter trickled to nothing more than a smile, he asked, "Then, was I the reason you left?"

Harley nodded and gently tugged Steve into her arms, holding him to her and cradling the back of his head. "Yeah, you were," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "I was excited to tell 'im when I learned about you, but then I heard him talking to some goons. He was laughin' about running a kid over, breakin' their legs, and I realized...you wouldn't be special to him. You'd've been like his goons, all expendable and not even worth a glance. I couldn't put you through that, and I couldn't put me through it, either. So, I got us out the only way I knew how."

"By finding Uncle Bruce," Steve said.

He felt her nod. "By finding Brucie," she agreed. "He tried to deny bein' the Bat and all, but your mama ain't dumb, Dumplin'. I'd done my homework, and the butts matched. Once I explained it all, once I told him about you, he agreed to help."

Steve nodded, listening to his mother's heart beating against his ear. He glances down at the mallet again, tightens his grip, and takes a deep breath. "Thank you," he said, "for the gift and for telling me. I'll do good with it, I promise."

"That's my boy," Harley said, pulling back and ruffling his hair. "Now, lemme explain that Jester Logic to ya."

----------

Hawkins remains boring even after meeting Eddie. After all, Eddie's in high school (his second attempt at senior year, apparently), and Steve...isn't. He should be, probably, but there's no way he's stepping one foot in that suburban nightmare of a building. He can feel the normalcy, the utter boredom, oozing from the place, and he'd rather not subject himself to that.

So, he spends his day wandering around Hawkins, getting a feel for the little town until he could navigate the place blindfolded. He can do the same in Gotham, but it's more impressive there with the winding streets and sprawling sidewalks. Here, it's nothing special.

The most interesting part of his day is when he's sitting on the roof of a video store, one leg dangling over the edge with the other pulled to his chest so he can rest his arm on his knee. He's about halfway through a cigarette when a cop car pulls into the lot and a middle-aged man steps out.

He looks up at Steve, frowning as he calls up, "You shouldn't be there, son."

"I ain't your son," he calls back, grinning as he takes another drag and blows smoke out as the guy rests his hands on his belt. It reminds him so much of Gotham PD rookies trying to posture that Steve can't help laughing. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"I'm serious, kid," the cop says, apparently ignoring Steve's question. "It's dangerous up there. If you don't come down, I'm gonna have to call the Fire Department to bring the ladder."

Steve sighs and puts his cigarette out on the roof. He gets up, stretches his arms above his head, and stands on the ledge of the roof. He grins at the cop, casually stepping into empty air and hearing the guy shout as he falls. He lands in a crouch on the awning over the door, swings to hang from it, and lands on his feet on the sidewalk.

It wasn't even much of a fall, but the cop looks like he's about to have a heart attack. Steve glances at the badge on his chest. "We done now, Officer Hopper?" he asks.

"Don't do that again," Hopper says, pointing a finger at Steve, "Or I will drag your ass to the station and call your parents."

Steve snorts, doing his best to hold his smile back. "I'll keep that in mind, sir," he says, giving a mocking two-finger salute before turning on his heels and walking down the street.

After a few blocks, he veers off into the forest, figuring he'll wander around the trees for a while before going to the Hideout to bother Bev and stare at Eddie and quietly pray someone else is gonna look for a fight.

Did he mention Hawkins is boring? Because it's fucking boring.

Steve sighs, kicking a stick as he shoves his hands into his jacket. He idly notes the forest is healthy. Sure, a few pieces of litter are strewn around, but it's not as bad as the parks in Gotham can get. Poison Ivy would find this place barely passable, which is hard to manage, and he's tempted to call her when he gets home to tell her about it.

He hums softly as he walks, enjoying the sounds of the forest until they just...stop.

The entire forest falls silent, which is weird; forests are too full of life to go silent. Even the bugs seem to have frozen in place, too scared to risk making a sound by moving. Steve stops, looking around him with a frown and trying to figure out what's caused this.

He gets the answer a second later when he hears a scream. The voice sounds young and cracks slightly, so it definitely belongs to a child. Despite himself, Steve can't help grinning as he takes off in the direction of the scream.

This is the most exciting thing to happen in the four weeks he's been stuck in Hawkins. As he runs through trees and easily jumps over bushes to take the shortest path, he makes guesses on what he'll find. Maybe Hawkins has a villain that's only now showing up. Maybe the town has a secret alligator or something that's decided to have a midday snack. Hell, maybe someone just decided to be a dick today.

He realizes every guess is wrong when he slides into a clearing to see a few kids (two boys, one girl) surrounded by some weird dog-looking...things. They have heads but no faces, crouched low to the ground and growling at the kids they've cornered. There's around ten of them, which would normally make Steve hesitate, but he's so desperate at this point for a real fight that he doesn't care.

Instead, he reaches over his shoulder, thinks about how fucking hilarious it's gonna be to jump out of nowhere with a giant mallet, and grips the handle as he swings it over his shoulder. "Hey, monster mutts!" he shouts, grinning when all the monsters and the kids finally notice him. "Let's play."

Pure, unfiltered joy rushes through him when the first monster-dog jumps at him. Steve's eyes are bright and his grin is positively feral as he swings the mallet and sends it flying into a tree. He roundhouse kicks another dog, using the momentum to bring his foot down on the head of a third before smashing its body with the mallet.

"Are you insane?!" one of the kids shouts.

"Certifiably!" he shouts back, watching as another monster-dog jumps at him. He waits for the perfect moment to back flip, bringing his feet under the dog to send it flying. He brings the mallet up as he lands, clocking another monster under the jaw. It yelps, crashing into another dog.

"Where'd this guy even come from?" the girl asks, turning to look at the boys with her.

"I don't know, but I'm happy to let him deal with the demodogs."

Oh. That's what they're called. Steve hums softly at the name, grinning as he twirls the mallet and swings with all his strength at one of the demodog. He rests the mallet on his shoulder like a baseball bat, watching the demodog arch in the air with an appreciative whistle. "Solid air," he says, nodding once before looking at the remaining demodogs.

There's only three, the others scattered in the clearing. He can't tell if they're dead or not, but he could always smash them to mush when he's done. Steve grins at the remaining dogs. "C'mon, then," he says, only to be filled with disappointment when they creep back, turn heel, and run.

"Damn, that's no fun," Steve says, sighing as he rests the mallet on the ground and leans on the handle. He looks at the kids. "You guys okay?"

The girl has orange hair pulled back into a messy braid. She's staring at him like he's got two heads but is kind of impressed by it. One of the boys has curly hair being smothered by his hat, and the other is wearing a basketball jersey. They're also staring at Steve like he's crazy. "Dude," the curly-haired one says, "that was awesome!"

"Where'd you get that mallet from?" the girl asks.

"Jester Logic," Steve explains, shrugging as he picks the mallet up and walks over. "Wanna hold it?"

When the girl lights up, he passes the mallet to her, snorting when she immediately staggers under its weight. "How do you hold this so easily?"

"Jester Logic. Again. It's funnier when other people find it heavy."

"That makes no sense," basketball jersey says.

"Who are you?" curly hair asks.

"Steve. Moved here recently. What about y'all?"

"Dustin," curly hair says.

"Lucas," basketball jersey says.

"Max," the girl says, her voice strained until Steve takes the mallet back, twirling it like it weighs nothing.

"Great. Nice to meet y'all. Now, what the fuck were those?"

"How much time you got?" Dustin asks.

Steve grins, thinking he's finally found something that can keep him entertained when he's not hanging around Eddie. "Plenty."

---------

Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@nectandra, @y4r3luv, @just-a-tiny-void,

#steddie #steddie fic #harlequin prince #steve deserves good parents actually #steve harrington #harley quinn #bruce wayne #jim hopper #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #dc comics crossover #wayne family adventures crossover #i kinda let the muse take over with this one actually #unhinged steve harrington #as he deserves #poison ivy #robins

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fueledbysano · 1 year

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𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅: 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘'𝐒 𝐅𝟏 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

mikey as your professional racer husband ♡

♱ ft. racer!mikey x afab!reader

♱ content/warnings: manga spoilers, fluff, domestic fluff, suggestive themes

♱ a/n: well, if this isn't the life. I plan to make this a mini series for the other tr boys' future professions too when I have the time. anw i love racer mikey so much he can have my kids

˗ˏˋ A normal day for Mikey typically looks like training, and practice races. and so, you start the day with making him a big breakfast so he stays in top condition for the day.

˗ˏˋ He also loves it when you eat with him, so he sits you on his lap, making sure you have a taste of your own delicious creation.

˗ˏˋ Before he leaves, it's routine that you're the one to put on his uniform and protective gear. You finish off by placing a sweet kiss on his lips before securing a helmet over his head.

˗ˏˋ Everytime he drives off, it becomes a habit to flash his tail light three times for you as an "I love you".

˗ˏˋ and he also brought up this habit on his actual races, blinking it for you before the countdown as good luck; to which you eventually realized, as you always get the front row seats to his tournaments and matches.

˗ˏˋ In the race track, you are still Mikey's number one, quite literally, when you are wearing one of his jackets that has your shared last name and the distinct number "1" on the back, which is Mikey's number.

˗ˏˋ You are often shown on the big screen as you watch Mikey, making sure to capture your reaction, especially to his wins.

˗ˏˋ You eventually learned how to pose like a model, especially when cameras love stealing shots of you— the star racer's stunning and supportive wife.

˗ˏˋ If you look him up, there's a handful of cute photos of the two of you kissing beside the race track.

˗ˏˋ You are the first person he looks for after every race, and you'll always be ready to hug him proudly whatever place he gets.

˗ˏˋ You always host a celebratory party for him everytime Mikey wins a race. And you always go extravagant.

˗ˏˋ Sometimes, Draken would scold you for how much you spoil your husband.

˗ˏˋ Especially on days when Mikey would run late on training and engine check, all because he refused to leave you in bed.

˗ˏˋ But it's a give and take, really. Considering how much Mikey spoiled you as well.

˗ˏˋ Firstly, he always takes you on his overseas tournaments. You never missed a race, no matter how far it was held.

˗ˏˋ With Draken and Inupi's help, he even made you a motorcycle of your own that looked as stylish as his.

˗ˏˋ The glint in your eyes when you saw it for the first time had paid off, and he immediately took you to a test drive.

˗ˏˋ During your teenage years, you learned how to drive Mikey's CB250T which was basically riding a bike for you. But to drive an actual sports motorcycle was more complicated.

˗ˏˋ Mikey practically wrapped you in safety gear and helmet, protectively wrapping his arms around you as you drove it for the first time.

˗ˏˋ By the end of the day, when you got a hold of its machinery, you and Mikey were cruising down the seaside highway on your own bikes.

˗ˏˋ This then became your favorite date activity— to have joy rides on different corners of the country.

˗ˏˋ However, you sometimes insist on being his passenger, mainly because you get to embrace him for the whole ride. And this is something he couldn't deny.

˗ˏˋ It's usual for Mikey to end the day with worn out or sore limbs, so you always prepare him a bath and give him a massage afterwards.

˗ˏˋ And to this, he thanks you with kisses and invites you into the tub with him.

˗ˏˋMikey's motorcycle isn't the only thing he's good at riding.

˗ˏˋ Considering his intensity of training, the strength in his limbs and core pays off in bed.

˗ˏˋ Making love with Mikey is always an intimate and hot experience for the both of you; as if he's studied every part of your anatomy and how your body reacts to certain touches.

˗ˏˋ and god, his body— it was a sculpture of beauty that made it impossible to hold the thoughts in your head.

˗ˏˋ His hands are skillful in pulling off your clothing too, all while keeping them in one piece no matter how eager he is.

˗ˏˋ Going on days, even weeks without having sex is a regular occurrence to you, considering that he would always be tired from training or tournament when he comes home.

˗ˏˋ But oh, the sex makes it all up.

˗ˏˋ Mikey couldn't hold back any longer. Every part of him is screaming to thrust his way inside your pussy and pound away at it, but another part of him is telling him to take it easy on you, since it's been awhile and all. but he doesn't think he can.

˗ˏˋ He's wanted this all day— to be buried balls deep inside of you, hear how you moan, feel your warm, tight hole suck up his dick.

˗ˏˋ He thrust his hips forward and your pussy took him in inch by inch. You're wet and tight, and feel so goddamn good. You moaned when you felt him all there and that moan is what he's been needing— Sweet, innocent and all his.

˗ˏˋ "Shit, [ Y / N ]," He groaned in your ear. "I won't be able to go easy," He grunted. "Then don't." You hooked an arm around the back of his neck and lifted your legs to his muscular shoulders.

˗ˏˋ That one sentence is about to turn him into a maniac. It's the fuel he needs— the words he never knew he craved.

˗ˏˋ and it did; the bed shook, headboard slamming against the wall and wood creaked with every thrust.

˗ˏˋ “My pretty wife~” He couldn't help but admire your flushed face, his eyes flickering to your breasts that bounced with every thrust.

˗ˏˋ “I love you s'fuking much…” He whimpered, finding his release with one final thrust. You didn't last longer with his sweet praises either and climaxed with him, practically merging your bodies together along with your hot moans and his soft kisses.

˗ˏˋ “I love you too~” you let him rest his head on your chest and comb your fingers through his dark hair.

˗ˏˋ Mikey is practically the ideal spouse one could ask for, and he thinks about how perfect of a wife you are, not able to imagine himself being with someone else. You always wonder how insanely lucky you are to have found each other and to be finally doing something that you both just once dreamt of.

#tokyo revengers #mikey x reader smut #manjiro sano #sano manjiro #sano manjiro x reader smut #sano manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers sano manjiro #mikey smut #manjiro sano smut #mikey x you #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers smut #mikey #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers x reader

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21wanderer · 5 months

Text

MacGyver and son

This story is a fanfic of a show, I've never actually watched, apart from a very few scenes. Nevertheless I think, that viewed in the right context, it would be a very interesting plot twist.

Body a day - #19: Dad

“I still can’t believe he fell for it,” laughed ‘Sam’, whilst Murdoc began to take off all of MacGyver’s clothes.

“Tell me how you managed to achieve this, whatsyourname?” Murdoc asked his partner as he was stripping the former agent and sworn enemy.

“It’s Sam now, and you better not forget it, dad,” said his partner in the guise of a nice young man firmly, “Sean Angus Malloy, but everyone just call me Sam.”

“All right then, Sam... Tell me...”

“Oh, Old MacGyver was a real heartthrob, when he was young, not difficult to imagine with that face and that body, I managed to track down one Kate Malloy, who he had a loving relation with, she was an excellent source of information…”

“How did you get her tell you all this?” Murdoc asked now standing with the naked husk of MacGyver.

“It was easy, really,” Sam replied, “I told her, I was interviewing her for a book. She was apparently very fond of him, so she spent a long time telling me all sorts of stuff about him, and I also got her to tell me about herself. And with your help, I had all that I needed to successfully play his 'long-lost son'. And he believed every single word I told him, I even managed to get him to quit, just to spend time with me.” Sam laughed again at the last remark, then got up from his chair to help Murdoc with the MacGyver-suit.

“Heh, now you’ll certainly live up to your title as ‘master of disguise’, you couldn’t have asked for a better disguise,” Sam grinned.

“You are absolutely right,” gloated Murdoc, having stripped himself naked. He held the hollowed out skin of MacGyver up in front of him, “let’s get to it then.”

Stretching out MacGyver’s mouth ludicrously wide, Murdoc slid his legs one at a time into the warm and squishy skinsuit. Sam pushed the toes into place one by one, as Murdoc pulled MacGyver further up his body. MacGyver’s strong legs were now in place. Murdoc continued, pulling the skin up further, covering his torso, he forced down his arms down MacGyver’s mouth and guided his upper limbs into the empty husk's. He flexed his new hands. Murdoc caressed the rest of his new body, still with MacGyver’s hollow head hanging off his shoulders like a hood. Sam rubbed him on the back, helping him smooth out any creases or flaws.

“Now put on the face, dad” urged Sam, “Heh, all right,” grinned Murdoc and pulled MacGyver’s face over his own, he pushed the facial features into place and opened his eyes. “How do I look, son?”

“You look amazing, dad,” came the reply.

“Yes, this guy is fit,” the new MacGyver said, rubbing his hands across his bare chest and arms, "and pretty handsome too - now the way is open for us, Sam, nothing is going to stop us,” MacGyver laughed, replicated the voice of his enemy perfectly. He paused, looking pensive, then asked; “but if Sam isn’t the son of Malloy and MacGyver, then who is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam indifferently, “just some random pretty young man, that kinda looks like MacGyver, I don’t think there’s any relation between them. But hey, I’m not complaining, and the idiot believed me.” Sam’s boyish demeanour was incredibly convincing and effective at hiding the evil within, and he played the role of easygoing young man with an innocent smile and disarming laughter perfectly.

“I’m ready,” said the MacGyver imposter, having pulled on his victim’s t-shirt, jeans, socks and boots, “get the biker jackets and the rest of the gear, and let’s get going.”

“Sure thing, dad,” laughed Sam. Now they only had one final little role play to wrap up, then they’d be on their way. Murdoc had big plans for using MacGyver’s body, and Sam was the perfect partner. The two imposters went outside to get on their bikes.

youtube

‘MacGyver’ and ‘Sam’ arrived on their motorcycles, in their matching leather biker jackets. ‘Sam’ was quickly of the bike to greet MacGyver’s boss and best friend, Pete Thornton. “Hi Mr. Thornton.”

Mr. Thornton shook his hand, “Sam. What, are you guys all packed for your trip?”

“Just finished,” MacGyver replied. “Oh, MacCyver, the Phoenix Board asked me to give you this,” Thornton said pulling out an envelope from his inner pocket.

“Pete-” said MacGyver trying to cut him off. “It’s an offer of a new contract, and it’s very generous, and I think you oughta look at it.”

“We’ve been through this before,” MacGyver said impatiently, silently pleased with how easy he could deceive even MacGyver's closest friend. “Sam, and I got a little catching up to do,” he continued and padded Sam’s face, Sam laughed.

Accepting defeat, Thornton put the envelope back in his pocket. “Well I – I told them that you wouldn’t go for it,” he paused, “You know… I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like without you around here.” That statement had the most delicious irony, thought MacGyver to himself, trying to look just a little sad. “Well, it was bound to happen – things change.”

“Not always,” replied Thornton, “good things don’t.” MacGyver and Sam both suppressed the urge to laugh. “Don’t you ever change, MacGyver” Thornton continued, clearly being moved by this ‘sad goodbye’, that both MacGyver and Sam played through. “Don’t you either,” replied MacGyver. Thornton opened his arms, and the imposter gave him a hug.

“Well, can I expect to drop in once in a while anyway?”

MacGyver placed a hand on Thornton’s shoulder, “Count on it, my friend.” “Sam,” Thornton said and stretched out his hand to the young man again, “take care of your old man, will ya?” “You can count on it,” Sam replied delightfully, shaking Thornton’s hand a final time.

'MacGyver and son' mounted their bikes. “So – where to?” asked Sam rhetorically as he grabbed his helmet. “Somewhere else,” replied MacGyver rehearsed. Sam sent him one of his boyish smiles, after which they both put on their helmets. They started their engines and headed off. That was the end of the old MacGyver and the beginning of a new.

#body a day #male body suit #male bodysuit #male body transformation #body theft #stolen identity #identity theft #body suit tf #impersonation #imposter #male skinsuit #male bodysuit tf

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octuscle · 10 months

Note

What cases are left please?

I could offer a suitcase from NAP. Interested? Of course you are interested. Part of your roots lie in the metropolis of Campania. Although, much to your regret, you don't even see it when you know it. If one had to estimate, one would perhaps come to Eastern Europe. In any case, you are far from "fare una bella figura". But then, Chicago is a long way from Naples.

The suitcase is really huge. With stickers on it. Some of the names don't mean anything to you…. Others could be the names of race tracks. But you are not sure. Surprisingly, your first attempt to open the combination lock is immediately successful.

Okay, you had expected many. But not motorcycle gear. Apart from the fact that the clothes all look much too small for you, you have no need for them… You miss a motorcycle. You find the compression suit quite cool and fascinating. It also looks very small. But you see if you fit in it. Yes, it's actually too short and too tight. And when you put it on, the hair on your body is annoying. But it feels good. The material presses your body into shape. And feels like a second skin. More for fun you put on the helmet and put on the gloves. You sweat madly. But it feels incredibly fantastic. And you have to cum.

Now you also have to see how it looks with the full outfit. You slip into the Dainese suit like into a glove. Must be the compression suit. The boots also fit perfectly. So that it fits better in color, you take the second helmet and the second pair of gloves from the suitcase. Awesome, what the outfit creates for an ass. It looks like it's made of concrete. And feels like concrete. You cum for the second time.

The keys for your Ducati are in the suitcase. You have to take your beast out for a ride. You need to know how the new motorcycle gear feels on it. You make a kick start. And you cum on the ride a third time. You ride a bit on the waterfront and then steer your bike into the narrow streets of the old town. Behind the old gate, no one would expect a garage like this. But here is your kingdom, here are your babies. You park the Ducati, polish off a bit of dust, hang up the motorcycle suit and tidy away the helmet, boots and gloves. Tidiness is extremely important to you in your garage. Only half of you is Neapolitan. The other is from Lombardy. That's always noticeable.

Upstairs in your apartment you realize that you have not yet completely emptied your suitcase. The leather shirt and the leather shirts are still inside. And you take off the compression suit. Your jizz sticks to you everywhere and you stink of sweat. You come for the fourth time. And this shall not be the last time. It's Friday night, now it's off to the nightlife! And you are the master of fare una bella figura.

Half an hour later you are styled. And ready for anything. A good Neapolitan stallion!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #race change #leather tf #age reduction #biker tf

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beansricejc · 11 months

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JOHN WICK X READER: The Courier

part one (part 2!)

authors note: this is my first drabble on tumblr, I do plan on making these into a small series! please lmk your thoughts if you’d like! thx 💕

summary: you are an up and coming courier for organized criminals. you bump into buzzed and confident John at a cocktail party while you’re in the middle of work, but you let him know you don’t have time for his games.

warnings: NSFW blurb, alcohol, cursing, motorcycles?

John wasn’t one for parties. Well, he pretended that he wasn’t one for parties. It’s part of the image, the gruff and tough hitman, best in the world. He had a reputation to uphold.

But he wouldn’t deny a good drink and some conversation every once in a while.

The bar and lounge area in the Continental was quite, well, bustling. Filled with assassins, crime lords, you name it. If they were someone in the criminal underworld in NYC, they were here tonight. John could feel the tension between gangs in the air, the rules of the hotel hung above everyone’s head.

No business conducted on hotel grounds.

Of course, no one dared to break that rule.

Here was John, in a congregation of hitmen that he has known over the past several decades. Chatting it up with booze in hand, and on their breath. Some would call them OGs. In the game long enough for people in the industry to know not to fuck with them. Especially John. These old dogs didn’t need new tricks, in fact, all of them had body counts that combined, would make the High Table shudder.

But of course, what comes up, eventually must come down. They were aging men. As early as their late 30s, and as late as their mid 50s. There was fresh meat lurking on the sidelines, waiting for their chance to be in the spotlight.

And that’s were she comes in.

Y/N.

New to the game. Well, fairly new. She wasn’t an expert, however, she was very good at what she did. Was she a killer for hire? Not exactly. Y/N had created an industry no one in the underworld knew was needed. In fact, it was very convenient.

An anonymous courier business.

You need to send over files but the Feds are on your ass and probably have acess to your fax machine? Call Y/N. She’ll be at your door in 20 minutes to drive across the city to deliver it for you. You forget it’s your wife’s birthday because you were too busy pile driving your side piece to remember? Y/N will pick up something for her at Target and get it to your door in an hour.

You get the idea.

Have a hard drive of the password to a Bitcoin account that’s worth 5 million dollars? Y/N will bring it to whoever needs it in the city, on her modified motorcycle, gun on hip and helmet on head, safe and sound. She had a perfect track record of delivering things for crime syndicates around New York City for the past year and a half.

Enemies? Not for Y/N. Every criminal group used her services. So much in fact, she had even hired a small team. She was growing. Slowly. But growing.

It wouldn’t take long for John to notice Y/N. In fact, he would take notice in a few moments, right after he took a large sip of his bourbon that he just had to have tonight. John was chuckling amongst colleagues, as he noticed Y/N walk into the lounge, seemingly with work on her mind. Her helmet was still on her head, and she wore a form fitting protective biker suit that matched everything she wore.

Black.

John frowned in confusion. He’s never seen anyone wear full motorcycle gear into the hotel before, much less one that was sort of crashing a party.

Y/N walked quickly, right up to the man himself, Winston. She wasted no time, unzipping her well organized backpack and handing Winston a protected manilla envelope, with god knows what inside. The elderly man smiled kindly at the helmeted woman, quickly signing some sort of touch screen device with his finger, before she efficiently put her bag back on over her shoulder, and began to walk away.

John raised his eyebrows at the sight. Who was that? He couldn’t help but form a soft but playful grin as his eyes danced around her figure that was covered by that riding suit.

“Any of you recognize that one?” John blurted during a discussion his friends were having. The men turned their heads towards Y/N, all chuckling softly.

“Yeah, Y/N. She works this delivery service for people like us in the city. Super under the table type stuff. You seriously haven’t heard of her?” Marcus asked, as John shook his head.

“No. I’m not familiar.” John huffed out. John was a curious man, and he just had to know more. So, enticed by this mystery woman, he wriggled through the thick crowd of guests to catch up to her. Before she could make it any closer to the door, John gave her a light tap on the shoulder. The woman jumped a bit, before turning around.

There he was. The man. The myth. The legend. John fucking Wick. Y/N almost froze in fear at the mere sight of the man who towered over her. She had to swallow the lump that formed in her throat.

John stared down at her, trying his best to look through the blacked out facial shield on her biker helmet. He was just itching to know what she looked like. Guess he’d do it himself. He was a man of little words after all. What was she going to do, fight him?

John took his large hands and placed them on her helmet, applying pressure and lifting it up and off of her head.

“H-hey! What the hell?” Y/N stuttered out, as John took a moment to study her delicate features.

Wow, she’s fairly easy on the eyes. John thought to himself as his eyes trailed all over her face. With nice cheekbones and gorgeous eyes, anyone who had sight could tell that this was a woman you could never forget. An impish smile curled onto the man’s lips, his very well maintained black beard framing his mouth to perfection. Y/N unintentionally took in his scent of patchouli and tobacco. Of course she could also smell the whiskey on his breath but that went without saying.

“Well, aren’t you just a pretty thing?” John hummed out softly at the young woman, as she grabbed her helmet and plucked it with force from his grip. It was clear that this infamous hitman had a few bourbons to drink already tonight, and he didn’t mind finding a pretty woman to take up to a hotel room after a few more.

Y/N grumbled as John bit his tongue to force himself not to say anything else in this moment.

I’ve only heard stories about this guy, scary ass stories. What a pain in my ass. Better deal with him so I don’t make an enemy.

John was maybe a decade or two older than her. Jesus christ. Y/N had daddy issues but this would be a whole other level if she decided to even pursue something like John.

“Sorry. I gotta go, still working.” Y/N spoke to him as professionally as possible. John displayed a perky smile on his face, his eyes racing with attraction.

Just look at her. I’d be crazy if I didn’t shoot my shot.

“You can’t do just one drink with me? I’m sure your client would understand if they knew who you were with.” John offered, gesturing towards the hotel lounge full of people.

Y/N laughed nervously, her heart racing at the mere sight of this man. The way this older man with obvious charisma was certainly getting to her.

And here John was, thinking about how pretty Y/N’s lips would look wrapped around his hard cock. Her head bobbing as he used his large strong hands to grab a fistful of hair, making her take him deeper into her throat each time. Maybe she’d gag and plead with him to be gentle. Maybe she’d be a total pro at it. Maybe a mix of both. With tears in her eyes as she whimpers in pain, while her legs trembled for John to make his way over to spread them apart for the real fun.

“I’m really sorry, I just have a few jobs-”

John’s long pointer finger swooped under her soft chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. Y/N had no idea what to do, there has never been a man this forward towards her in her life. Just the thought of John’s touch alone made hundreds of women wet with excitement. Y/N knew she shouldn’t be one of them, it wasn’t smart mixing work and love.

As they say, don’t shit where you eat.

John could sense tension striking the area where they stood. Right now, there was nobody else in the room besides for this woman. He took her as a challenge, new blood. Young, pretty, and probably naive, right? Someone he could have a bit of fun with upstairs after he bought her a few drinks.

If John were sober right now, he would have probably said ‘goodbye’ in a polite and formal way, smiling as she left the building. John with some liquor in him though, was a completely different man. The rumors people spoke in the criminal underworld were true, this man though and though, was a total playboy.

So of course, when a new and unfamiliar pretty face in town crossed his path, he just had to have her. At least for the night. He was especially curious about what she had underneath that form fitting riding suit, not that it left too much up to the imagination.

Y/N cleared her throat.

“Right, uh, I’m gonna, uh, go.” Y/N mumbled, pulling away from John’s electrifying touch, taking a subtle deep breath. John blinked his brown eyes of his a few times, almost lost in his train of thought in the few moments that he had her in his gentle but firm grasp.

Before he knew it, she was hurrying out of the hotel doors. Y/N didn’t think twice to get out of that awkward/terrifying/intimate situation. So many emotions were flowing through her at once, her heart beating at about a mile a minute. It didn’t take long for her to climb onto her motorcycle, start it up, and peel off down the busy street, away from that god forsaken hotel.

And then there was John. Shocked, stunned even. A woman who didn’t immediately jump at the chance to have drinks with him? Unbelievable.

He could hear his group of fellow middle aged hitmen snicker at his failed attempt at picking up the woman, and all he could do was clench his jaw, and walk back to the bar.

They’d meet again. Of course. It would take some time, John was a patient man, and Y/N was a working woman. Their paths would eventually cross again, especially in the industry they were involved in.

And maybe, just maybe, John could have his chance with Y/N, and actually convince her to have that drink with him.

Even if it was just for some fun.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick x you #jw4 #keanu #john wick imagine

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leathercollectionus · 11 months

Photo

Ducati Motorcycle Track Suit

Express yourself by wearing this Ducati Motorcycle Track Suit, a replica suit designed from the Enea Bastianini, he wore in MotoGP 2022 season.

Ducati Motorcycle Track Suit

#Ducati #ducati corse #ducati motor #ducati motorcycle suit #Ducati Motorcycle Track Suit #ducati motorcycles #Enea Bastianini #leather suit motorcycle #motorcycle #Motorcycle leathers #motorcycle race suit #Motorcycle Racing #Motorcycle suit #motorcycle suit fit #motorcycle track gear #motorcycles #race suit motorcycle

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oftenwantedafton · 27 days

Text

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count - 3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller is waiting for you in the campus parking lot outside of the building you’ve just had your anatomy exam inside.

You can see him leaning against the driver’s side door, his hands shoved into his pockets. Still dressed in his security guard uniform. It’s hot out. You squint against the glare of the sun as you exit, maneuvering your way down the handicapped ramp using the crutches he’d lent you earlier. They’re awkward, a little tricky to get used to, but they do help. Your ankle was actually a lot better today, but you’d also been resting it for awhile now, so you don’t want to push it and ruin the recovery process.

“How did it go?” He greets you when you reach his car.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale. “I think I did okay. I hope. That was worth a quarter of my grade.”

”I’m sure you did well.” He opens the rear passenger door and you slide the crutches inside across the back seat, followed by your backpack. The vintage luxury sedan had a spacious interior, hailing from an era where things were built bigger, with the intention of showing off, ignoring things like fuel efficiency and compact sizing. Not what you would have envisioned him driving; it just didn’t suit his aesthetic. So at odds with the bike gear, with the sport motorcycle itself.

“So where do you want to go?” You’ve both settled inside the car. The vinyl seats are warm, clinging to the bare skin on the backs of your thighs. You’d worn denim shorts and a tank top today. You don’t know how the older man can stand being so covered up. Maybe something to do with those strange marks he has on him. You want to ask about them, the query nearly forcing its way past your lips on more than one occassion, but you’re still hesitant, uncertain if it was the right time to ask yet.

“You must be tired.” The smudges beneath his eyes still persist. You wonder when the last time he actually got some decent rest was.

“I took a cat nap while you were taking your test. I’m good for now.”

“Let’s go to your house.” You try to make it sound casual, surprising yourself when the words slip out. A little forward, inviting yourself over.

“My house?” A mixture of his own surprise laced with some amusement as well. “On a day like this I thought you’d want to be outdoors.”

“It’s too hot.”

“It’s summer in Utah. It’s always too hot,” he counters.

“Touché.”

“Seriously, though. Where do you want to go?”

You pretend to reconsider, biting your bottom lip, eyes fixing upward. “Mmmm…your house.”

“Okay. If that’s what you really want.” He turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. “Seatbelt on, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You drag the nylon strap across your chest, shoving the buckle into place. The material digs into your bare shoulder, pressing between your breasts.

“You’re back to work on Friday, right?” He pulls out of the parking lot, heading north out of the city proper. The opposite direction from where you reside.

“Yes.”

“You think you’re going to be okay getting there?”

“I should be good.”

“Ill give you my number just in case. You should have it anyway.”

“Yeah, I should.” He glances over at you, smirking.

You fuss with the radio for a bit, rummaging with the cassette tapes stashed into the console. A lot of music from the eighties. Something else you don’t recognize shoved way in the back. A large plastic cartridge with a faded peeling label that’s water damaged, the paper wrinkled. “What’s this?”

“Eight track. A largely inferior way to listen to music.”

“So why do you keep it?”

“I had no idea that was there, to be honest.” The car rolls to a stop at the next intersection, the traffic light turning red. “Is this what you’re going to do at my house? Snoop through my things?”

“You said to get to know you. So, this is getting to know you.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn’t sound upset, exactly. Mulling the situation over, perhaps. Deciding what he was willing to reveal.

You toss the item back where you found it. “I know what you did.”

Dave’s eyes snap to your face. “What?”

“They got an anonymous donation of an AC unit at the shelter. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Something like relief washes over the guard’s features, the tense shoulders relaxing. “Oh. That. Yes, that was me. Couldn’t have the bun and the others suffering.”

“What did you think I meant?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

Another mystery for you to solve. You tentatively lift each leg off the seat. Sticking already. There was no air conditioning in his car. The windows were rolled down, but with the automobile at a standstill there was no air exchange.

“The downside to vinyl,” he murmurs, seeing your struggles. “There really isn’t an upside. In the winter it’s like sitting on ice.”

“You need a new car.”

“It serves its purpose.”

The light turns green and he shifts his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. At least it was an automatic. You didn’t even know how to drive a standard.

His right hand departs the steering wheel and finds its way to your knee once you’ve left the city behind.

Just a casual reach and drop, that long extremity having no trouble stretching until his fingers close over the bare joint, thumb tracing small circles.

Your body is already reacting. You squirm in your seat, shifting down a little, his hand easing further up with the movement. Now half on bare skin, half on the jean covering. Thumb now worrying at the frayed edges of the hole at the front. Tucking inside. Fingers pressing firmly along your inner thigh. You suck in a deep breath.

You can see the profile of a smile on his features. His eyes never leave the road as his hand meanders further along, stopping just shy of your crotch. Your heart is pounding. Waiting for him to touch the seam there, grind it against you clothed sex.

Instead his hand abandons you, reclaiming its position on the steering wheel and you look at him, mouth open in disbelief.

He shoots you a hurried glance. “What?”

“You know what.”

“There are a lot of turns coming up. I’ll need both hands. We’re almost there,” he adds.

You fold your arms. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Don’t pout.”

“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” Whatever retort he’s readied dies off when you reach over to exact revenge, digging your nails into his thigh. Raking along the inside. You have to lean, you don’t have the length that he does.

“You are…”

“I’m what? What am I?”

He brakes at a stop sign and thumbs the arm of the turn signal even though there are no other cars in sight. The neighborhood looks quiet, a good distance between the houses. Large yards. Lots of trees. Shade. Privacy.

“Unexpected.” He surprises you with how fast he moves, cupping the side of your face and kissing you. Your stomach somersaults, your core throbbing in response. “Addictive,” he adds, kissing you again before he returns his attention to driving.

***

Miller’s house is a three bedroom Garrison with an attached two car garage.

You’re in that garage now, gaining entry once he’d pushed the button on the remote slotted on the sun visor overhead. You see his bike parked inside and a lot of the typical clutter you’d expect. Workbenches. Tools. You’re trying to picture the guard working on a housing project, doing something mundane like mowing the lawn, an expansive front one that rests on an incline, the house set uphill and far back from the road. Finding it impossible to reconcile the image.

There are a few steps into the house. Dave unlocks the door and doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up in his arms again. You laugh, murmuring a little protest that you can manage the task but he persists. You’re carried into a living room and gently deposited onto the nearby couch. It’s dark inside the house. Cooler. A lot of trees surround the property. It’s a relief after the heat outdoors.

“Want something to drink?”

“Yes, that’d be great.” You adjust the pillow beside you, looking around the room while you wait. It’s very modern. Gray and black and white. No pops of color. No personality to reveal what the owner liked. Coffee table devoid of magazines. Bookshelves lacking literature or decor. No pictures on the walls. No plants. It looked like an artist’s unfinished sketch. Waiting to be filled in.

Dave returns with two glasses full of ice submerged in amber liquid. Tea, you realize, taking a sip. “Good,” you say, nodding. He sets a couple of beverage napkins down on the table. There’s already a copious amount of condensation on the side of the glass.

He sits down beside you with a sigh, toeing off his shoes. “You can take yours off if you want. I’m not fussed about where you leave them. And I’m sure you want a break from that bandage.”

You nod, setting your drink down to unlace your shoes, then removing the metal clasps that kept the elastic wrap in place, unwinding the clinging fabric. A little bit of an impression where it had been hugging your skin, but the joint was mostly free of the swelling and redness from before.

You lean back against the cushions, picking up your glass again as you settle back. “Your house is nice. I mean, judging from what I’ve seen of it so far. Empty, though.”

“It’s easier to maintain that way. I don’t need the clutter.” He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’ll give you a more extensive tour when you’ve fully recovered. Unless you want to be carried around,” he adds with a smirk.

“I’m not that crippled. I can limp around pretty well now,” you reply defensively. “What do you do when you’re not working? There’s a lot of stuff in the garage.”

He nods. “Yes. That. I like…building things. I was an engineer once.”

“Really?” You’re surprised. Something else you couldn’t picture him doing. “What do you construct?”

“Oh, this and that. I haven’t completed anything in awhile. I’ve been…occupied.”

“With what?” The cool liquid slips down your throat.

“Some pretty young college girl that came into my path one day.”

You blush at the compliment.

The dark haired man’s drink is already finished. He tucks his thumb and index finger inside of it, tipping it slightly to retrieve one of the melting ice cubes, popping it between his lips.

You can hear him rolling it around on his tongue. The soft click when it collides with his teeth. You can’t stop staring, hypnotized. He sets the glass on the table and rests an elbow on the back of the couch, the fist he makes supporting his head. Watching you. Waiting.

Your half finished drink is back on the table. Your mouth back on his. A little humming noise from him. Satisfaction. Your tongue spears his lips. Chilled from the ice. He offers the remainder to you. Pushing it inside your mouth. That wedge of networked muscles chasing back after it. Relinquishing it. Trading back and forth. You have possession of it now, letting it rest in the curve you create as you offer it back to him. His lips close over your tongue and suck, dragging it back into his own maw.

You’re both breathing heavily. That satisfied smirk is back on his lips again. He’s swallowed whatever remained of the ice, his Adam’s apple shifting with the movement. His eyes are solid black, the rings of gray completely obliterated by the overwhelming dilation of his pupils. There’s a pulse in your sex, beating to match your heart. Every time you’re with him, you find yourself forgetting more and more of the misgivings you’d had earlier. Smothered beneath this layer of desire.

“Ask me something.” His head is propped up on his fist again, back to the casual waiting that you know is a front.

“What’s under this?” You run your fingers over his shirt sleeve. You’re going to ask him now. “The marks. What are they?”

“You want to see them?”

“Yes.”

A pause as he considers. Then that lean form lifts from the couch. Fingers working on the buttons sealing the sleeve cuffs and loosening the knot of his tie. Buckle of pants unfastened, making room at the waist to drag the shirt hem from where it’s tucked inside. The row of buttons down the center now released, pulling each arm out of the sleeves, letting the garment fall to the floor.

You stare at this display of undressing, watching raptly. Your eyes lock onto the scars on his forearms. A pair of rings almost like bracelets encircling his wrists. Circles dotted along each scarred bangle. Jagged lines streaking towards the elbows. Another bracelet ring. More streaks. The rest covered by the undershirt.

“What happened?” You lean forward for a better look, running your fingers lightly down his forearms.

“An accident at work years ago.”

“Yeah, but doing what?”

“A failure in one of the…construction projects.”

He’s still being evasive. “What kind of project?”

“A mechanical suit, of sorts.”

“Are there more scars?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“A lot of them?”

“Yes. Do they bother you?”

You shake your head.

He sits back down and you take another sip of your drink. Dave lifts the glass from your fingers, draining the rest of it. Retrieving another ice cube. Outlining you bottom lip with it as if it was a tube of lipstick. The cold water leaks down your chin, your throat. He licks along that line, pushing you deeper into the cushions at the back of the couch. The fingers holding the ice disappear beneath the neckline of your top, letting it slide down your spine.

“Dave, fuck, that’s cold!” You try to reach the offending object, lifting the bottom of your shirt.

“You’re not, though,” he murmurs, one hand snaking behind to assist you. You can feel the ice drop onto the couch. He doesn’t remove his hand, instead pinching at the hook and eye closures of your brassiere to unfasten it. “You’re so, so hot.” Back at your front now. The ice cube somehow pinched between his fingers again. Slid along your abdomen, making you gasp. He shoves the front of your tank top up, moving the bra with it, exposing your breasts. Now circling your areola, your nipples instantly peaking.

“Dave…” It’s the only coherent word you can form. Your brain is short circuiting, the blood flow shunted elsewhere. There’s water from the melted ice cube all over your torso. Sliding down your ribs and pooling in your umbilicus. You absently try to reach him, any part near his groin you can locate, but he halts you, lapping at your ear before he whispers into it.

“Mmm-mmm. Ladies first.” The waist of your shorts is suddenly looser as he unfastens the button fly and pulls down the zipper. You’re trying to recall what underwear you’re wearing, hoping it’s something cute. You hadn’t really planned on this happening. Not this fast, anyway.

“One of the benefits of riding the bike,” he begins, leaning to retrieve another ice cube, “is that your fingers get a good work out using the brakes, clutch, throttle. A lot of strength built up. Power.” He’s beneath your panties now, his fingers dragging the dissolving frozen object over your clit.

Your spine jerks, your hips lifting up. Bringing him further down the length of your sex. You don’t even recognize the sounds escaping your lips. A calloused thumb circling your clit, middle and ring finger shoving at your entrance, the ice cube tucked firmly between the bridge of his palm. Another spasm. Your wrap your fingers around his forearm, nails digging into the skin. His digits reach so much further than your own. Stretching even more. He massages your g spot with the pads of his fingers. Planting little kisses on your jaw. Watching you with those dark, dark eyes as you writhe and grind against him. The last of the ice gone. The strong pair of fingers inserted into your canal working in earnest, your pussy making obscene noises as it greedily sucks him deeper.

“Is it good?” He knows the answer, of course. He can’t possibly not, with the way your body is responding, the sounds that you’re making, the frantic touches of your hands, your mouth.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp.

“You like my fingers inside this hot cunt of yours?”

“Dave…fuck, yes.”

“Are you going to cum for me like a good girl?”

A whimper. It’s all you can muster. You feel his smile against your neck as his thrusting fingers increase their pace, your unhooded bud flicked mercilessly. Your free hand digs into the pillow now resting against your thigh. It’s so overwhelmingly hot. You’re on fire. Sweating. Spots in front of your eyes, like when you’ve been out in the sun and go indoors, your vision trying to adjust. But it’s all from the man touching you. Burning you. A final searing kiss and touch and you’re there, moaning into his mouth.

His hand remains buried in your sex, resting now, cupping the natural curve, fingers motionless, feeling your walls contract around him, the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. Softer kisses. Letting you drag air into your lungs in between them. Eventually removing his hand from your panties and you struggle to sit upright.

“That was…um…Jesus, Dave.” He’s got the fingers that invaded you in his mouth now, slowly sucking them clean.

“Delicious.” He grins at you. “Good?”

“Yeah, good. More than good.” You’re still coming down off your high, trying to collect your thoughts. You can still feel the nerves firing in your pussy, in your thighs.

“You want another drink?”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t know how much ice is left. I’ll have to refill the tray.” He winks at you and you shove at his arm. Your touch gentling, stroking down the length. Sated and yet you still want more of him. “I like having you here,” he says quietly, sensing the shift in mood.

“I like being here.” You kiss him.

He moves as if to stand but you tighten your grip on his arm. “The drinks…”

“Can wait.”

A soft smile before he’s back at your mouth again.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader #william afton smut #dividers credit @ saradika graphics

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morgansunflower · 4 months

Text

Broken Heart 2/2

Requested by anonymous

Male! Talia al Ghul X Wayne! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst

Words:1365

Arthur's notes! This version of male! Talia is set before Morrison wrote her. Everything is completely consensual. No drugging whatsoever. Good male! Talia. Bad Ra's al Ghul. Also I LOVE writing male! Talia if anyone is interested in more!

Talin rushes to Wayne Manor to see his son as he is, injured however unintentionally he finds his heart aching to be closer to his former lover.

Talin parks his motorcycle by the Manor. He rushed inside passing Alfred. He runs up the stairs to the hallway. Talin rushed to his son's room at the Manor.

The former assassin stops, with a pounding heart, seeing his little boy. Damian was laying completely still with secure bandages around his wounded abdomen, arms and a, small bandage on his cheek. He's breathing.. He's OK. Talin could hang into that.

He sees Grayson whom was at Damian's side. The young man looked at his uncle and rushed to him, in a desperate need of confessing what he did.

"Talin! It was my fault. We were taking down H.I.V.E.'s Henchmen together. He was by my side, until he wasn't. It was my job to check the gear before we left. I didn't.."

"Grayson" he cuts in but he would not listen

Dick continues letting his guilt out to Talin "it backfired. Badly... Damian... He means the world to me. So I understand how you feel, and I'm so sorry--"

"Grayson!" he said more stern "I don't harbor any blame to you but I must be with, my son"

"I understand" he simply said and leaves.

Talin shakes his head overcome with worry. He kisses Damian's sleeping head. His little boy didn't move unaware of his father's deeply distraught presence.

"hi son" tears fall down his face, Talin then softly speaks in Arabic ".. Baba is here.. I have missed you. I know you want us to be together as a, family. I hope you know how much we love you. Please be well.. Please"

Just as he sees his former lover.. He dried his tears. He leaves his son's room as his past love, entered the room. He stopped in his tracks with his heart leaping. The former assassin was unable to comprehend, he was feeling her hand take his own. He sighed heavily overwhelmed with his depth of emotions that shook his core. He leans over to kiss her forehead.

Talin leaves the room his broken heart turned to anger that was now manifesting. He made his way to the Bat-cave. Each punch against the punching bag, became more violent than the previous one. He did not notice nor seem to care of the redness beginning to form against his now swelling knuckles.

Talin was, overcome with his emotions that could not take in his surroundings. He hits another time but is stopped by a, hand onto his closed fist. He lowers his hand seeing it was not a foe but the only friend he had.

"Bruce" he heavily breathed in and then out from his adrenaline "is Damian OK?" he asked concerned, believing his son's uncle was not here to ease his mind.

"he's stable. You're going to break my punching bag" he accused him but in reality he knew exactly how his friend felt.

Talin scoffed "buy a new one" he sighed taking a deep breath, rubbing the soreness against his pained knuckles "is she ok?"

"of course you wouldn't know as you're hiding from her" Bruce accused

Talin rolled his eye's as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't.. It was nearly impossible to be around her and silence his heart that wished to confess everything.

"you must think I'm a terrible father.. A terrible lov-friend to your sister" Talin snarled

"I to have allowed my anger to manifest in me resulting in being absent from my family when they needed me.."

Y/N sits on the windowsill by her son's bed as a figure appeared before her. She turns her head seeing him. Y/N raised from were she was sitting, stepping to the former assassin. She reaches up to hold the side of his profoundly distraught face.

Talin kindly kisses the palm of her hand that brought him a glimmer of relief. Tears seep through his tightly closed eyelids. She calms him down by kissing the redness of his knuckles and reaches up to his neck to hug him. The two embrace with all of their worry, giving each other comfort in their agony.

Talin motions her to sit on the windowsill, she sits down. He sits beside her with one knee up and the other draped on the floor. He was genuinely trying to give her space she did not truly want.

"Talin, don't leave tonight. Okay?"

He gently nods "thank you.. I suppose you are wondering why I left earlier"

"honestly I assumed that you were worried about Damian and needed a, few minutes to blow off steam.." she sympathized

"partly yes but there is.. Another reason why I walked away" he admitted stammering as he did not give away the rest of the truth.

"I'm listening"

He kindly takes her hand missing having physical contact with her. His heart could not stay silent with her beautiful eyes looking at him. Whether it be because he was emotional given his son's current state, or he truly missed her. He wasn't exactly sure.

"being with you has been very good for me however I.. I.. I am--" he takes a deep breath trying to let his emotions flow "I leave you and Damian.. I go home and I feel incredibly empty without you both with me... I know it's not only Damian because even with my son.. I find my heart missing you and I.. I can't promise I won't ever hurt you but I promise you I will never break your heart again. I want to make you happy.. I want to be your all.. I want you as my wife not as my past lover"

Y/N takes her hand away to cover her face as she cried. Talin instantly felt as though he was stabbed fearing the worst outcome....

"oh Talin" she cried

"I now see I was being too forward" he apologized, trying to say in a, non upset manner

"no!" she shakes her head dramatically "no!" she leans over and kisses him. Talin then feels a crashing wave of relief. "I mean yes!" she began to sob and hugs him

Talin held her as his own eyes begin to cry. Again now did he hold her precious heart and he intended to be the best person he can be to her.

.....

"... Momma?.. Baba?.." Damian muttered.

Y/N and Talin both wake, quickly coming to his side. The young boy became emotional because not only did he have his mother at his side but also his father at his other side. They were both right here.

"hey sweetie. How are you feeling?" she asked her little boy kissing his forehead

"and try to be honest so we can help you" Talin encouraged now rubbing his forehead

"I'm ok" Damian said not entirely telling the truth. He sees his mother raise her eyebrow not believing him "a little thirsty"

Talin rubs his forehead before departing the room to get his son a drink. Y/N was emotional as she began to rub his forehead. She then began to cry covering her face. To have almost lost him again shook her to her core.

"my sweet little boy" she runs her fingers through his hair "I'm so glad to see you're awake.."

"I'm ok mommmm" he winces from speaking as it angered his wound on his abdomen

She nods drying tears "shhh, I know you are baby. I'm just emotional because I am happy you're here"

"me too" he softly smiled

One of Damian's earliest memories was his Baba showing him a, picture of his parents together. He still had it and it was currently in a picture frame on his nightstand.

Talin steps into the room with a cup of tea made with soothing herbs. The parents helps their son slowly sit upward. He let out a sharp wince that brought bitterness to them. Talin supports Damian's back. Damian sips the tea slowly savoring the comforting taste. As he finished Talin helped him lay back down as Y/N took the tea to place it on the nightstand.

"are you staying?" he mumbled looking to Talin

"I'm staying son" Talin answered smiling, and he holds Y/N's hand "we both are"

#Male! Talia X Wayne! Reader #Talia al Ghul X Wayne! Reader #Talia al Ghul good #Good person Talia #Batfamily #Angst #Worry #Crying #Bruce Wayne #Talia al Ghul #Batfam #damian wayne and dick grayson

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spacexseven · 2 years

Text

small world

this was really fun! i love skk dynamics theyre so <3 this is a bit chuuya heavy bc of my Very Big crush on him :> i tried to keep their relationship here as vague as possible bc i wasnt sure if the requester wanted them to be involved w e/o as well, so its open to interpretation :D

request from anon: y! chuuya + dazai working together to get their gn! darling

cw: stalking, tracking devices, breaking in and bugging apartment, mentions of kidnapping but it doesn't happen here, manipulative behavior

“dazai,” despite the wind whipping past chuuya as he raced down the empty street on his bike, dazai could hear the venom in his voice loud and clear, “are you sure they’ll be there?”

he doesn’t bother with a helmet, or any sort of safety gear. he has one with him, just in case, but he's never needed it, not when he has the familiar red glow of his ability and his agile reflexes.

“chuuya,” dazai whines—he whines, as if he’s a child instead of a grown man actively tracking an unsuspecting victim while in said victim's apartment, "don't you trust me?"

he can picture the scowl on chuuya’s face, even though dazai can’t see him. chuuya is predictable like that, but dazai doesn't mind. it makes riling him up more fun. while waiting for a response, dazai busies himself with fixing the second unnoticeable camera. so far, so good—he had placed it so well that it practically blended in with the walls and ridges, even he wasn't sure that he'd spot it if he wasn't actively looking for the camera.

“no,” chuuya spits out, “if this is a set-up like last time, i'll kill you, bastard."

dazai smiles faintly, a mischievous, knowing, smile, his eyes momentarily drifting away, following the blinking dot on the screen, “you can always try.”

chuuya makes a noise similar to a snarl, but it’s muffled by the furious howling of the wind. neither of them say anything after that, not even when chuuya begins to slow down his borderline reckless driving, coming to a stop near the corner of a deserted street. the street lamps begin to flicker ominously—a silent warning, but nobody heeds it.

he walks away from his motorcycle, glancing back at it once with a little sigh before he melts into the shadows and creeps over the unkempt pavement. he’s disgusted by how dirty the place is, abandoned shop lots with broken windows and peeling paint, overflowing trash cans with suspiciously colored things starting to grow on top, and the garishly graffitied walls. what on earth were you doing in a place like this?

“they seem to have wandered off,” dazai’s voice floods his earpiece, as though the other had read his mind, “couldn’t sleep again, i suppose?”

that wasn’t anything new, but coming this far away from your place? he loathes how unwary you could be, but if it weren’t for that, he might not have so many 'random' opportunities to bump into you and charm you as a mysterious, fleeting stranger; your own guardian angel, coming to guide you back home and send you off safely. chuuya unconsciously clenches his fists. as much as he scorns dazai sometimes, he really is grateful for his help—without his plan to plant a few inconspicuous little tracking devices, how could they have been there to protect you?

“they’re close by,” dazai continues, “go on, now.”

chuuya had asked dazai before why it was always him who was sent prowling the streets for your wandering figure. he couldn’t exactly complain about it, after all, any opportunity with you was a blessing, but wasn’t it unfair? dazai would never give himself a disadvantageous position, so there had to be something else he was planning. he already knew dazai was slowly worming—sly, scheming bastard that he was—his way into your life, showing up to where you worked often enough that you were familiar with his face, but not exactly friendly with each other. he's racked his mind countless times over the question before, but each answer he came up with didn't satisfy him. dazai's own answer wasn't very helpful either,

"so, you know," he had said, causally sipping on his drink, "if anything goes wrong i could easily blame you and run over to charm them off their feet."

at seeing chuuya's seething expression, he grinned, "i'm kidding! you're just, more likable than me. if i saw you in the middle of an abandoned road at night, i totally wouldn't suspect you of anything bad! you're too short to be threatening, and, too pretty."

chuuya stopped questioning dazai's motives after that. whatever it was, he had promised they would get to share you, and that was enough for him.

chuuya glances around, looking for a figure he had ingrained into his memory by now, but to no avail. before he could ask dazai anything, a voice cuts through the tranquil silence, causing him to tense up.

"chuuya?"

he turns around to see you, eyes shining with relief even in the darkness, the warm smile on your bitten lips filling his heart up with joy again. he quickly relaxes his posture, trying to look as casual as possible, and nonchalantly raises a hand back to you.

"hey," he tucks his hand back into his pocket, "what brings you out here? thought you had given up your nightly sightseeing?"

after a particularly spooky experience the last time he saw you out (thanks to dazai's thorough planning), you had shakenly told him you'd never go out during the early hours again. he thought you'd make good on your promise too, and that was partially why he was so worried when dazai had called him an hour ago, ushering him to your location. regardless, the situation turned out to be a blessing in disguise, providing the perfect chance for dazai to sneak in and work on some things while you were occupied with chuuya.

"yeah, well," you exhale, rocking back and forth. were you nervous around him? "i was hungry, and there's this place near my apartment so i was sure i could get there, but," you hesitate, "i must have gotten lost. what about you?"

chuuya lazily gestures to the vandalized walls behind him, "i came to watch out for whoever's been doing this. it's been going on for a couple of days now, and i'm sick of getting it repainted."

you nod, assessing the damage for yourself. it wasn't really a lie, this area was actually part of the port mafia's turf, and there had been someone trashing the walls despite how many times they painted over it. you didn't know what he worked as, of course not, but you had never really asked him either. he was glad for it because he didn't want to lie to you more than he already had. dazai had told him to be careful about revealing his identity too in case it ended up scaring you away. they couldn't have that, after all the careful observations and risky ventures to get to this point, close enough to know where you would be but careful enough to make sure you never suspected anything. it would be a terrible waste if things went south and they'd just lock you up immediately. initially, that had been the plan, but dazai decided that this approach, albeit rather slow, would be more effective.

chuuya watches you worry at your bottom lip, looking anywhere but at him. dazai's voice, in his ear, is urging him on to offer to bring you home. he's seriously considering it too, but before he can say anything, you surprise him by speaking first.

"have you had anything to eat yet?"

he blinks, processing your sudden question. dazai is hissing at him to say no, but he can't seem to hear, or comprehend anything that isn't the sight of you with your back to the bright moon. he thinks the light behind you makes you look like you were glowing, a sort of halo—fitting for an angel like you.

"chuuya?" he's brought back to reality, quickly assuring you that no, he hadn't, and actually, he was going to go get something to eat just now.

you smile at him, a little shyly, and—"in that case, do you want to get something to eat together? i'll let you pick!"—and chuuya is once again, mesmerized.

he can faintly make out the noises of dazai cheering, but can't find it in himself to tell him to quiet down, not when his own heart was pounding louder than ever before. he knows he must look a fool, eyes wide and unable to form a cohesive reply to such a simple suggestion, but he can't help himself. you've always had that effect on him, since the first time he laid his eyes on you.

"sounds good," he finally says.

"awe," dazai croons in his ear, "they're going to get on the bike with you, chuuya!" by now, he has become rather good at blocking out dazai's voice. he's already flustered enough as it is, and the unnecessary commentary wasn't really helping him stay calm.

he gestures to his bike and brings out the helmet he's never used, internally thanking dazai for his insistence that he should keep one with him. you make your way over to him, glancing over the crude drawings on the wall. his hands tremble with excitement, and he can already feel himself get feverish with exhilaration while he carefully slips the helmet on you, despite your feeble protests that you could do it yourself. when you climb on behind him, he can feel his face get so red, about to explode just like his delirious, uncontrollable heart.

"bring them to our usual place," dazai advises him, "i'll be there."

that was....a great idea, really. a convenient way to introduce you to the knowledge that dazai and chuuya were familiar with each other. chuuya went much slower than he usually would to not startle you, and to give dazai some time to get there before he did, but he couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to have your arms wrapped tight around him as he raced down the street.

fortunately, he makes it to the designated place without losing himself to his delightful fantasies. from outside of the modest restaurant, he can see dazai already seated at a table near the back. if you're surprised that such an ordinary-looking place was open at this time of the night, you don't show it, merely waiting for him to guide you. he likes this feeling, it was almost as though you were already dating, this simple but intimate action of taking off the helmet for you and brushing back your hair. maybe he's being too forward, but you don't protest, just looking at him with that soft smile of yours that sends his heart and mind into a frenzy. you don't look worried, but maybe if you knew just how deep his—and dazai's—affections ran for you, you would have been.

he guides you inside, not even acknowledging the staff. they, too, knew better than to interrupt chuuya, seeing who he was heading towards. you've unconsciously moved closer to him, and it makes his heart swell with pride. you felt safe with him, didn't you?

from across the room, a tall figure stands up, waving in your direction. you stare at him, trying to figure out where you've seen him before. those bandages, that hairstyle...it was all too familiar, but you couldn't place your finger on it.

"chuuya!" the person cries out, "i didn't think i'd see you out here so late!"

chuuya only walks over to the person, bringing you along, "we came to get something to eat," he explains, and turns to you "this is dazai, a good friend of mine."

he's not used to the lack of bickering between him and dazai, despite them only greeting each other, but knows you might be a little overwhelmed if you saw them go at each other's throat, even if there was no real malice behind it. to ease you in, they had a silent agreement to be on their best behavior.

"chuuya's mentioned you before, but i didn't think i'd get to meet you so soon," dazai says, then he pauses for a moment, scrutinizing you closely, "hm? wait, have we met before?"

there's a long pause, before your eyes light up and you visibly perk up, "you've stopped by the place i work at before," you say, "i think there's where i recognized you from."

chuuya straightens up immediately, "you mean, they're the reason you keep going back to that place?"

dazai has to make a conscious effort to hold himself back at your flustered expression, delighted by the reaction that chuuya's lie prompted. how were you so effortlessly perfect?

"he doesn't bother you, does he?" chuuya leans over, ignoring dazai's exaggerated gasp, "i know he can be a little obnoxious at times."

"no, not at all," you shake your head, "he's really nice, and tips well."

dazai preens at your words, looking rather smug. chuuya only eyes him suspiciously while someone walks over to take their order.

"so, do you two often meet up so late?"

"i can't sleep sometimes," you explain, "so i just like to walk outside but i tend to get lost. funnily enough, i manage to run into chuuya each time!"

dazai feigns a look of worry, "but that really can't be safe? i don't mean to overstep, but this is yokohama, and...."

you nod, "i've been pretty lucky that i keep running into chuuya, and i'm safe with him," you don't notice the looks they share between themselves.

"very lucky," dazai echoes, "considering how you don't even have his number, and just keep meeting him coincidentally."

chuuya has a good understanding of what dazai was trying to do, but he's not sure if you'll fall for the bait. when you don't actually say anything, opting to reach over for your drink that just got placed, he can't help but feel disappointed. things were moving awfully slow, slower than he had expected.

you and dazai continue to make small conversation, meaningless things that the other man already knew, but chuuya finds it a little amusing that you had no idea how dazai was in your apartment the moment you left it, and he had definitely looked through your things. still, chuuya takes a note of the things you say anyway, grateful for any sliver of information you grace him with. if it's about you, he wants to know everything.

when it's finally time to go, you follow chuuya out. it's almost like a routine by now for him to drop you off, and he desperately craves the domesticity the action brings him. he's done this so often that the drive back to your home feels like second nature, not even having to think about the directions. while he knows dazai is meticulous in his work, he can't help but wonder if you'd find what he had done to your place.

when he comes to a stop outside your building, he already finds himself already beginning to miss you. how much longer does he have to wait until he can have this all the time? as you begin to walk away, his heart feels heavier. at least back home he can see the results of dazai's task today, even if he can't see you there in person.

"chuuya," you stop his racing thoughts, "do you mind giving me your number?" he must have made his shock obvious because you rush to explain yourself—not that you needed to. he would gladly give you anything you asked for, "i was thinking about what dazai said earlier, and it would be nice, i think."

he takes your phone from your outstretched hand wordlessly, typing his number with quivering fingers. when you thank him and pull him into a close embrace, chuuya is frozen in place. he tries desperately to burn this moment into his mind forever, hoping to forever remember the emotions stirring up in him and the feel of your arms around him.

on his way back, dazai is back to happily chatting away in his ear, telling chuuya that he wouldn't believe what you were up to after you got back. chuuya only smiles. the wait was truly worth it.

#yandere bsd #bsd x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere chuuya x reader #yandere dazai #yandere soukoku #soukoku x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bungou stray dogs #bsd #yandere x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd 🐟#fic 🐟#dazai 🐟#chuuya 🐟#req 🐟

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lady-djarin · 1 month

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biker!din djarin

an au where din is a biker who rides a ‘razor’ motorcycle by the company ‘crest’ and you wait tables at the local biker bar. also there has been no proof reads i just pumped this out bc it was haunting me. 18+ unprotected piv, fingering, sex w/ a stranger

you meet on a night like any other. you were working on a busy friday night, it was always the busiest of the week.

he came in with full riding gear like he always did. it was like a uniform at this point, he never took off his helmet either. it was kind of eerie at first but the more he came around it became… well, hot. very hot.

he wore thick kevlar armor and pretty much every inch of his skin was covered so it felt silly to lust after a man you could barely see. something just drew you in, he was alluring.

he would sit in the corner table and talk to almost no one, except for you. his waitress.

‘hey hon, need anything?’ you always tried to get something out of him.

‘no, thanks.’

it was more than he said to anyone else. his visor was dark and steady on you. always on you. you started to notice that after he came in and sat in your section for the 3rd friday in a row.

he tracked you around the room as you weaved through tables. every time.

he never ordered anything. not once.

just like tonight. he sat in his usual spot, just looking around, until he sees you. then he’s locked on you. he watches you check other tables and chat with other bikers and patrons, blissfully unaware he’s tracking you.

then you see him and your body temperature rises. you make your way over knowing that his gaze is burning a whole in your clothing under his dark helmet.

you leaned over the table, hands planted to the sticky surface trying to make sure he hears you over the noisy bar. of course that’s all you were doing.

‘what’da need hon?’

he didn’t answer. the tilt of his visor told you he was eyeing the dip of your top, exposing the pillows of your chest.

‘i’ll be around if ya need me.’

‘mm hm.’

the grit in his voice sent shivers down your spine. as you turned away to tend to your other tables you knew he was looking.

later, you took a break outside the back door. sucking down a smoke for your dinner break. you crushed the butt under your boot and heard the back door swing open before slamming shut.

before you could even look to see who it was, he was crowding you. pining you against the brick wall. his helmet loomed over your head, eclipsing the lamp overhead. you were surrounded in him.

you stared up at him as the visor remained locked on you. his hands tore at the fabric around your hips. he yanked the shorts down your legs and dipped his bare hand into your panties.

the gasp that escaped your lips drew his head back up. he was watching where his hand connected with you. he liked watching. watching you.

watching you fall apart just by his fingers was all he wanted in this world.

you whined as he pressed his palm to your clit and pushed his fingers into your heat. your back arched off the brick and your hands grabbed at his kevlar. his broad shoulders hunched over you as his helmet fell to the wall beside your head.

‘ngh, so wet all for me.’ he groaned in your ear, the helmet muffling his thick voice.

he made you cum, twice, in that alleyway. he did this the following weekend and finally. he cracked.

he was two fingers deep in you when he slowed suddenly and pulled back, his other hand flipping up his visor.

his eyes.

they were a deep brown, almost black. fabric framed his eyes under the helmet and it made him look menacing. but the look in his eyes was downright sinful.

his eyes darted back and forth over your face, still screwed up in pleasure. he liked to watch you.

you knew what he asked without words.

‘fuck me, please’

he waisted no time in unzipping his jeans.

he was large. and he knew how to use it. he snapped his hips into you as he held one of your legs up, pushing you into the wall.

‘you’re gonna cum for me, ok? g-got it?’

all you could do was nod dumbly.

‘words! i need to hear it.’ his tone was biting but it made you listen regardless.

‘i’m gonna… i’m gonna cu—‘

you think you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, bouncing off the walls of the alley, but you were too close to blacking out to tell. your body shook as you rode through it. his voice in your ear the whole time.

‘fuck yes, give it to me.’

‘there it is.’

‘such a good girl.’

he helped you back into your clothes before opening the back door for you. he melted into the crowd of the bar as you went back to your job.

later that night you found simple business card in your pocket.

BOUNTY HUNTER (555)928-9203

next to the bold text he scribbled his name. din.

———————

thanks for reading! here’s a little sketch i did picturing how he looked in my head lol :)

#din djarin au #din dijarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #biker!din

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