#kawasaki not pictured

[turtleplushi]

Local incognito knight gets food poisoning: coming (hopefully) soon to an AO3 near you.

#feat. my google tab #i couldnt be bothered to actually draw the cake so uh #the kirby cafe menu makes me so hungry whenever I look at it lol #anyway i might end up making this a whole fic so that's cool #no promises though #meta knight #fic art #kawasaki not pictured #turtle's art hoard #kirby fanfic

[hikariale]

lin kuei on wheels

Hi! Motorcycles and motorcycle culture are one of my biggest passions, so I was really excited to see some people floating the idea of characters being bikers! I'd like to throw my own ring in the hat, so below are some of my headcanons and motorcycle assignments. I may do another post like this for the rest of the (formerly) Lin Kuei, Frost, Cyrax, and Sektor because... I really love motorcycles and I jump at the chance to talk about them. Everything below is just my personal indulgence, hehe!

cw: mentions of motorcycle crashes, ask to tag

characters: bi-han, kuai liang, tomáš vrbada

The implementation of motorcycles was Sektor's suggestion for quick transport through Earthrealm without depending on Liu Kang's powers to airdrop them to the approximate location of their objectives.

Sektor installed intercoms into their helmets, but the brothers rarely use or need them to communicate.

Though Kuai Liang has the fastest bike, Bi-han is the one who usually drives up front if they are travelling together. Kuai Liang doesn't tend to go full throttle unless they are all in a hurry, and Tomáš typically brings up the rear as the one with the slowest bike and the one who likes to mess around the most.

Bi-han and Kuai Liang have to take off their gloves to use their powers most effectively. When caught in a bad situation while in the saddle, Tomáš will usually jump into action to cover them.

Each brother knows the basics of maintenance, but Tomáš has worked on his motorcycle personally much more than the others.

Their gear and motorcycles are distinct, so they keep interactions with others to a minimum to avoid identity leaks. This includes law enforcement trying to pull them over for reckless driving.

The IDs they carry with them are fake for this reason as well, so technically none of them have a real permit. Their visors have all been modified to be tinted to further hide their identities while passing through.

From most to least crashes between the brothers: Kuai Liang (1000+cc supersport bikes are hardly beginner friendly), Tomáš (likes to do stunts), and Bi-han (aggressive driver to share the road with, but he's very sensible when not experiencing road rage)

Sektor repairs their bikes most often as THE Lin Kuei technomechanophile, but sometimes Tomáš will do repairs if he has nothing else (that he wants) to do. Kuai Liang prefers Tomáš' repairs because it always feels like Sektor adds modifications that he never asked for.

Suzuki 2022 Katana Arai Quantum X helmet Reax Castor Perforated Leather gloves The Jacket Maker Darren Black Leather jacket Knox Urbane Pro trousers Aether Moto Boot

This man's brake-check game is truly DEMENTED. He will brake-check a van! He does not give a fuck! His brothers yell at him about it because you have a zero percent chance of winning a quarrel with a car if you are on anything less than a car.

He is the most prone to road rage, but outside of his tendency to aggressively and pointedly pass people or brake-check them, he's mostly responsible with it. He especially dislikes other vehicles getting in his wide personal bubble when riding. In spite of all of that, he doesn't use his horn very often.

Tries to signal for any sharp turns or strange road conditions fairy early while in the front so that his brothers don't get taken by surprise. He feels most comfortable leading because it makes him most likely to hit an obstacle before his brothers.

Bi-han often checks on his brothers through his mirrors, but if he loses sight of them, he will slow down and shoulder check every couple of seconds until they either leave his blind spot or he's verified that they're keeping up alright.

Bi-han's crash contingency plan is to take his gloves off and ice-slide to avoid road burn, but he has only had low-speed crashes while learning how to ride, so the feasibility of this plan is extremely questionable. He wears more gear than he would normally bother with out of a sense of responsibility. Similarly to Tomáš, he prefers motorcycle gear that feels and looks as close to civilian clothes as possible.

Surprisingly serious about learning and improving because he wants to lead by example, especially if they ever do a full-organisation implementation of motorcycles, Bi-han can sometimes be caught practising things like braking and figure eight turn repetitions.

He's used to sliding on his own ice, so he never understood the problem with "bad road conditions" until he was drove over black ice. Kuai Liang threw him a lifeline (his kusarigama), but the bike ate the entire highside.

Bi-han does not return any waves***. Ever.

Suzuki GSX1300 R Hayabusa Scorpion EXO-R420 Engage helmet ON BOARD PRX-1 gloves KLIM Outlander GTX boots T.ur Zero jacket and pants 2 piece suit

Kuai Liang is is the most rigorous with his gear because his motorcycle is the fastest (312 kmh) and he doesn't think he can teleport away unharmed at high speeds.

It's not that he's specifically afraid of the it, but Kuai Liang has never actually hit top speed on his motorcycle because he feels it to be excessive and hard to handle. Though he is trying to unlearn it, he has a dangerous habit of overcorrection.

This guy miraculously stops the death wobble by holding on to the handlebars and trying to stabilise them, which... Is the exact opposite thing that anybody should try to do, but he pulls it off every time. And he needs to get maintenance done because it happens way too often to be dismissed.

Sharp turns don't bother him very much. Sometimes his knee will touch the road briefly. Rather than having difficulty with sharp turns, he struggles to brake smoothly. Most often, his own speed takes him by surprise and he grabs a fistful of front brake in response. Bi-han will use his power to stop him before he can become a flying ninja, but he also tells Kuai Liang off for not having good braking technique.

Though he lacks a lot of technical knowledge and runs into the most issues, Kuai Liang's intuition is actually the best. The biggest issue he has is that he is more reactive than proactive, but he does know his range of movement and can utilise it without issues if he doesn't face unexpected circumstances. In that same vein, he's able to ride his brothers' motorcycles without any issues adjusting to the difference.

Unlike Bi-han, Kuai Liang makes an effort to braid his hair before a ride because he doesn't like the feeling of it whipping around. He also has the neatest hair after he takes his helmet off. He often teases Bi-han for keeping his hair down, but he does try to advise him to tie it up to avoid the struggle of fixing it nine hundred and ninety-nine tangles later.

Kuai Liang has a 50/50 chance of returning a wave***. He does try for the sake of etiquette, but he often misses his chance by the time he thinks to do it.

The Wal (BMW R 18 customised by Shinya Kimura) LS2 Street Fighter helmet Armure Kerr vented gloves Dainese Street Rocker D-WP boots Icon Mesh AF motorcycle jacket Saint Unbreakable Engineered Slim Fit Armoured jean

Tomáš is the most likely to go squid* of all the brothers because he is fully confident and comfortable on his motorcycle in a way that they aren't. He also has a lot of faith in his ability to react fast enough to use his powers before he can get hurt, but sometimes his brothers will nag him about it anyways.

Unlike his brothers' sport bikes, Tomáš chose to ride a cruiser. The speed is much slower, but the ergonomics and flexibility for customisation made him choose it. It also boasts the largest gas tank and most powerful engine (1802cc), so he is basically the backup plan if someone runs out of gas or their bike gets stuck.

While Bi-han was vaguely interested in the concept of advancement and Kuai Liang was generally ambivalent to the idea, Tomáš was excited about the new motorcycles. As the one most interested in pop culture, he was most knowledgeable on them.

After getting to actually ride one, he became even more charmed by them, so he's by far the most involved in motorcycle culture. There's an endearing dorkiness about how cool he thinks it all is, but he is genuinely knowledgeable in applicable ways that his brothers aren't. He'd like to own more motorcycles, but there is no precedent for it or storage, so he focuses on customising the one that he has.

The first time Tomáš popped a wheelie, Bi-han hard-braked thinking that he was about to crash, and then proceeded to tell him off for fooling around too much. After a while, Bi-han got used to it and begrudgingly considered it a skill asset.

Aside from the fact that most sport bikes are miserable rides for any passengers, Tomáš is the best one to turn to if you need a lift. He isn't as prone to overcorrection as Kuai Liang and adjusts the fastest to having and accommodating a passenger**.

Tomáš makes an active attempt to return waves*** because he knows that his brothers probably won't. As someone who regularly takes his hands off of the handlebars, and the one most often in the back, it isn't as much of a struggle for him.

*the term "squid" refers to riders who forego motorcycle gear. The opposite term would be ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time), where Kuai Liang is more aligned.

**having a passenger on a motorcycle drastically changes the ride because the driver and passenger need to work together in shifting their weight and balance. if a passenger cannot anticipate and go along with the driver, the execution of turns may be affected, so it is suggested that riders try to acclimate their passengers before doing any serious driving.

***motorcyclists wave at each other on the road. this is basically etiquette and a predominant, universal part of motorcycle culture. not returning a wave is considered rude by most motorcyclists. it could be described like someone coming to a party and then ignoring everybody that tries to talk to them.

#mk1 #mortal kombat #bi han #tomas vrbada #kuai liang #the links are just sources for pictures that weren't already provided by the manufacturers ^^ #though i intended to give bi-han a kawasaki i ended up giving him a suzuki. and i think that works too in an unintentional way #i just KNOWWW johnny gassed tomáš UP when he saw the motorcycle and honestly deserved bc its sick ITS SICK #i really love looking at shinya kimura's work... i'd suggest looking into him if anybody reads these tags hehe ^^ #a lot of this is just me rambling and none of this is meant to be acommercial endorsement of any products. #i had a lot more to say but i didn't want to get too technical and in-depth about gear and bike choices for them. i just love motorcycles < #but anybody who is curious can just ask and i'd be happy to answer ^^

[simi75]

Seb’s Kimi mention at Monaco

source  [X]

#simi #kimi raikkonen #sebastian vettel #kr: kawasaki motocross #sv: aston martin #2022 #monaco gp 2022 #qualifying #twitter #interview #quote #picture #my stuff

[day0walker]

hello i present to you a thought that struck me

könig who rides a motorcycle

byebye

mmmmm ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I agree I really fucking agree

#ask #anon #the all black kawasaki ninja #i’m picturing that

[otakutale]

New Black Butler Anime Announced for 2024

https://wp.me/p4jiOt-dgG

At Anime Expo 2023, North American anime licensor and distributor Crunchyroll announced that a new anime adaptation of Yana Toboso’s…

#2023, #2024, #A1Pictures, #Adaptation, #Anime, #AnimeAnnouncement, #Announcement, #BlackButler, #Cast, #CloverWorks, #DaisukeOno, #HiroyukiYoshino, #Japan, #KenjirouOkada, #Kuroshitsuji, #Maaya Sakamoto, #Movie, #RyoKawasaki, #TVAnime, #YanaToboso, #YumiShimizu, #黒執事

#2023 #2024 #a-1 pictures #adaptation #anime #anime announcement #announcement #Black Butler #cast #CloverWorks #Daisuke Ono #Hiroyuki Yoshino #japan #Kenjirou Okada #Kuroshitsuji #Maaya Sakamoto #movie #Ryo Kawasaki #TV anime #Yana Toboso #Yumi Shimizu #黒執事

[wocado]

Ideas are easy ~ @GuyKawasaki

Ideas are easy.

business, business quotes, action, action quotes, thinking quotes, thinking, ideas, ideas quotes, implementation, implementation quotes, Guy Kawasaki, Guy Kawasaki quotes #PICTUREQUOTES, #QUOTES

#business #business quotes #action #action quotes #thinking quotes #thinking #ideas #ideas quotes #implementation #implementation quotes #Guy Kawasaki #Guy Kawasaki quotes #PICTURE QUOTES #QUOTES

[todotieneunsignificado]

Yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool!

#something in everything #vintage #pensamientos #picture #love #thoughts #frases #sentimientos #amor #lana del rey #road trip #kawasaki #Kawasaki boy #sexy tease #Sexy #brooklyn baby

[saytrrose]

Can we see More about your racing AU please?

Looks so amazing and i love It so much

I do suppose I could share the character design line up!

I really just need to finish designing all the go karts, (atleast most are done!) and then I can make proper cards for them and really get into the written details.

To be honest it’s a little hard to just ramble about info and details without specific questions to go off of, so I’ll try my best hhh

for starters, the tent? Not a tent!

It’s actually a stadium, the amazing digital race!

And rooms? Sort of tweaked, they are more like each character owns a personal garage, a large open space where they store their vehicles and then have a loft above that showcases their cozy safe havens. Bed, entertainment, basically a small room in a much larger one.

I haven’t revealed Ragatha, Zooble or Gangles karts yet but I’ll go ahead and just talk about all of them!

Caine:

Caine has a motorcycle, specifically one inspired off of the motorcycle I’m saving up for this summer, a Kawasaki Eliminator. It’s a cruiser, I’m thinking he has a 600cc model but considering Bubble is his right hand man and operates as the races pit crew- he’s definitely tinkered with Caines bike, making adjustments and improving the engine. God only knows what the little psycho did, but it’s a damn good bike that’s not supposed to rev as loud as it does.

Pomni:

Her kart is inspired off a Volkswagen Beetle, seemed very VERY Pomni to me. Her car mimics her outfit design a lot, I might do some color changes to be honest but it will be super minimal, it’ll be final when the cards are done! She definitely stops at the pit the most often despite her placement in a race, are my tires okay?? Do I need my oil?? I know you just filled it but it went down- is anything damaged?? Sweetie you did one lap..

Jax:

Jesus Christ he has a giant supercharger on the hood of his car, and he is absolutely one of those annoying mfs that reva their engine OBNOXIOUSLY loud all the time like he’s super cool. If you’re wondering who most of the skid marks on the track are from, that’s also Jax. Hes the best as drifting, and he loves to show that off. His car isn’t based too much on an actual vehicle?? I stared at Mario karts and pieced it together, but also gave it a very sports car look, the wing on the back fr fr I think Jax would dig that.

Kinger:

OHHSOSK I was so creative with his little wagon,,, it’s castle shaped!! And the best part? Operates like a rocket. In the back past the battlement (the crown looking thing you see atop castle pillars) ARE GIANT exhaust pipes and yes, they do spit fire !! Operates like a rocket. It’s very cool! (Also he has a great muffler because unlike Jax he’s considerate of others hearing 💔) Oh also, he has one of those silly horns, I forgot how to describe it but you can just look at how I drew it on his kart and you’ll know heheh!

Zooble:

Our second motorcyclist, owns a trike! If you don’t know what that is, picture a bike with training wheels but super badass. 3 wheels! It’s inspired off the Harley Davidson freewheeler, I like that design a lot but it’s def not actually a Harley because istg when you buy those bikes your just paying for the fancy name brand- expect it to be in the shop all the time, smh not good- BUT ANYWAY!! The looks are inspired off it though and I can’t wait for this one because it’s just as crazy kooky as Zoobles design is.

Gangle:

Her kart is based on my favorite car, classic style but not too cool because you can bet she has anime stickers on the back and a decal that says “please let me merge before I start crying.” It’s similar to a karmann ghia convertible, 1963. Cherry red (so so pretty) She always has the top down, unless competing because damn you gotta go fast. That car itself is really slow, top speed normally is 68mph, however people have modified them enough to get up to 120mph. Thats still pretty slow compared to others, but her kart only reflects the appearance of the ghia! It’s much faster and I assume Bubble works on all their vehicles if asked to.

Lastly, Ragatha:

Our 3rd motorcyclist. 4 Karts, 3 cyclists. Her bike is a futuristic style, if you want a good idea then look up “icare bike”! Not so much a straight forward posture, she leans over ofc, you’ll likely get the idea when you see her bike. I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too into her design yet because I haven’t started drawing but!! Dark blue leds,, everywhere yes yes so cool ❤️

Sorry that’s so much 😭 but yeah! Just need to finish 3 kart designs for you guys and I can make official ref cards 👀

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #Caine #tadc Caine #Pomni #tadc Pomni #Jax #tadc Jax #kinger #tadc Kinger #Zooble #tadc Zooble #gangle #tadc gangle #Ragatha #tadc Ragatha #tadc racing au

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 20 - Face-sitting

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

cw:  face-sitting, tongue fucking, hair pulling, (ps wrote this with age gap in mind but nothing really indicates that)

word count: 1085

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

Pete got the idea watching you mount his motorcycle. You’d skipped out of the Hard Deck, eager to get home after a busy day and a few celebratory drinks. Pete had a habit of overstaying his goodbyes, however, mingling on the way out—saying goodbye to Penny, to Jimmy, to Bradley, to anybody else he bumped shoulders with. When he stepped out into the brisk night air, he caught sight of you throwing a leg over the lower seat of his Kawasaki as you waited for him to catch up with you.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight: seated in his place, your hair swaying in the wind, waves crashing and booming thunderously behind you for dramatic effect. What a picture. He could devour you immediately, he thought. 

You were oblivious to it all until you made it home. 

Maverick carelessly kicked off his boots at the door and yanked you to him, pressing his lips to yours in a hungry, eager kiss. Garments were dropped along the floor one by one on your way to the bedroom—Mav’s bomber, his shirt, your shirt, your bra. You only broke apart momentarily to slip out of your jeans, and then Maverick pulled you with him onto the mattress. You straddled him as you kissed one another, breathless and heavy.

“Get up here,” he mumbles against your lips, tongue poking out of his mouth and sneaking into yours. “Ride my face, c’mon.”

You moan at his words, muffled as his tongue slips through your lips. You’re so entranced by his kiss that you don’t even move, not until his palms cup your ass to bring you forward and up. You groan as the action breaks the kiss, immediately missing it.

You oblige, however, watching as he squirms down a bit further on the mattress to give you some room. You grab onto the headboard, adjusting your legs on either side of his head. His arms come up to wrap around your thighs, and you slowly, gently sit yourself on his tongue. You gasp at the return of his hot, wet mouth, this time in a far more pleasurable place. 

Already impatient, Maverick notices your slight hesitation. “All the way, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmurs against you, his strong arms pulling you down a bit closer. 

You moan softly the wetter it feels, the flat of his tongue firm against your throbbing center. Your first instinct is to roll your hips, and he hums in approval. Long strokes of his tongue up and down, just testing the waters, have you arching your back and breathing out heavily. Self-aware, however, you try not to thrust against his face quite yet, instead choosing to let him guide you. 

Maverick moans at your taste, sending a jolt of vibrations up your body. Satisfied after a few gentle licks, he exhales against you, diving in like he’s starved. You cry out, thighs tensing against the side of his head as his tongue prods through your folds, poking at your hole. You’re already loose and nearly dripping for him, the tip of his tongue easily gliding in and out.

When you feel him start to slide it in, your body jerks in surprise, sending you forward against the headboard. The motion brings your clit right up against his nose, a strangled moan leaving your mouth. Maverick takes notice and puts his jaw to work, leaving big, wet, open-mouthed kisses all along your cunt, moving his head with the motions so that his nose continues stimulating your nerves. 

The pleasure coils inside of you, and you feel yourself unable to sit still, starting to squirm above him. You let go of the headboard, leaning your arms behind you to prop yourself on the mattress instead. Maverick adjusts his arms, wrapping them from the underside of your thighs to hold you in place. The position allows for a better roll of your hips, which you inadvertently do again as the pleasure begins flooding your senses.

Maverick eventually stops his sloppy kisses, moving his tongue back to your tight slit, humming contently through it all. He slips it in and out, moving his jaw side to side to get messy with it. You’re having to bite back your moans, fingers digging harshly into the soft, plush mattress as he watches your very reactive face with delighted eyes.

The pleasure courses through your entire body, legs shaking and simultaneously going numb from the position. You need some kind of movement, a little more friction to push you over the edge. Just a tiny ram of your hips—

You watch the mischievous glint in Maverick’s eyes when he realizes what you’re doing. Thrusting your hips shallowly against his face gives you that much needed buzz you’re searching for, and you whine out loudly as his jaw goes slack, tongue poking out to let you do with it as you please. 

Along with your legs, your elbows start to sting from holding yourself up, so you throw an arm up front. You unintentionally grasp at his hair, a fist full of it as you grind against his tongue. Maverick groans as you pull, using it for leverage the faster you move your hips. His entire jaw is wet with your releases, making it easier to rub your cunt against it. 

“Pete,” you gasp, throwing your head back. 

The noises are obscene; hisses and slurps against your core edging you on and on and on until.. Oh my god. You cum with a loud cry of his name, hips still rolling through your orgasm until the sensitivity comes flooding. You lean forward and grab onto the headboard again to sustain yourself, coming up off of his mouth. 

Mav sucks in a long breath underneath you, panting and sniffling to compose himself. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans breathlessly.

You sob as the pleasure shakes your body. It distracts you from noticing that Maverick moves from underneath you, and all you feel is his strong arms pulling you to him from behind, bringing you into his grasp. You turn, meeting his mouth once more, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you slow and soft. He notices you’re still shaky, so he lays you down flat on the mattress, mouth still on yours. Climbing up over you, he pulls back to let you breathe, stroking the side of your face. He looks at you with a soft glint in his eye and asks in a tender voice, “Was that okay?”

#kinktober 2023 #pete mitchell #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell x reader #maverick x reader #maverick x you #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun fic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfic #tom cruise x reader #top gun 1986 #top gun headcanons #mav #*

[delopsia]

Polaroid | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 3,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, unprotected sex, fighting for dominance/power struggle, slight jealous/possessive Bob, inappropriate usage of a motorcycle and a Polaroid camera. Brief Summary: Bob doesn't like how touchy Mav's been with you. Solution? Fucking you against Mav's bike and using his camera to memorialize the moment. But you've got an idea of your own.

Lightning flickers just outside, a brief flash of white light piercing through the tiny, square garage door windows. Such a swift appearance, and yet, you can already tell that it's brighter than the single light bulb posted in the center of the garage. Dull golden hues paint the room in even dimmer shades of bronze. So poorly lit that you can hardly see the silvery 'Kawasaki' logo of Mav's motorcycle, mere inches away from your nose.

Thunder booms. That bleak little bulb fades out for the briefest moment as the house rattles. Whistling wind howls around the corners, shaking the garage door, threatening to tear it down and blow your cover at any moment. 

But, fuck is it hard to focus on anything that isn't the soft tap, tap, tap of a velvety cockhead at your entrance. Doing nothing more than spread you open and let you feel the light pressure as he breaches you, only to pull away and repeat it all over again.

Your barefoot lifts off the ground, blindly kicking behind yourself. That might be a shin that you make contact with, but it very well could be another piece of junk on Bradley's garage floor. "Hurry up, asshole."

Bob's halfhearted chuckle almost sounds like the low rumble of thunder, "I will, I will."

But all that does is change his method of torment. Lazily sliding himself between your folds, length rubbing past your swollen clit, sends a frustrating shiver up your spine. 

Light flashes. 

As white as lightning, but it didn't come from outside. 

Click. 

That mechanical whirr sounds like...

"Did you just take a damn picture?" But your question is answered the moment you turn your head because there's Bobby, setting that silvery Polaroid camera back onto the table. A thin white piece of film hanging between his upturned lips, color yet to develop. "Isn't that—that's Mav's camera!"

"I know it," Bob's pocketing that dumb little photo without a second thought, jaw flexing as it clenches, "ain't like he's gonna notice." 

Pressure blooms as that wet, thick cock head begins to push into you, effectively shoving your thoughts from your own mind. Excess lubricant squelching as that thick tip fully slips inside of you so suddenly that your knees shudder. Pussy stretched wide around him, still tender from how he bent you over the kitchen counter this morning before the coffee had even finished brewing. 

Fingertips swirl around your hips, tickling the skin there as he eases in. Your head is too heavy to hold up, forehead thumping against the soft leather of Mav's motorcycle seat. Such an odd place for him to have you out of all of the hiding spaces in Bradley's house. 

If you'd known that a nightmare of a storm would force the semi-annual Dagger Squad Cookout into an unplanned sleepover, you would have bugged Bob to bring condoms. Something about these events always leaves you heading home with a limp in your step. 

"Look so pretty like this," Bob's big palms span out against your ass, squeezing greedy handfuls of you, unaware of how his cock pushes a desperate gasp from your burning lungs. "Takin' my cock so well." 

It's hard recalling just when your eyes fell shut, but you're opening them. Peering over your shoulder once more, mouth opening, but unable to ask him to hurry up. Finish getting inside before your weary legs shudder out from under you. 

He hears you.

You don't say a word, but he hears you.

His sweaty palm runs up your spine, hips tilting forward in earnest now. That dull pressure growing into an aching burn as your pussy flutters around him, split wide. You haven't the slightest clue what the rest of his Navy buddies are packing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion that Bob's the thickest one here. Obnoxiously sized to add to that unsuspecting personality of his.

Always the quiet ones. 

"Hurry up," your weak voice is hardly able to get out of your mouth, vocal cords strung too tight, "Mav's gonna lose his shit if he finds us in here."

Those big hands grip your waist, holding you still as he draws back agonizingly slow. Paint could dry faster, but fuck does he rub against those sensitive spots so nicely. Perfectly sculpted, like he was made just for you. "I don't care about what that ol' bastard has to say," his tone a little rigid, not its typical lightness. 

Is he... "Are you jealous?"

His hips snap forward. Smugly slamming that thick length of his back into you, punches a wail right out of your throat. Your knees nearly buckle. Body bouncing forward a little too far, the frame of a thirty-thousand-dollar motorcycle rocking with you. "Nope." 

Fuck fuck fuck you've struck a nerve. 

"You're jealous!" And you'd be looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his face if he weren't leaning down. Pressing his clothed chest up against your back, bodies snug together, bouncing with each tentative thrust. Figuring out his pace.

"I'm not jealous," sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling, "I'm being perfectly reasonable." 

Because being reasonable involves him bending you over Maverick's motorcycle. A reasonable man takes someone else's Polaroid camera to snap a photo of your cunt wrapped around his cock. But you can't complain about this form of reasonable because it is downright delicious. 

Possessive hands dip beneath your shirt, feeling the expanse of your body beneath his touch as he fucks you. Soft puffs of breath knocked from your lungs with every 

"That old man is so fucking touchy, sometimes I just wanna..." but he doesn't finish that sentence. Too distracted by the lewd squelch of your pussy, so loud in this garage. 

Wind shakes the garage door like an angry fist, howling as it tries to squeeze through the minuscule gaps in the corners. A breeze is all that slips past, licking past your ankles. Only seems to make the room colder when Bob peels away from you, rhythm stalling as he reaches for something on the table.

A second flash tears through the room. Some dumb little whirring sound follows in hot pursuit. 

And whatever picture he's taken must be a good one because he doesn't start moving again. Too fixated on that dumb little square that has hardly developed yet. Doesn't respond when you wriggle your hips backward, doing the work your damn self. 

This is a horrible position. Legs too far apart to do much, can't pull too far forward without rocking Maverick's beloved motorcycle, gas in the tank sloshing. A warning that you want nothing more of. 

But it's easy to stand up properly. 

Letting Bobby's cock slip out of you as your back straightens, the garage floor cold against your bare feet as you turn to face the bastard himself. His mouth is moving, but nothing comes out. Unable to make a noise as your fingers tangle in soft, messy hair and pull.

"Ow, ow, ow," he squeaks, eyes scrunching shut as you manhandle him. Knees thunking painfully against cold concrete, unable to do more than paw at your hand as you push him onto his back. 

Those glasses jostle, sliding further up his face, and it's almost enough to loosen your grip on his hair.

Almost.

"If you're going to fuck me against Mav's bike because you're jealous," you grit, pulling his head back impossibly further, all to get a better look at his pretty pale neck. "Then you'd better do it right."

His cock bounces against his belly, lube staining his shirt, the only one he has for the night. Angry, flushed tip begging for your attention, twitching when you wrap your hand around him. A little too firm as you pump him, downright squeezing that little grunt out of him. 

"I'm sorry," his fist shakes, waving that little polaroid in the air, "I was...it developed, and I—ah!"

His back lifts off the ground, torn between chasing and squirming away from the swift thumb that rubs at the underside of his head. And you think that just might be a little bit of precum that spills out of him, coating your already drenched hand.

True to his word, one of the photos already developed. It's hard to tell which one it is or when it was taken, but even in the poor lighting of the picture, the sight is unmistakable. You. Head down against Maverick's motorcycle seat, Bob's cock only halfway in you, shirt pushed up to reveal your naked back. 

Now you see why he was so distracted.

Letting loose of his hair, you begin to move. Properly settling into his lap now, guiding him back up into your aching cunt. So sore already, and you're not even close yet. 

Those pretty blue eyes roll back, chest rising with a gasp, "shit."

The camera hits the ground with a clatter, falling right out of his hand without a second thought. No concern of whether it's broken or not, too focused on touching you instead. Clammy palms roaming beneath your shirt, clinging as you sink down on him. Always has to be touching you. 

You're already seizing one of them, ignoring how much bigger his hand is compared to yours, as you drag his calloused fingers down between your legs. He doesn't need any further encouragement, pressing a rough thumb against your neglected clit without a second thought.

"That's it," you breathe; now it's your turn to dip beneath his shirt. Hands roaming past soft belly and hard chest, feeling the way he shudders beneath your wandering touch. Such a subtle motion that seems to burn itself beneath your eyelids.

The concrete floor is cold against your knees, biting at your skin as you begin to move. Uncomfortable, but it's still better than the truck bed you rode him in a few weeks ago. And it's so easy to ignore when Bob's hips swivel, fat cock nudging against a small bundle of nerves inside of you. 

All the while, his thumb is finding swirls lazily, struggling to keep up with the quick motion of your body. And it's not the best that he can do, but it's got your heart pounding in your chest regardless. Downright panting like a dog as you take what you want, so wrapped up in the way that he fills you. 

Stars sparkle in your vision, mottling your near picture-perfect view of Bob's flushed face. Glasses and hair askew, half-lidded eyes peering up at you like you're a work of art. Grunting with every quick meet of your hips, the sound of skin on skin bouncing off the bare walls. 

"I've given you an idea, haven't I?" Bob's panting, more of a statement than a question, because there can only be one reason that you're picking up the camera. 

It's hard to aim this old thing; too close to really see much, forcing you to lean backward. Color is already beginning to spread across the film as it whirrs out of the camera. What looks to be the soft outline of glasses, or maybe that's his watch...

God, do you hope that the flash doesn't erase the strawberry red from Bobby's cheeks in the final product because it is everything. 

A whimper rattles out from beneath you. 

Bob's hips impatiently squirm, bucking up into your now still body. Needy. Desperate for you to do something, anything. Put into the same conundrum he put you into just a few minutes ago.

"What?" Fighting back your smile, "Something the matter, Bobby?" This wasn't planned, but oh, are you gonna commit to it. Such a perfect situation dropped right into your lap. 

His eyebrows knit together, nose scrunching with it, "Y'know there is."

But he doesn't elaborate any further, and you're having too much fun watching him writhe to let him out of it easily. Feigning innocence, cocking your head to the side and all. No, you truly have no idea why he could be so fussy beneath you right now.

"There is?" You chirp as innocently as you can muster. A little too fake. 

A little too much for the man beneath you.

Your back hits cold, hard ground. Head cushioned by a big hand that's settled behind it, a strong body settling atop of yours. Legs spread impossibly wide, unable to do anything but kick your heels against Bobby's ass.

"'m too close for y'to be pullin' this shit," fuck, fuck, fuck, that childhood accent of his is coming out. 

And there's not a damn thing you can do but drop everything in your hands and dig your nails into his biceps because he's already beginning to fuck into you. Knocks the air from your lungs with every thrust in, balls smacking heavily against you. Cock head hitting those little nerves dead on. Has a tingling settling into your inner thighs. 

"Yeah, now y'got nothin' t'say, do ya?" He's grunting into your ear, sharp teeth nipping the shell of it. That deep voice alone shouldn't have you clamping down around him the way you do, thighs fluttering as they try to squeeze him tighter. Closer.

Yet you can do nothing to slow those unrelenting thrusts; no, if anything, you spur him on even further. Drawn into a frenzy by the way your cunt spasms around him, overwhelmed and stretched to your damn limit. Knocking little sounds out of you that you don't recognize, pitchy, almost pitiful. 

"Touch yourself for me," he orders it as if you could possibly need anything more. Heat already pools low in your belly, bubbling to the surface. "C'mon, wanna feel your lil pussy cum 'round me." 

But there goes your hand. Reaching down between your tightly pressed bodies, barely enough space for you to crook your fingers and press the pads of them to your swollen clit. Spiraling in their favorite fashion, rubbing over it once, twice—

The heat coiling in your abdomen snaps. 

Spreading across every inch of your body as your back arches off the frigid floor, cumming with a cry that's muffled by Bob's sweaty palm clamping over your mouth. Pussy spasming around his still-pistoning dick, clenching tight. Every nudge of his plush head against those nerves enough to have you jolting, head too cloudy to do anything else. 

Dully, you're aware of a sudden stillness as Bob cums. Heat spilling into you, promising to leave a sticky mess that you can't be fucked to worry about right now. And then there's that heaviness that follows, all hundred and eighty pounds of him settling on top of you like a weighted blanket.

A weighted blanket that gives lots and lots of kisses.

Peppering over your cheeks, across your jaw, and down your sweaty neck. Not skipping the opportunity to love on every protruding vein and imperfection your body has to offer. That remarkably cold nose taps at you with each one, like a little piece of hail that's gotten in through the garage door. 

"I don't know whether to thank Mav or to kick his ass," you croak. Has your throat always been so dry? It takes a moment to get your eyes open; already that time of night when closing your eyes comes with a risk of dozing off until morning. 

There he is. 

That dumb, soft face with his equally dumb cherry-red ears. You can't help but reach up and squish one of those flushed cheeks, watching how pale blue eyes track your every movement. Could very well dodge your torment if he wanted to, but he doesn't seem to take any interest in that. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" He murmurs, leaning against your hand. It can't be comfortable, holding himself in this position, oversensitive cock still lodged deep inside of you, bony knees and elbows digging into the ground. Yet he doesn't move.

Your head shakes, "I would have told you if you did." 

There's that soft grin of his. Taking over his features as he leans in to press his lips against yours, too lazy for anything but a chaste peck that he sighs into. Then a second, and a third, until teeth clatter together because you're smiling too much.

His elbow cracks as he leans back onto his haunches, properly pulling himself out of you now. And you almost wish he didn't because you can already feel his cum beginning to leak out of you. 

Without a word, he reaches for the camera resting next to you.

To say that you're surprised is an overstatement. "Are you taking another picture?"

"Uhuh," one of Bob's eyes scrunch shut as he peers through the little viewfinder. Looks like a proper damn photographer as he takes one more photo.

"You know that Mav's gonna notice the missing film, right?" It's not even a doubt in your mind that he'll notice before he's finished his coffee. Has been meticulously photographing anything and everything he finds worthy of going into his album, from a plain coffee mug to Javy climbing a tree in pursuit of the neighbor's cat.

"I know it," Bob hums, setting the camera down in favor of reaching for the scattering of discarded pictures, "and I hope the touchy bastard spends forever wonderin' where it went."

His hand disappears into his back pocket, producing a worn, leather wallet that's four years older than your relationship. Fraying at the edges but still sturdy.

"You're putting them all in your wallet?" You ask it as if it's not exactly what he's doing.

"Yeah," but he freezes. Blinking rapidly as he glances back up at you. "Did you want one to put in yours?"

 "As a matter of fact, I do," and with that said, you're reaching for the camera. Scooping it off the ground just one more time, aiming it right up at him.

And for once, he doesn't try to dodge the camera. Holding still and letting you snap the photo you're after. Some little unsuspecting shot of his sleepy face and lazy smile, the kind of thing that nobody would be able to tell the context of. 

Because, unlike Bob, you don't enjoy having a mini heart attack every time you open your wallet around someone.

 Getting off the ground is a task all on its own. Two tired bodies bumping into each other, trying to help but only serving to make the situation even worse. Your pants lie discarded on top of a workbench; how they got there, you have no idea, and Bob trips on the singular step out of the garage. 

Miraculously, nobody has woken up during your escapades. Not a soul awake as you skitter towards the spare bedroom you've been given, hand in hand.

But you do wake up to the sound of Maverick accusing Jake of 'taking his camera out for a joyride.'

"Least he ain't noticed that his bike was taken out for a joyride, too," Bob whispers into your temple, voice so groggy that you can hardly understand him. 

Opening your eyes is not a task you're about to undertake, still clinging to the sweet, cozy embrace of sleep. So close that you can reach out and touch it. "You're lucky he's not your instructor anymore."

"Y'don't wanna see me do two hundred pushups?"

Your eyes snap open. "On second thought," but Bob's rolling on top of you before you can even pretend to get up and tell Maverick of your crimes. 

A pair of Polaroid cameras arrive at your house within the week. With an album that you can't wait to fill. 

#x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #oneshot #top gun smut #bob fucks #bob floyd x reader #reader insert #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #self insert #reader self insert

[haunthouse]

text from the lyric booklet of jenny from thebes:

JENNY USED TO LET ABSOLUTELY ANYBODY CRASH AT HER PLACE. IT WAS LIKE A YEAR-ROUND CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. IF YOU HAD ANY SECRETS, SHE DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW, AND THE ONES SHE HAD SHE KEPT TO HERSELF. THERE WAS A WALL HEATER DOWN AT ONE END OF THE HALLWAY AND A BIG, DARK LIVING ROOM AT THE OTHER. ONE ELECTRIC LAMP BY THE COUCH IF YOU NEEDED IT, ALL EXITS VISIBLE TO THE EYE FROM THERE. SOME OF THE PEOPLE WHO HAD NEED OF JENNY'S PLACE WERE ALL RIGHT AND SOME WEREN'T EVER GOING TO GET RIGHT, AND SHE'D ALREADY GOTTEN SEVERAL LETTERS FROM THE CITY ADVISING HER TO KEEP A LOWER PROFILE UNLESS SHE WANTED TROUBLE BUT THEN I ENTERED THE PICTURE. BAD LUCK. LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE WHO CAME THROUGH I WAS TRYING TO FIND A BETTER DIRECTION BUT IT DIDN'T WORK OUT THAT WAY. PRYING EYES SHOULD HAVE TENDED TO THEIR OWN BUSINESS. PEOPLE DON'T THINK TOWNS LIKE OURS CAN TURN INTO BATTLEGROUNDS BUT WE HAD A WAR HERE. THERE. I DON'T LIVE THERE ANY MORE EITHER. I LEFT WHEN JENNY LEFT. IT'S JUST A SPOT ON THE MAP NOW. WE RODE TOGETHER FOR A WHILE BUT THEN WE LOST EACH OTHER. SOMETIMES I THINK I HEAR FROM HER BUT OTHER TIMES I THINK I'M JUST DREAMING. NOBODY KNOWS WHERE ANYBODY LANDED. YOU DON'T KEEP IN TOUCH WHEN THE WAR DOESN'T GO YOUR WAY.

transcribed above in the original all-caps, but here's a regular text version for easier reading:

Jenny used to let absolutely anybody crash at her place. It was like a year-round Christmas miracle. If you had any secrets, she didn't want to know, and the ones she had she kept to herself. There was a wall heater down at one end of the hallway and a big, dark living room at the other. One electric lamp by the couch if you needed it, all exits visible to the eye from there. Some of the people who had need of Jenny's place were all right and some weren't ever going to get right, and she'd already gotten several letters from the city advising her to keep a lower profile unless she wanted trouble but then I entered the picture. Bad luck. Like everybody else who came through I was trying to find a better direction but it didn't work out that way. Prying eyes should have tended to their own business. People don't think towns like ours can turn into battlegrounds but we had a war here. There. I don't live there any more either. I left when Jenny left. It's just a spot on the map now. We rode together for a while but then we lost each other. Sometimes I think I hear from her but other times I think I'm just dreaming. Nobody knows where anybody landed. You don't keep in touch when the war doesn't go your way.

text on tracklist:

CLEAN SLATE — New arrival at the safehouse GROUND LEVEL — There was, en route to greener pastures, a small house in the city ONLY ONE WAY — They consider one another in the often harsh light of how the world is FRESH TATTOO — She commemorates her present station on her forearm CLEANING CREW — The next best thing to an actual goodbye MURDER AT THE 18TH STREET GARAGE — Behold, you may not rezone my house --- FROM THE NEBRASKA PLANT — The future, seen from a hard place SAME AS CASH — she trades in her old car and buys a Kawasaki GPz 750 Turbo WATER TOWER — She disposes of the body JENNY III — The future, seen with great clarity GOING TO DALLAS — As far as anyone's concerned GREAT PIRATES — The future they both deserve

#the mountain goats #tmg #kaylee.txt #i love to zoom in on images and read the text. thought other people might also like to read these without having to zoom on images #under the cut is a not allcaps version + the bonus text thats on the tracklist #jenny from thebes

[redfurrycat]

🤠🐓🏍️☃️The Rooster☃️🏍️🐓🤠

(Based on this article, picture included!)

Post-Mission.

Icepops gifts Baby Goose a two-seater plane, just like he did for Mav.

"Good to have you back, kiddo."

*

After THE talk, Bradley shyly asks Mav to help him repair the old bag of ass, and it's going to be their dad & son project, their bonding therapy.

Then, Bradley and Ice handle the artistic customisation of the plane. It at some point evolves into a paint war in Mav's hangar.

(Dadmiral COMPACFLT is ruthless.)

"WHO THE HELL PUT PAINT ON MY KAWASAKI?!"

*

When The Rooster is finally done, Bradley is in the pilot seat, waiting to see who's going to be his RIO/WSO. He has to plug his ears, because his dad and pop's bickering ends up being about who's going to offer the best sexual favour in exchange of being the first to fly with Bradley.

"Ugh. Why me?!" he complained fondly, bonking his head repeatedly on the window pane.

*

The third person privileged enough to be Bradley's backseater, is Hangman.

As a 'thank you for saving our lives, I knew I was right to make you the Spare', he was invited at the Hangar to go nerding with Mav about the P-51.

Supposedly.

What happens is Bradley going all smoothly with -

"Fancy riding the Rooster?"

*

Also Jake gets to see THE pictures on the hangar walls, including baby pictures of Bradley, and 'holy shit, is that...'

"Sir?!"

#mavdad & icepops & baby goose #the bradshaw-mitchell-kazansky family #icemav #tom iceman kazansky x pete maverick mitchell #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #THE SHOCKING REVEAL! :P #married icemav as grossly in love as ever #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

[thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness]

toshiya_direngrey

先日の川崎２日目に、KOHTAさんが遊びに来てくれたので終演後に一緒に撮りました。

10代の頃から大変お世話になってる先輩。

また、いつか一緒に演りたいですね。

ありがとうございました。 ⁡ ⁡ I took this picture with KOHTA after the show since he came to see us the other day, on the 2nd day at Kawasaki.

He’s my senior from my teen years.

I would like to perform together again, someday.

#dir en grey #toshiya

[krylov-space]

Super clean Kawasaki Z 1000 restomod

(Picture taken @ Hilgen Sunday morning oldtimer meeting)

#motorcycle #roadster #kawasaki #z 1000

[oftenwantedafton]

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 6k

CW - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller sinks lower into the bathtub.

Contemplating. Reminiscing. Thinking about the events that have led him to collide with you not once, but twice now. Seeming coincidences. But he doesn’t really believe things are that incidental. Everything has purpose. The challenge was figuring out what that purpose was. Taking advantage of it.

The first encounter had been after he’d taken care of the security guard.

A useless employee from the start. Bothersome. Woefully inept. He’d been pitifully easy to dispatch. But messy. So much blood. An industrial level washer was needed to take care of things. He hadn’t thought anyone would be at the laundromat at that hour.

But there you were. Catching him off guard. Only for a moment. Your eyes on him. Not paying any attention to what he’d been carrying. And why would you? What reason would you have to suspect the laundry he was carting around so casually was in fact saturated with another man’s lifeforce? Simply watching him. Trying to be surreptitious and subtle about it and failing miserably. Amusing. You’d bolted like a frightened rabbit when he’d finally spoken, bidding you goodnight.

The Kawasaki Ninja is a newer purchase. A reward for himself. Not something he would have imagined himself operating even a year ago. But times are changing. He’s changing. Entering the next phase. Camouflage. Difficult to detect. Blending chameleon-like. It’s how he’s managed to avoid getting caught for any of his crimes. Elusive and stealthy.

Except when he’d literally almost run smack into you. Distracted. A lapse in judgment and a last minute decision. The weakness for animals forcing him to maneuver away. The scratches on his hands are already mending. He looks at them beneath the surface of the water. Thinks about you on the back of his bike. He’s never allowed anyone onto it before. An impulsive decision he can’t explain. He’d enjoyed it. Feeling your arms wrapped around him. Clinging. It’s not like him to let anyone get close. Yet there he had been, encouraging it.

He slides down further until he’s submerged. Holds his breath. Waits until the burning pressure borne of desperation for air becomes unbearable and then breaks through the surface. Slicking back dark tendrils of hair as the water tracks down his cheeks. He’ll visit you again soon. And then he’ll just let fate take its course.

It hasn’t failed him yet.

***

You step into the darkroom and switch on the safe light, bathing the small, confined space in a red glow.

You’d spent most of the morning taking pictures around your college campus. There aren’t nearly as many people around in the summer, but you kind of like that solitude. Summer classes aren’t bad either. Accelerated, yes, but less work in the long run. A good way to get some required electives out of the way. General Anatomy and Introduction to Psychology are the two you’re currently tackling. At least the first is helpful for drawing. The other, well. It’s easy enough. You’d already taken it in high school. This version was even easier. No exams. Just a paper due at the end of the semester. You have a bad habit of procrastinating, but you’re good at achieving something impressive in the eleventh hour. Working better when you’re under pressure.

This film you’re about to develop, though; this is nothing like a chore. Your true passion. You like digital photography well enough, but there was something about old school picture developing. The hands on feeling of creation. Waiting for the result to develop. More rewarding for the additional effort, you think.

You place the first negative on the enlarger tray. Focus until the depth of field is altered. Photographic paper now laid on the baseboard. Set the timer. Exposure. Covering more and more of the picture as the seconds tick by in increments of ten. You’re creating a test strip to determine what length of exposure works best. Now bathing the paper in the trays of chemicals. Developer, stop bath, fixer. You make sure the box of photographic paper is sealed before switching on the regular light. Clear demarcations on the test image ranging from bright light and a fainter print to the final column that’s deeply shadowed and darkly printed. Eighty seconds seems to be the best of the lot, somewhere in the middle range. You repeat the process again, adjusting the timer countdown and letting the entire sheet of photographic paper be exposed. Studying the result. Perfect. Rinsed and hung up to dry. That’s your first image done. Safely set aside as you begin again. The afternoon wanes. You glance at the clock. Time for a quick bite to eat and then you’re due back at the shelter.

Your university is mentioned on the five ‘o clock news you switch on for background noise when you return home. You’d heard some girls talking about it during class earlier. Someone attacking women. You’ve got mace and a concealed self defense weapon on your keyring. You’re not quite as worried since all of your classes are during the day, but still. You suppose that doesn’t give you immunity. Anything could happen.

Case in point, your run in with that strange man Dave Miller. Two run ins, no less.

You’d trusted him enough to go for a ride on his bike. After he’d nearly run you down on it. Maybe not your sanest idea. You’d intially felt like he was dangerous. Just something in the way he’d carried himself. After actually holding a conversation with the stranger, you’d found that feeling dissolving. Maybe not really dangerous. Just aloof. A little odd. Intriguing, though. Difficult to explain. You hadn’t really spoken all that much. He’d invited you to ride with him again. You’d accepted. Now you were just in limbo. Waiting for another visit. Or a chance encounter. Another late night rendezvous at the laundromat, maybe. You really should be more careful. Maybe going out alone in the wee hours wasn’t the best idea, even if it was so close to home. Who’s to say the campus stalker wouldn’t broaden his target range? Or some other psycho. Either way. You should be more careful.

No new animals for the intake today. The kittens are growing rapidly. You make sure the back door is always firmly shut now, lesson learned. Sweating inside the building. Making sure the animals have plenty of fresh water. You’re getting used to the routine. It’s much earlier when you leave. You might have time to get some homework done before attempting sleep.

You find yourself driving in the opposite direction of your apartment. Heading to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

It’s a dumb idea, admittedly. There’s no guarantee that Dave will be there. And even if he is. He’ll be working. Hardly free to entertain you. But you’re kind of curious about returning even without the security guard’s presence. It’s been so many years since your last visit to the establishment. It would be an interesting site to take pictures of.

Pulling into the parking lot, you realize just how run down the place has become.

No effort made to clear the lot of the weeds and other vegetation that have reclaimed their territory. The exterior of the building in disrepair. Smashed lights. Pieces of the wall tiling missing. Graffiti spray painted all over every surface. A far cry from the cheerful, colorful pizzeria you remember from your childhood.

You don’t see the motorcycle anywhere but you suppose the employee might have parked elsewhere. There’s a buzzer by the front door. You press it, waiting. It’s difficult to see inside the building. Minimal lighting. Now something moving in the shadowed interior. Someone. Walking forward. Tall, slim. It’s Miller.

You hear the sound of a lock turning before he pushes the heavy glass door open. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Sorry, I know I wasn’t invited. I just was heading home and I thought…” Well, what could you say, really? That you’d decided to head in the complete opposite direction on a whim, on the off chance that he’d be there? You had no idea how many different employees guarded the building. Maybe he was the only one? Did anyone safeguard during the day? You somehow doubted it.

“I was actually planning on visiting you soon. So this worked out well. Welcome back to Freddy’s.” The older man smirks and you feel something flutter inside you. He was attractive, you had to admit. Maybe slightly harsh features, but they were growing on you the more you looked at them.

He doesn’t move from his position holding the door open and you’re forced to squeeze by, brushing against him. Deliberate? There’s a strange smell inside the restaurant that assaults you as soon as you enter the dining room. Chemicals. Strong. You bring your hand to your face to cover your nose and mouth.

“Floors were washed recently,” he offers, letting the door swing shut before he pulls a heavy keyring off his belt and fits one into the lock. “It’s not as potent by the offices.”

You nod, looking around. Another cascade of deja vu spilling over you. There’s the prize counter, next to the arcade. The infamous ball pit. A small curtained stage and its much larger counterpart. “Are they still up there?”

“Yes. You can have a look, if you want.”

Morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You ascend the short set of stairs to the raised platform. A place you weren’t allowed to go as a child, for employees only.

The drapes are heavy. It takes a lot of effort to shift them. A hand on your shoulder makes you jump.

“Sorry. Want a flashlight? It’s dark back there.”

You accept the offering, switching it on. Nearly jump again when the beam falls on a large blue rabbit right in front of you. Bonnie. Still clutching his red electric guitar. A little dirtier than you remember, but surprisingly intact otherwise. You pan the light around. Freddy front and center with microphone in hand. Chica with her bib and oversized cupcake companion sitting on a plate. You remember the pirate fox occupying the smaller stage nearby.

“Did you have a favorite?”

You duck around the curtain again, handing the flashlight back to Dave. “Not in particular. I just remember having fun. Until, you know.”

“Such a shame.” He thumbs the switch off and slots it back in his belt.

“This place would be amazing to photograph.”

“You’re a photographer?” He sounds surprised.

You nod. “It’s what I’m studying at the university.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything, really. Whatever inspires me. I love prints still. Physical media. Black and white especially. There’s something special about images captured that way. People dismiss it so readily now. But there are so many levels to it. It’s not just black and white. There are colors in between that. Degrees of darkness and light that you’d never notice otherwise. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I don’t mind. You’re passionate about this.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Do you have your camera with you now?”

“In the car, yeah.”

“You want to take some pictures?”

“Am I allowed to? I’m not even sure I should be in here. I kind of feel like I’m trespassing a bit.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you in otherwise. I don’t think the owner would appreciate just anyone in here snooping around, but…you’re not one of those people looking to exploit this establishment’s remains. There’s a genuine kind of reverence. Nostalgia. I know for a fact he appreciates that kind of sentimentality.”

“Do you know the owner well?”

A faint smirk. “You could say that.”

“What’s he doing now that this place is shut down?”

A heavy sigh. “As you’re probably aware, the media did not paint him in the kindest light after the allegations. Even though he was cleared, the damage was already done. Name tarnished. Reputation demolished. Difficult to come back from in a small town like this. So he’s just trying to lead a quiet life now. Trying out a new existence. Not quite willing to let the past go…” His voice trails off.

“I’m going to go get my camera, then.”

Dave’s gaze sharpens, whatever odd reminiscing he’d found himself lost in dissipating. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

You return with a fresh roll of film loaded into the camera, another tucked into the pocket of your jeans. You’d been glad to get a little fresh air. That chemical smell really hits you as soon as you enter the building. Your initial enthusiasm to begin taking pictures wavers a bit when you realize a fundamental problem.

The security guard sees you hesitating as he finishes locking the door again. “What’s wrong?”

“The lighting.”

“Is that all? Easily fixed. Give me a moment.”

The tall man disappears back through the employee restricted area. Nothing. Then, everything happens all at once. The center stage curtains slide back. Rows of luminaires suddenly glow. A blossoming rainbow of bright primary colors. Neon signs on the checkerboard patterned walls humming. The arcade games switched back on. Digital music. Bright red scoreboard displays on skeeball lanes. A wave of nostalgia washes over you. This was more like what you remembered from your childhood. Staring open mouthed. Your gaze finally landing on Dave, leaning against the wall near the stage with his arms folded across his chest. Looking almost smug. Proud. Something.

“It all still works?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“It’s amazing.” You’re genuinely impressed. It takes you no time at all to fill the roll. Part of another. You’re excited. Wondering how they’ll look.

You settle into a booth near the stage across from Miller. Pop music from the eighties playing. The animatronics moving jerkily in time to the sound. You’re still taking it all in. Feeling your male companion’s eyes on you. Maybe it’s not impressive when you’re surrounded by it every day. You just think you’d be awfully tempted to play in the arcade if you worked here.

You glance down at the camera. Several shots left. You lift it to your face, focusing on Dave’s. He immediately blocks his features with his hand. “No. Not me.”

“Why not you? You have an interesting face.”

“I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“But you’re so photogenic,” you protest, lowering the camera. “They’re just for me, anyway. It’s not like I’m showing anyone else.”

He lowers his hand, scowling. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Hurry, before I change my mind.”

“Okay, can you just turn your face. There. Like that. Lean back a little.” You can feel his impatience wafting across the table. You’ll have to rush it a bit. “And…done.”

“I need to shut things down. Get back to the security office.”

“Awww. Okay, I get it.” Of course he was here to work. Guarding the property. Still, you wouldn’t have minded a little more time basking in the glory of retro Freddy’s.

“Are you coming with me?”

“To the security office?” He nods. “Am I allowed to go back there?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” That little secret smile again. You follow him back into the restricted area.

“Let me finish giving you the grand tour.”

The security guard leads you to a panel with the controls for all of the lighting and equipment, switching them all off. Past this there are several offices. Storage rooms. One massive section labeled Parts and Service that’s cluttered with equipment. Broken animatronics. Shapes that are hard to make out in the dim lighting and the older man makes no offer to brighten your view any further.

The tour ends in the security office itself.

Dated looking technology. Several monitors stacked on a battered desk. Yellowing plastic controls. Something about the flame retardant they’d used in old computers and other electronic devices, you remember reading somewhere. A poster of the lead animatronics and some children’s drawings tacked to the wall, including a trio of animals created out of construction paper and paper plates. A steel filing cabinet. A large clock that reminds you of the kind in your elementary school. A hardbacked chair tucked into the corner that he drags closer to the swivel one in front of the desk for you to sit on. A desk fan hums as it attempts to circulate the stale warm air around. He’d been right, you couldn’t really smell the cleaning solution back here. But the place was cramped, dreary. You can’t imagine spending eight hours stuck in this room. He sits in the office chair, that lean figure draping over the structure, spinning the chair slightly. Clearly waiting for you to sit.

You find yourself doing so stiffly. Close to the edge, as if you aren’t intending on staying long. Ready to bolt. You have this strong feeling that you don’t belong here. You’re definitely intruding. Trespassing, no matter what Dave says.

“So. Now you’ve seen what most visitors never get to. A behind the scenes peek.”

“It’s cool.” The nylon strap of your camera pulls at your neck. You’d never been overly fond of keeping it there.

“You know, it’s interesting. When we first met, I thought the animals were your vocation.”

“Oh, you mean the shelter? No, that’s just a part time gig I enjoy doing.”

“How is the rabbit?” The guard lifts a paper cup bearing the logo of a local fast food joint off the desk and takes a sip from the straw. Grimacing a bit. Probably watered down by now.

“Still there. Doing fine. We haven’t gotten anyone new. No one’s found a home, either.”

“How far along in your studies are you?”

“I’ve finished my first year, taking summer classes before heading into sophomore.”

Dave sets the cup back down. Looking at you. That perpetual look of amusement tugging his lips into a not quite smile. You don’t know what to make of it.

“You don’t look comfortable. You can sit back, you know. Nothing’s going to reach out and grab you.”

“I know.” You push back further into the chair. The movement makes the metal legs scrape the floor and you wince at the harsh sound. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long. This place has a bit of a high turnover. I had to fill in rather last minute.” A more defined smirk now. Almost sinister looking. Deep shadows under his ash gray eyes. He really is an insomniac like yourself.

“What did you do before this?”

“Oh, this and that,” Miller replies vaguely, stretching. First his long legs straight out in front of him. Then each arm, twisting to rotate both shoulders. Finally his neck, which cracks loudly.

“Do you get bored? I mean, I can’t imagine there’s that much excitement just staring at the monitors. Doing rounds in the dark. Unless you switch things on regularly…”

“No. That was a special occassion. Normally things are…yes, I guess they are quiet.” He’s hiding something. Changing what he’d been about to say. You’re certain of it.

“Must be lonely.”

Dave leans forward slightly, his hands clasping together. “That problem’s been solved, though, hasn’t it?”

A little somersault in your stomach. Not once since you’ve entered the restaurant has it occurred to you that you’re locked inside a building with a virtual stranger. In an establishment that had been shuttered because children had gone missing. Yet here you were, chatting it up in a restricted area. The man seated very close to you. “I can’t stay all night,” you say quickly. “Just so you know. I only stopped by to say hi.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves a hand in the air breezily, leaning back again. He really had such elegant hands. Speaking of which.

“How are your hands, by the way?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Healing quickly.” Holding up a palm for you to see the red lines that are already fading. “What’s your schedule like? We should go for another ride soon. Maybe get something to eat.”

“I don’t work at the shelter on the weekends. I do have a class on Saturday mornings, so…”

“Perfect. Anywhere in particular you want to be picked up? I know these days people tend to be…restrictive about revealing where they reside.”

“You have to be careful. There’s a man stalking women at my school.” Not that you were really being careful right now. But honestly, if he was going to try anything unsavory, wouldn’t he have done it already?

Dave frowns. “Really? What about campus security?”

“It’s not the greatest. I can tell you for a fact that…well, maybe it’s just them turning a blind eye,” you amend hurriedly. You’d been about to say you’d heard more than one person brag about getting lucky in the parking lots.

Miller’s not letting you off the hook that easily. “Tell me what for a fact?”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Nothing. Just…kids messing around and no one stops it.”

“Ah.” He folds his arm across his chest. “Well, it’s difficult when you’re young. Troublesome curfews. Nosy adults. Limited places to…engage in activities.”

“Yeah.” You squirm in your chair, wishing he’d change the subject.

“You live on campus or off?”

“Off. Apartment.”

“Hmm. So you don’t really have those concerns to worry about anymore, do you?”

Was he flirting? Suggesting something? It was so difficult to tell. “I guess not,” you mumble.

“Well, figure out what day and where to meet you and let me know. Easy enough since you know where to find me.”

It suddenly clicks that he hasn’t looked at the monitors even once since you’ve entered the room. You glance at them now and he seems to see the direction of your gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what’s going on.”

“How? Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

“Something like that.” Another one of those grins you don’t know how to interpret.

You stand finally, willing some feeling back into legs that were going numb from your awkward positioning. Dave escorts you back to the main entrance. “I’ll stop by again to let you know when I can go out.”

“I look forward to it. And bring the photographs with you. I’m curious to see how they turn out.” You nod, once again forced to press close to the guard when you exit the building. Maybe it was unintentional, but you’re fairly certain he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The question is, do you like it? Do you like him enough to come back again? To go out with him, spend more time together?

You feel his eyes on you the entire walk back to your car.

***

You should be studying anatomy. There’s an exam on the skeletal and muscular system on Wednesday.

Instead you’re back in the darkroom. Developing those film rolls from Freddy’s. The results are not what you’d expected.

The pictures of the restaurant came out fine—great, even. It’s just the ones of the animatronics that are wonky. A strange blurry effect on each that you can’t account for. It’s on every single image of the mascots, directly over their faces, and appears no where else. You just can’t make sense of it, disappointed that the iconic figures weren’t properly captured.

You’re holding a picture of Dave now, the print nearly completely dry. Eyes piercing right through the paper at you. Everything contrasting sharply. Pale skin. Almost as white as a ghost in the photograph. Dark messy hair. Those sooty smudged undereyes. The way his body is positioned, it looks as if he’s recoiling from the stage illumination nearby. Hunching into the shadowed recesses of the booth. The elegant line of his hands resting on the table. Tracking back up over the skinny black tie and silver badge to the epaulets bridging long neck and wide shoulders. Pouting lips. Those eyes demanding attention again.

It’s hot in the room suddenly. Pricks of perspiration on the back of your neck. You gather your things and step outside, squinting against the suddenly bright illumination of the hallway and the sun outdoors.

Back home you’ve got your textbook open. Over two hundred bones to learn. Fingers creeping repeatedly towards the folder beside your backpack. You tell yourself to focus. You keep seeing the blurred mascots. Dave’s eyes.

You’re going back tonight.

***

Dave Miller senses there’s a different energy in the air tonight.

That feeling one gets before the start of a thunderstorm. A charged sort of anticipation. Hairs lifting. A certain scent. One of Hurricane’s rare rain storms approaching. Bringing you with it.

He doesn’t waste his time in the security office. He’s outside by the entrance. Leaning against crumbling mortar. Listening to the hum of insects. The first muttered rumble from the heavens.

Your car engine. Twin lights in the darkness. Your approach slowing when you realize he’s standing there.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” Surprised to see him outdoors, he thinks.

“Yes. Just enjoying the weather.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love thunderstorms.” You halt when you’re still a good distance away.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” As if he doesn’t know. A slim folder that must contain the photos you’d taken the other day. He admits he’s curious to see them. It had been so long since anyone had captured images of the restaurant. Not since the disappearances. Interested to see what you think of them. What the establishment looks like through the lens of your camera. Through the focus of your eye.

“I’ve got the pictures. Um, some of them came out kind of weird.”

“Weird how?” He pushes off from the edge of the building. More thunder now, and a brief flash of lightning. The storm was drawing closer. “You should come inside before you get drenched and ruin those. It’s going to hit any second now.”

You finish your journey to his side. He holds the door open. The first drops of rain fall, sinking into his shirt, his hair. A kiss on one cheek. You hurry inside.

He relocks the door and leads you back to the security office. The sound of the rain is muted here.

You lay the folder on one of the few empty spaces on the cluttered desk.

“Have a seat.” He pushes the swivel office chair and you sink into it. The hardbacked one still hasn’t been returned to its former location. He neglects it, remaining standing. Looking over your seated form.

“The majority of them came out great. But the animatronics…” You withdraw a photograph and hand it to the security guard.

Miller studies the picture for a long time. He knows instantly what the strange hazy effect is. Fascinating that it had been captured on film.

He can hardly reveal what it truly is to you, though. So he shrugs and hands it back. “Something with the film itself, maybe. A defect. The lighting, perhaps. Maybe the motion—”

“—There’s nothing wrong with the film,” you say firmly. “Every other picture is fine. And it’s not the lighting or the movement, either.”

“So what do you think it is, then?”

You sigh and set them back inside the folder face down. “I don’t know.”

“May I see the rest?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hand the stack to him.

He’s certainly not an expert on photography, but he can see you’ve got a good eye for it. It’s not simply a collection of random snapshots. There’s a variety in terms of focus. Attention to detail. Instead of an entire arcade machine, a close up of the joystick controller, the lit screen adding a hazy pop of color to the background. A close study of the artwork on a pinball machine between the levers. The way the lighting shines through a long vacant glass sitting forgotten on one of the tables. A kind of eerie beauty to it. Haunting. And it was haunted. You’d captured it. You just didn’t know it.

The images of himself are at the end of the pile. These he doesn’t linger on. He’s thinking of the press. Nosy journalists invading his privacy. He’d looked different then. Heavier. Known for being cheerful, friendly, approachable. Until he’d lost his youngest son. Until the disappearances. Losing the joy from life. Food tasting like ash. No longer comforting. The smile evolving into what it is today. A smirk over a private joke only he can enjoy.

Dave hands the photographs back to you. “What will you do with them?”

“I don’t know. Put them in a binder, I guess.”

“You’re talented. Gifted, I dare say.”

“I guess.” You seem discouraged. Disappointed that the pictures weren’t what you’d hoped they’d be.

“Nothing is ever as clear as a memory. Nor as deceiving,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He glances at his wristwatch. “You’re here very late. It’s nearly four.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You struggle with that a lot.”

“So do you.”

“When do you want me to take you out? If you don’t mind hanging around for a couple more hours, my shift will be over. We can go out to breakfast if you’d like.”

“Okay.” You’re nervous. He can feel the energy of it, not unlike that tension that had preceded the storm outside. “What are we going to do for two hours?” This said softly, as if you’re reluctant to voice the query.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

You start to rise from your seat. “You can sit here if you’d rather…”

“No. Stay.” The guard slouches into the empty chair next to yours and hooks one foot underneath the wheeled bar at the bottom, dragging you closer in one smooth motion. A little gasp from you at the abrupt shift in your position. “You spent a long time looking at that picture of me.”

“What?” You’re blushing. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You know how I know? Because your fingerprints are all over it. Only that one. Not even your…interesting captures of Freddy and the gang have that much attention on them.”

“I just…I just think your face is interesting,” you murmur defensively.

“Interesting how?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyes evade his.

“Suddenly shy when you’ve been bold enough to come here not once, but twice. Why do you think that is?” You shrug, shaking your head. “This is going to be a very long two hours if the conversation continues to be one sided.”

“Maybe I should go.”

His lips press into a thin line. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “If that’s what you want.” Your eyes finally meet his. “What, did you think I was holding you prisoner? Come. Go. Entirely your decision.”

“I need you to unlock the door.”

“Of course.” He shoves the chair back roughly, watching you hesitate over the folder sitting on the desk. “Keep them. You wanted them.”

“The rain…”

“Fine. I’ll drop them off some other time when you’re working. Or you can come collect them.”

You exit the office empty handed and he walks behind you. You have no trouble finding your way back to the entrance now.

Through the glass doors he can see the rain is torrential. Sheets of moisture that cascade down, the sky weeping furiously. You’re staring at the deluge, wide eyed.

“You’re sure you want to go out in that?”

“Yes.” Your voice wavers but you’re already reaching for the handle.

“The driving could be dangerous,” he cautions.

“I’ll manage.” You shove the door open. The scent of petrichor. Warm, wet air. You inhale deeply. Bracing yourself. Darting into the downpour.

You nearly make it to your car. Turn to look back in his direction and stumble, going down. An arc of lightning illuminates your soaked form.

Dave curses, exiting the building. Instantly drenched, clothing plastered to skin. Lifting you to your feet. A deep, jagged tear in the asphalt nearby causes you to lose your footing again, but he holds you upright.

“My ankle, I think I…”

It’s difficult to hear you, forced to compete with the sound of the storm. Rainwater runs into his eyes. He impatiently shoves at the damp tendrils of hair plastered against his face, scooping you up into his arms before you can even react, carrying you back to the restaurant.

You wince when he sets you down to open the door.

“Can you walk at all? Bear weight?”

You bite your lip, nodding. Limping inside, leaning heavily on the older man’s shoulder. The door hisses shut. The sound of water pattering on the linoleum. He crouches down, moving the hem of your damp jeans and peeling down the wet ankle sock. Gently probing. “Sprain, most likely. Come sit down.” He drags one of the chairs from the nearby tables for you to sit on.

“How can you tell?”

“Because my eldest son had a knack for getting sports injuries.”

“You have a child?”

“Three.”

“Are you married?”

“Was.” He yanks another chair over and sits next to you. “What?”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“They don’t live with me. They’re…grown now. Gone. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just…I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t really know anything about you.”

“You could have started learning. You know, over breakfast today, for example. Except that idea seemed unacceptable to you, so, here we are.” He rakes a hand through his damp tresses again. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

“I got scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what? Of me? What did I do?”

He watches you tentatively stretch your injured foot out, grimacing. “Nothing. I just…I don’t know. I got nervous all of a sudden. I don’t really know you,” you repeat again.

“So get to know me, then.”

“Alright. I’m sorry you got wet.”

“Wet is putting it mildly,” he mutters.

“Okay. Drenched.”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me go grab the first aid kit. I can wrap your ankle, stabilize it. Get some ice from the freezer. I always keep some made. And you should keep that leg elevated,” he adds, standing and moving his chair so you can rest your foot on it.

Miller returns shortly with the supplies. Kneeling down. Unlacing your canvas sneaker. Pulling off the shoe and sock as gently as he can. Winding the elastic compression around the swollen joint, then setting a plastic bag full of ice chips on top of it.

“Thank you. You’re good at that. Gentle.”

“Like I said, a lot of practice. It’s the exact treatment you’d get if you went to urgent care.” He straightens.

“Are you close with your kids still?”

A long pause. “No. Not by choice, just…it’s complicated.” He notices you staring again. This time at his arms. The single layer of the shirt can’t conceal the scars beneath, the red patterns peeking through the damp material. “There’s a lot to unpack. With me. It’s going to be an investment. A commitment. This isn’t some teenage romance. You’re with an adult. An entirely different playing field. So you should be certain that’s what you want.”

He sees you swallow. Hears it, even. “Okay.” Your voice cracks a little. “Okay,” you repeat more firmly.

“Not going to run again?” Shifting some of your damp strands of hair now. Grazing your cheek. Your gaze still holding steady.

“No.”

“You know if you hadn’t looked back, you probably wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I felt bad.”

“Why?”

“For leaving you behind.”

“You’re not going to make that mistake again, though, are you?” His thumb drags against your lower lip. “Because you want to stay. You want this.” You nod slightly, your face moving against his fingers.

Dave smiles.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader

[darksolace18]

Joyride

Biker!Namjoon x reader

Authors note : This will be based on the fanart picture above. Friggin biker BTS au has me in a chokehold.

Masterlist

--------------------------------------------------

One thing Namjoon hated, was stereotypes.

People tended to club up pastel+soft appearance = Soft girl who is kind, loved to read and do all those soft aesthetic stuff.

Or, for instance, Pierced guy with tattoos + motorcycle + leather = Bad boy who hooks up with everything has a pulse with no academic interest and most probably bullies nerds.

He had been in such circumstances a lot of times, where his personality was misinterpreted due to his fashion sense.

Yes he had tattoos, yes he had a very sexy looking bike and loved riding it, yes he looked everything like a bad boy.

But yes, he also loved to study, read books and write soft and gentle music.

He had an IQ 148 for a reason.

But still, truth is, he is clumsy. Very very clumsy. But he is never clumsy during riding a bike.

But this time, staring at you through the modern looking glass wall of the bakery you were working at, as your eyes locked in with his, he fucking lost his balance and crashed right on the gravel floor as his bike skid away from him.

The streets were empty at this hour, but a few passer-by had gasped and crowded around him, asking if he is alright.

He groaned, feeling a thick liquid run down his forehead as he cradled his right arm, which made the veins of his forehead pop out in pain.

There was a loud shout, a female voice, shouting at the crowd to stop crowding him as gentle hands held his face, lightly slapping his cheeks.

"Stay awake, stay awake, open your eyes, that's it, that's it, your doing great" The voice, sweet as tingling bells, praised him as he droopily kept his eyes open.

His vision was slightly blurred, but he could very well make out your features as you gently tried to pull him up.

You groaned at his weight, after all, he was pure muscles.

He would have chuckled in some other scenario, but it even hurt to breathe.

"Can-Can anyone hold him for a minute?" You say, trying to keep steady on your feet.

He whines at the loss of your lovely warmth as some other man held onto him.

"Hey, stay awake mate. " The guys voice entered his eardrums in a painful jab.

He wanted you to hold him.

But soon, he heard the very familiar roar of his bike.

His senses heightened, feeling angry and ready to spew shit to anyone who touched his precious bike but then-

Then-

His brain sputtered and stuttered. His thoughts going to a standstill. He could only hear the throb and beat of his heart in his ears and the pain in his forearm.

You sat perched on his bike, dressed in the soft pink shirt and brown trousers with the familiar bakery apron, as you ordered the man holding him to gently help him sit behind you.

He could not have asked for a better vision before his death.

The bike was the typical black Kawasaki Ninja ZX 4R, and seeing you sit on it with you back arched, leaning forward, it did something inside him.

But sadly, his sex appeal in that state was similar to a chicken nugget.

Slowly and steadily, he was set on the back of the raised seat of the bike, uncomfortablly flopped onto your body, breathing hard.

Is this how girls feels whenever they would sit on the back of the bike?

His ass felt like it was sitting on a pin. And his height did not help him at all.

At this rate he would fall off.

But, suprisingly, you grabbed his arms and wrapped it around your full waist, ordering him to hold on tight before you took.

Namjoon had seriously underestimated you.

You looked a soft, shy girl when he saw you through the glass window who did not know anything about being cool or whatever this was.

And he was pleasantly, happily regretful.

You knew how to ride a bike. How cool is that?!!!

"Stay awake, don't close your eyes! Talk to me, what your name?" He heard you yell over the sound of wind.

"I AM awake, thanks for asking. But i would like to know yours at first" He says, a small smile on his lips, groaning occasionally at the painful thumbs on his forearm. It must be broken but, how is he not screaming and crying right now?

You let out something similar to a laugh "I asked first!"

"Namjoon, Kim Namjoon at your service ma'am" he replies.

"Well, right now it's me who is in service. I hope you don't mind me using your bike to escort you, do you?" You speak out, words filled with mirth.

He grinned "Use it as much as you want. You look sexy anyways"

He cursed internally. This isn't how he usually advances on girls, but right now his pain made him do useless things.

But, surprisingly, you laughed yet again "Why thank you Namjoon, but I don't know if it's you or your fear of life speaking" you said as you smartly manouvered through the traffic and also the twists and turns of road.

"It's me speaking. I can see your a proffessional" he says, happily nuzzling into your neck.

"Namjoon, it tickles." You deadpan.

"Oh shit im-"

"Chill dude, why are you getting so shy? You weren't so when you were blatantly staring at me. Do you do that always?" You ask.

He shakes his head as no, his energy depleting more and more as his eyelids turned heavier.

"Don't fall asleep on a pretty girl joon, the hospital is here" you nudge him with your shoulder and keep him awake.

Soon enough, the view of the hospital came into his sight and immediately, he felt his body give out.

Well, so much for keeping up a charming appearance.

The next time he opened his eyes, he swore he saw a great wakening light.

But it turns out it was just the vicious lightbulb in his hospital room.

He felt woozy and his right hand felt heavier than usual. His throat was parched as he reached for a cup of water.

But soon, a cup had been put infront of his mouth, filled with water and urging him to drink.

Putting his lips on it, the cup tilted up as the cool refreshing water slowly trickled down his throat.

"How do you feel"

On hearing the voice, Namjoon instantly spat out thelast remains of water and coughed as water entered his sinuses.

He didn't expect you to be there.

"I think at this point I'm a hazard to your health." You say cheekily as you start to peel an orange, sitting beside him in a chair.

Namjoon blushed, hard. Why were you still there?

"Eat up" an orange was forwarded towards him.

Namjoon turned and looked at you and cursed a little.

You were out of the clothes he had last seen on you. Instead sporting a sweet yellow coloured sundress with white polka dots printed on it, your hair loosely braided.

Namjoon swear he could kiss you right now, you looked so pretty, so beautiful.

"Stop staring. You were out for 2 full days" you say as you stuff the orange in his mouth, unable to hold your hand up any longer.

"You have a broken hand and slight bruising on your ribs. Thankfully, no concussion. But i dont think your family of seven boys will be as soft as me" You said, looking at him straight in his eyes.

Namjoon's eyes widened. You even met his brothers?!

Namjoon felt a little self conscious, he wasn't the most attractive in his friends group, what if you started to like someone else there?

Namjoon's mood visibly flattened, as he slowly chewed on the orange.

You noticed his fallen expression almost immediately. Your heartstring tugging at you slightly as an innate urge to pat this pouty man's head came over you.

Unlike his exterior, he was pretty cute.

You had slightly freaked out when he passed out completely on your back on the bike, nearly falling off of it.

She managed to make it through the remaining distance and immediately screamed at the medical staff for immediate assistance.

They were quick and soon he was admitted and his brothers were contacted.

You sat there outside the emergency room for about an hour before 6 screaming voices were heard and 6 figures clad in various mismatched outfits barrelled through the glass doors.

"WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS KIM NAMJOON?!" A guy with broad shoulders, strikingly handsome face which was red due to the amount of screaming came into your view.

You waved at them, ushering them towards you.

"Yes hello, he is in the emergency room for now." You informed them as they tensed up.

A young boy with several piercings and a shy demeanor stepped forward, eyes darting around nervously "W-well...will help be alright?" He asked.

You gave him a comforting smile, nodding at him "A nurse informed me, he will survive. It wasn't anything major, just a broken hand and a gashes forehead and several other scratches and all that. They are just doing the final check up and will soon shift him to the general ward." You informed.

They visibly sagged their tensed shoulders, relieved.

Another silver haired guy, who strangely resembled a cat stepped forward and nodded at you "Thank you for your help, if you please, we want to pay you for your generous help. And also can you please tell us where his bike is so we can bring it back?"

You took a step back, eyes blown wide with a frantic expression "No no, I don't want money. Absolutely not. And don't worry about the bike, it's parked in the parking lot. I drove him here on it. And riding that bike was enough gift for me"

The guy's eyes widened "You rode that bike here? With him on your back?"

You nodded as a reply.

Before they could continue, the same nurse came out and informed them that he is stable but will be out for 1 or 2 days because of the sedatives to help him rest.

You heaved a sigh of relief too. You could finally feel the sticky feeling of dried blood on your back as it started to itch. This shirt was ruined.

"Yeah so, I'll get going now. Please tell him a get well soon from my side" You bow to them and head towards the exit before the silver haired man stopped you.

"W-would you visit him tomorrow again? I'm sure he would like to thank you properly" he told you.

Thinking about it, you really did want to visit him.

He caught your eye afterall.

You nod at him with a big smile "Yeah, if you don't mind I mean"

The broad shouldered guy shook his head aggressively "No no, Absolutely not, your welcome here anytime miss".

Two days passed since then,you would visit him with a basket of fruits or small muffins with you everytime you were free from work.

You also bonded with the brothers well by that time, and the youngsters practically loved the muffins you brought.

"So uh, what next?" Namjoon's voice interrupted your thoughts, as he looks at you with a forlorn look.

"Hm...I wanted to ask you something Kim, if you don't mind" You ask him, leaning towards him slightly.

"Uh yeah, anything" Namjoon felt his face heat up a little at the slight proximity.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" You ask, completely throwing Namjoon off at the straightforward question.

Namjoon felt like a high school girl with a crush, all red faced and stuttering and stumbling in front of his crush.

"I uh- yes?" He uttered out, making you raise your eyebrows.

"Is it a question or an answer?" You quiz.

He immediately shakes his head "NO NO, I mean I would love to go on a date, if you want to i mean"

You smirk at him and continue to peel more oranges.

"so....is that a yes?" Namjoon asks, quite unsure of your expression.

You look up at him and hand him yet another orange "After you get discharge, rest for a week, then bring your bike out at the central plaza. We can go bike riding as a date" you tell him, popping a orange in your mouth this time.

He flushes up, the image of you sitting sexily on a bike was NOT what he wanted to imagine with you infront. But he couldn't help it.

"FINALLY, MY BABY BROTHER IS GETTING THAT ASS!!!" A very loud voice, interrupted them yet again. Making Namjoon groan.

"FUCK OFF SEOKJIN" He yelled, embarrassed out of his wits as the girl laughed out loud beside him.

"YAH! WHERE ARE YOUR HONORIFICS YOU SHIT MONSTER".

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