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laurfilijames · 7 months ago

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Pick Me Up

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Unprotected intercourse. Hair pulling.

Summary: After being apart for over a week due to his obligations to the club, Jax surprises you by picking you up from work and taking you for a ride.

A/N: I wanna ride with Jax on his bike and then get absolutely destroyed by him, okay?

(Reader is not described other than having hair long enough to blow in the wind and be pulled)

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The word terrible didn’t touch how your week had been so far.

You said goodnight to your coworker who lingered behind, your exhaustion and irritation unable to be hidden from your voice even though it was only a few words, and you slung your bag over your shoulder as your heavy feet carried you down the hallway and out the back door.

The sun was still hot, and you paused and closed your eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath as you let its warmth shine on you, having arrived at work before it had even risen and not stepped foot outside the building all day.

It felt rejuvenating, and you felt the tension in your neck and shoulders fall away as you reopened your eyes and took a step forward again, walking around the corner to where your car was parked while wondering if you should treat yourself to some take out for dinner tonight. Then you remembered the chicken and salad you had in the fridge, feeling guilty if you let it go to waste, and sighed, thinking how you just wanted this week to be over, having not gotten any of the things you wanted anyway.

You flipped your keys around the ring that you held in your hand, the one for your car now secured between your thumb and index finger, ready to unlock it and start your drive home.

That’s when you noticed him.

Part of the contributing factor to your sour mood was leaning against his Harley, smoking the last of his cigarette while his blond hair glowed like a halo on his head, his crooked smile greeting you as he squinted in the sunlight and stood.

It had been nine days since you last laid eyes on Jax.

Nine agonizing days that had you questioning everything you had with the gorgeous outlaw, and despite how much you wanted to give him hell, everything in you felt relieved to see him.

He strutted over to you, flicking the butt of his cigarette on the pavement as he made his approach, his cocky swagger never ceasing to make heat rise up through your body.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” you quipped, tilting your head as you watched him deflate slightly and look down at his pristine white sneakers, kicking a pebble before looking back at you with a shrug.

“I’m sorry.”

You nodded, not trusting your words to come out like ice.

“I miss you,” he added softly, closing the space between you where he gently grabbed your elbow and rested his forehead against yours, the contact making your stomach burst with butterflies while your heart ached in your chest.

“I miss you too,” you admitted, unable to deny it or keep it in despite telling yourself countless times that you wouldn’t give in so easily this time.

He smiled again, the rise of the corner of his mouth pulling out the crease on his cheek you missed so much, bringing your finger up to trace it before he pulled you into a hug and swayed on the spot with you.

You found yourself relaxing in his embrace, essentially melting into him as you always did, letting your cheek rest against the soft flannel shirt that he wore under his kutte, and you nuzzled yourself further into him, inhaling his scent of smoke, fresh laundry and cologne, your hands slipping beneath his shirt to card up his back.

“So, what are you doing here, Jax?” you asked, parting from him enough to see his face.

“I wanted to pick my girl up from work…make up for lost time…”

You smiled, watching his cheeks blush as his blue eyes moved down to look at your lips.

“Don’t think I was happy being away from you for that long either,” he explained, moving in close to you again while grabbing your ass at the same time.

“Jax!” You squirmed, checking behind you to make sure there was no one around who could be looking.

His chuckle sang to you, and when he angled his face down to capture your lips, you forgot about caring if anyone saw.

He pressed his hips into you as he deepened your kiss, claiming your mouth in a way that made you dizzy, his hands moving to hold either side of your face as he indulged in what he was clearly genuine in having missed.

“Come on,” he spoke in a lazy drawl, pulling away ever so slightly so that his lips still hovered on yours. “I’m taking you for a ride.”

You bit your lower lip, excited for your adventure while hoping he meant that in more ways than one, following him over to his bike with your hand secured in his.

Jax unclipped the spare helmet you always wore from the back and placed it on your head, gently feeding the strap through the loops to fasten it, the simple touch of his fingers on your chin making you yearn for him even though he was so close.

“There,” he said, smiling at you again when he had finished securing your helmet with the snap at the end of the strap, leaning in to kiss you softly. “You ready?”

You hummed and nodded, returning his smile as he winked at you and reached for his own helmet.

He sat on his bike, adjusting himself on the seat while he turned the key in the ignition and flicked the switch to the fuel pump, the loud, powerful rumble of the engine vibrating through you when it started up.

Jax looked over his shoulder at you and titled his head for you to hop on, gripping the handlebars with both hands as you positioned yourself behind him and he lifted the kickstand with his foot. You scooched forward until you were flush with his body, the sensation of your core pressing against him something you had been missing desperately, and you had no shame in tucking your hands up under his layers of shirts so they splayed out on his bare skin, feeling the trail of coarse hairs that disappeared in his jeans with your fingertips.

Riding with Jax was equally calming and exhilarating, feeling safe as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, but also free with how the wind made your hair fly, the gusts pressing against your body with powerful force as you traveled against it. He was no different; a risk, dangerous, but providing all you needed to feel like you were actually living, each moment spent with him making you come alive while simultaneously enveloping you in the safety of his arms, the proximity to his circumstance another thing that had your life walking the line between threatened and protected.

Despite it all, you would always choose him, knowing he would, and always had, chosen you over everything else, nothing able to stand in your way.

His hand dropped to rest on your thigh as he cruised, and you held him closer to you even though you had the freedom to ease up on your grip around his waist at this speed, feeling his stomach move as he chuckled.

Pulling up to a stop sign, Jax placed his foot down on the road, pausing even though no other vehicles were around to wait for. He twisted as much as he could, his head turning to look over his shoulder at you, his smile warming your soul as it always did.

“You okay back there?”

“Perfect,” you replied, seeing his grin grow wider, his eyes scrunching up at the sides.

“Hey,” he said, tapping his cheek with his finger and puckering his lips, requesting a kiss from you.

You happily did, pressing your lips into the blond scruff on his rosy cheek, feeling him hum against you.

It obviously wasn’t enough to satisfy him though, angling his face even more so he could reach your lips with his, his tongue dancing briefly in your mouth that sparked even more want and longing in you.

A car honked, annoyed and impatient with your obliviousness to the rules of the road, making you break your kiss earlier than you both wanted.

Jax scoffed and gave the driver the finger, earning another blare of the horn that made you laugh and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your lips gently pressing against his heated skin.

“Just fucking go then!” he yelled at the driver. “Jesus Christ…” he chuckled, shaking his head as he patted your thigh. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Where are we going?”

He smirked, a bit of mischief sparkling in his blue eyes, “I’m taking you home, baby.”

You bit your lip in anticipation of the promises held in his voice and his eyes, readjusting your hold around his torso as he pushed off the pavement and rolled through the intersection, turning left to head back into town and in the direction of home.

Golden rays still cast down on you as you rumbled along, the glow of the setting sun even more of a glorious view from the open air of his motorcycle, but nothing ever compared to him.

You squealed when Jax opened it up, twisting the throttle to add more speed, the bike easing forward smoothly but still a noticeable enough change to make your stomach jump. His laugh sounded out over the noise of the bike and the roar of the wind in your ears, making you giggle in response and smile harder, your hair catching on your parted lips as it blew around your face when he pushed his bike to go even faster.

“Hold on, darlin’!”

Those exact words were said again now, only his tone was completely different.

He was out of breath and panting, each word slow to come out and decorated by his efforts, his low grunts of pleasure a contrast to how bright and playful his warning had been earlier.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised from behind you, watching as you took hold of the headboard in front of you for support.

Jax gripped your hips and pulled you back, forcing your bum up and against his groin while your back sank into an exaggerated dip, seating himself even deeper inside your cunt that he had already been buried in for the better part of an hour now.

Resuming his pace, he thrusted in and out of you, dragging his thick cock slowly out before slamming it back in again, each blow making you whine and moan louder than before.

Having edged you the entire time, you were close, each movement a threat to unravel you completely, the longer he fucked you the further you came from being able to hold back your imminent orgasm.

Your bodies were wet, sweat and sex covering every inch of skin, your hair a mess and hanging in your face, sticking to your swollen, moist lips just as it had when you were on the back of his bike.

Long fingers raked through your tangled tresses, collecting it all into one of his hands with a twist and tugging on it enough it pulled at your scalp and made you shiver, angling your head back toward him where he leaned forward and kissed your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good, darlin’,” he murmured, still thrusting into you at a forceful, precise pace. “You stay right here for me.”

He kept a tight grip on your hair, knowing it was wrapped around his fingers just like his rings were, keeping yourself where he’d positioned you out of fear that if you faltered and fell forward it would sting more than it already did.

Your hands secured their hold on the headboard, bracing yourself for what you hoped would be your demise, a lazy smile creeping on your parted lips when he continued to kiss and nip at your neck, his tongue swiping long strokes up to your ear where his breath followed to dance on the patch of wet skin he created.

“I love you,” he breathed, his voice soft as his mouth lingered on the shell of your ear, making your smile grow larger and tears spring out the corners of your eyes right before he upped his tempo and started fucking you with all he had, a gasp blowing out of your lungs that changed into wimpers and cries that filled the room.

“Jax - fuck! - I love you too,” you moaned, your head tipping to the side slightly only to be righted by him repositioning you by your hair.

“I know you do, darlin’,” he said through a smile you could hear playing on his voice, another unhinged sound spilling off your lips when he reached his other hand around your body to land on your cunt, two of his fingers roughly massaging your clit. “Now you be a good girl and cum for me,” he added, his words making you crumble and obey as soon as they were spoken.

The headboard shook and slapped against the wall as he pounded you harder, the secure clasp you still managed to have on it making it move violently to the sway of your body, and you wailed as you felt yourself gush around his cock that slammed in and out of you mercilessly.

The tension that ripped through your limbs eventually subsided into a relaxed, almost numb feeling, every part of you tingling and awoken, allowing you to focus on him, hearing his feral grunts as he finally unloaded himself inside you with a stuttering push of his hips.

As his cock pulsed and twitched inside your walls, he pulled on your hair more, bringing you closer to him as he met you halfway, his body collapsing over yours heavily, his mouth sucking and marking your neck with sloppy kisses.

A blissed-out chuckle came out of him as he fell onto the bed on his side, taking you with him while remaining buried in you, his arms enveloping you in a warm, lazy embrace that displayed all the addicting feelings that followed sex. Your legs tangled together, a soft hum passing your lips as you felt his stomach rise and fall against your back as he worked to catch his breath, his hand languidly running up and down your arm appreciatively.

Jax nuzzled his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he was trying to consume every bit of you, his warm exhale ghosting over the sensitive skin that he had made raw with his scruff.

“I really did miss you,” he admitted, and the tone of his voice solidified that you couldn’t doubt that it was true for a second.

You smiled, reaching for his hand and bringing it up to your lips, pressing a kiss on each bruised knuckle and then over the rings that adorned them.

When he eventually slipped out of you, he rolled you over to face him, pulling you onto his body so you half-covered his, your leg hooking to rest high on his waist.

His hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down as he stared at you lovingly, the light in his eyes matching his smile.

He was the sun itself in your world, and like the moon, you'd chase him into each day to rid yourself of the shadows, unashamed to love him for everything he was.

Your heart swelled as he smiled bigger at you, the creases beside his mouth coming out, and you traced along the one with your finger, looking at him beam as if he hadn't committed heinous crimes in the name of the patch worn so proudly on his back and inked into the skin you so fiercely loved.

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing your face closer to his so you were able to rub your nose back and forth on his.

A small laugh that turned into a hum blew out of him, his arms pulling you closer to his warmth.

“Anything for you, darlin',” he drawled, his exhaustion showing in his words.

He met your lips with his, softly brushing a kiss on them before capturing them fully, moving so you were guided onto your back and he laid his body over yours, proving that no matter how much energy he'd already expended in loving you, he wasn't nearly done yet.

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Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller smut #charlie hunnam #jax teller x female reader #jax teller x reader #charlie hunnam characters #sons of anarchy fic #jax teller fic

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icky-rickyy · 4 months ago

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Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine #motorcycle #street bike #motorbike

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starqueen87 · 6 months ago

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BEN HARDY (1921-1994)

Custom motorcycle builder Ben Hardy was born Benjamin F. Hardy on July 25, 1921, in Los Angeles, California. However, historical data regarding his family, upbringing, and obituary have yet to be recovered from the annals of time.

After World War II, as the United States experienced a slight depression with high unemployment, and California had an unemployment rate of 8.8% compared to a national average of 3.9% in 1946, Hardy established Hardy’s Motorcycle Service shop in South Central Los Angeles, located at 1168 E. Florence Avenue. He built two ‘Billy’ bikes and three’ Captain Americas,’ made at that time from a 20-year-old, heavily customized Harley-Davidson Panhead, with the assistance of another Black motorcycle builder, Cliff Vaughn, the most famous motorcycles ever made.

Los Angeles, California, was a city divided and segregated along racial lines, and it did not welcome Hardy and his creation into the mainstream motorcycle world. However, Hardy and Black motorcyclists continued riding the typical ‘Billy’ bike in their limited circle. In the 1950s, during the high point of Jim Crow, some viewed the camaraderie of riding a customized Harley chopper creatively in a group as a revolutionary act.

In 1969, Hardy’s chopper was showcased in the iconic 1969 motorcycle film Easy Rider, in which two bikers travel through the Southwest and South of the U.S. with lots of money from a cocaine deal. His bikes were duplicated for this movie if mechanical failure or wreckage during film shortage were anticipated. The film Easy Rider brought in more than $60 million; however, Hardy was inadequately recognized and did not benefit financially from the movie’s success.

In 2014, 20 years after the death of Hardy, the Captain America bike sold for $1.35 million. Four years later, in 2018, Hardy’s work was featured in the “Black Chrome” at the California African American Museum. This exhibit, sponsored by the Automobile Club of Southern California, the most prominent member of the AAA Federation of Motor Clubs, was about the historical development of African American motorcycle culture. A replica of Hardy’s Captain America bike is housed in one of Germany’s largest motorcycle collections at the German Two-Wheeler and NSU Museum in northern Baden-Württemberg.

Ben Hardy died in 1994. He was 74.

#Ben Hardy #motocycle #builder #los angeles #california #read about him #amazing #talented #gifted #knowledge is power #african american history #black history

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bluebellhairpin · 1 year ago

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Tamed.

Kenny Ackerman X Reader

Summary: Working as a bartender you meet a lot of different people. Kenny Ackerman just happens to be one of your regulars. Maybe a friend. Perhaps more.

Warnings: Swearing. Kinda Perv Kenny (but he's a good Uncle so it cancels out ig). Canon Character Death. Reader; drinks alcohol, is called 'sweetheart', refers to themselves as ' the mothering type', otherwise is g/n.

Listening to: 'More Than a Feeling' by Boston - "So many people have come and gone. Their faces fade as the years go by yet I still recall as I wander on, as clear as the sun in the summer sky - it's more than a feeling."

Masterlist || Ko-Fi || Slice of Life Collab

You’d been working at The Lake for two years. They would’ve been quite a pleasant two years working the local watering hole, if not for your own personal demon leering over your shoulder most nights.

Kenny Ackerman.

It wasn’t that he was an awful guy. His more sleazy words and looks were only ever that, words and looks. He dared never lay such sleazy hands on anyone - which was half the reason he had never been kicked out. It was mostly due to his endearing quality of how quick he was to throw hands with other patrons - the rowdy ones who deserved to be thrown out to begin with - and he almost loved doing the honours of telling people not to come back too much.

Either way, he was more annoying than anything else. Plain old annoying.

Kenny was so closed off that - even after two years of shifts that ended at 1AM where you stumbled out from exhaustion after closing, and he stumbled out beside you from one too many beers - you couldn’t even say you knew his favourite colour. But…

You did know he rode a Harley Davidson which roared into the parking lot almost every night you worked. He’d tempted you with a ride home on it multiple times, and you’d yet to agree - and as much as you itched to take him up on the offer, the unspoken cat and mouse game you’d started wasn’t going to be ended by you.

You knew he had a tattoo that stretched over the back of his shoulders - thanks to a New Year's bet that he wouldn’t completely strip and jump off the jetty into the lake (the one the bar was named after). He won over a hundred dollars that night, and promptly shouted everyone their next drink. The tattoo read ��Ripper’ in big gothic block letters. Not that you remembered on purpose - anyone would remember a tattoo like that, you told yourself.

You knew he had a sister - he didn’t talk about her much, but he brought a woman in with him once and told you “not to worry your pretty head” about it. She was a pretty little thing, with dark hair and eyes that matched his. She had a manner to her that spoke of a kind soul with thick skin. You liked her, but you’d yet to see her again.

And you knew he was one of the only patrons of The Lake who could pull off a greasy mullet. Or sing Redgum karaoke while barely being able to stand and still make it sound good. Hell, that somehow made it sound more real, the guy had you almost pouring a martini through tears.

You had guessed that tonight would be just like any other.

It wasn’t.

Thursday’s were about as uninhabited as The Lake got. On a night so humid, and with no reason to get out of the house, no one was around. A storm was smelt in the air, one evening spent at home wasn’t a worry for anyone, if only to save themselves from being caught in the rain.

Hearing Kenny’s bike rumble into his usual spot was no difficult feat on a night so quiet. You’d just finished fishing out a new box of beer bottles for a fridge behind the bar that was lacking when he walked in. What had you stopping mid-step with your mouth open wide enough to catch flies was who he had with him.

“Whose fucking kid is that Kenny?”

Nothing but the sound of The Rolling Stones answered your question. “I could not foresee this thing happening to you.” The jukebox sang.

Yet the state of the child whose bicep was in a vice grip between Kenny’s fingers only raised even more questions. His face wall sunken in, and eyes blown wide as if taking in the world for the first time. He looked awful.

Kenny walked over to the bar, dragging the poor boy beside him and pulling him up onto a bar stool before sliding onto one himself. You sat the box down on the floor, looking at Kenny expectantly.

“What food you got?”

“Depends what you’re looking for.” Kenny looked down at the boy, pointing vaguely.

“Hasn't eaten in,” they both shared a quiet look, “A while.”

“M’kay.” You ducked into the back room, telling your chef/manager/accountant/boss that an actual meal was needed tonight, then returned with a pre-made peanut bowl. You slid it down in front of the kid, turning again behind the bar to make up a glass of water and passing it to him also.

Then you turned to Kenny.

“I know you don’t like telling people stuff, but for that kid’s sake I’m gonna have to ask you what you’re doing with him.” You said, eyeing the boy as he plunged his hand into the bowl of peanuts. “You don’t really give off ‘dad’ vibes, deadbeat or otherwise, and I really hope you didn’t kidnap him.” He just scoffed.

“Can I get a whiskey.” he said, looking up at you, “Or are you just good for not minding your business and looking pretty?”

“I’m trying to make sure you’re not doing bad guy shit. I can let the lewd comments slide, but if you’re doing stuff with a kid you’re not supposed to I’m gonna call the cops.” you said, “No need to be rude about it.”

You turned to grab the top shelf whiskey as he lifted a hand to push back his hair. He sighed deeply and hunched over as you placed a glass in front of him.

“He’s my sister’s.” Kenny admitted quietly. “She’s… Died. I’ve got him for tonight. At least.” His words sent a cold but quick shock down your spine. “One step better than government housing or wherever.” You recovered quickly even though his openness had left you grasping at straws for what to say next. It wasn’t like him to give away so much information.

“I’m sorry.” you’d said, resting your hands on your workbench, then after a few long moments added, “What’s his name?”

“Levi.”

The boy lifted his eyes at the sound of his name, but otherwise didn’t move from his now highly converted bowl of nuts. From the way his hands cradled the bowl, it didn’t look like he’d be sharing them anytime soon. You looked at him, properly, and saw nothing but how sad he must be feeling.

You didn’t know Kenny well, but you knew him. Enough to know that he was not someone friendly enough for some kid who just lost his mum - whether he was their uncle or not. But could you do about it? You weren’t exactly the mothering type either.

Thunder cracked in the not-too-far distance as you poured the boy another glass of water.

You hadn’t seen Kenny for a week.

That was unusual mostly because the longest he’d gone without frequenting your bar was about three days. If you’d known his address, you would’ve visited just to make sure he hadn’t died while looking after his nephew.

When he finally showed up, you almost didn’t notice him. If it wasn’t for him tapping the bar - a way of asking for a whiskey on the rocks that only he used - he would’ve completely flown under your radar on that busy Saturday night.

“And where’ve you been?” you’d asked during a moment's calm while the other bartender poured drinks.

He looked up at you, slighting his hat up with a pointed finger so he could meet your eyes. He had been so quiet - and he looked so tired. It was no wonder you barely noticed him when he was so out of character.

“What, missed me didcha?” But the snark didn’t reach his eyes.

“Where’s the kid?”

“At home.” he mumbled into his glass, tipping it up and drinking half in one go. When he met your eyes again you raised an eyebrow. “Not alone - I’m not that stupid sweetheart.”

“I’m five minutes from the end of my shift. Buy me a drink.”

“No thanks.” He scoffed at you.

“That wasn’t a question.” You said, starting to turn away, “Kahlua with vodka, thanks.”

Going back to work, you kept an eye on him. Watching as he downed the rest of his drink in (again) one go. He got the attention of the other bartender, ordering another whiskey, and a kahlua with vodka.

When you returned to the front of the bar after ditching your apron, you found Kenny sitting with his back towards you at a table near a window, with both drinks before him.

“Didn’t think you’d actually listen to me asking for a drink.” you said, patting his shoulder as you came around to sit at the seat across. He smiled a little - but it was nothing like the wide wolfish grins you normally saw.

“You weren’t askin’, remember?”

“You didn’t have to listen.” you said, sipping on your drink and taking a proper moment to look him over. “You look horrible by the way.”

“Jesus, thanks sweetheart.” he said into his glass - but took a much smaller mouthful of his drink compared to before, “You know how to make an old man’s night.”

“The kid’s been putting you through the ringer, huh?” His eyes met yours and you saw his shoulders slump - barely.

“That obvious?” he asked. When you nodded he sighed, slumping back in his seat with his hands ruling over his face and into his hair under his hat - his gangly legs stretched so far under the table that they slid between yours. “He’s a downright brat. It’s ridiculous. Karma has it out for me, I can see it now.”

“It surely isn’t that bad, you might just need to get used to it - it’s barely been a week -”

“I found him standing behind me in the kitchen holding a bread knife.” Kenny said, leaning forward on his elbows to whisper. “I think he wants to kill me.”

“He wouldn’t be the first.” you said, taking your turn to speak into your glass while you drank.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” you scoffed, setting the glass down again, “But after two years, I think I don’t want that so much - just give him time.”

“You seriously trying to persuade me that an eight year old who hates me doesn’t want me dead?”

“‘You seriously trying to persuade me that an eight year old who hates me does want you dead’? Listen to yourself Kenny.” You said, mocking him, but making him think seriously at once. “He’s lost his mum, you’re not so cold to think a boy would want to lose another relative again so quickly.”

You felt his legs shift between yours - they pulled away, but not enough. You could still feel the warmth of his calf press against yours. “Anyways, with how you wave your pocket knife around so - he might’ve just been trying to copy you.”

“Right,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips and casting a long glance out the window. “Kids do that, don’t they?” The conversation entered a lull as you both took turns sipping your drinks and staring at the lake lapping at the jetty. A comfortable silence if you ever knew one.

The air around you changed as the jukebox started a familiar riff of AC/DC. “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean. She was the best damn woman that I ever seen.”

Kenny looked at you, downed his drink, then spoke.

“Wanna take me up on that ride tonight?” he asked. You broke out in a grin.

It was still warm outside, and the gravel car park crunched under your feet as Kenny led you to his bike.

There was a thrill sitting hot and heavy in your gut. The fact you had said yes to Kenny to a ride home - perhaps more. Did you want more? He was attractive, in an older man sort of way, and despite all the gross things he could say sometimes he was still a nice enough guy.

Heaven knows you could both use a chance to get laid.

“I was starting to wonder how much longer I had to work on you before you finally said yes.” he said, breaking away from your slide to throw a leg over the seat with a grin. His hand outstretched to offer help to get on behind him. “Lucky for you, I'm a patient man.”

As you slid your hand into his, you climbed on - soon finding that in order to be comfortable you needed to be pressed quite close to his back. But you were feeling like being a tease too.

“Maybe I’ve liked making you wait.” you hummed, chin pressed to his shoulder as you spoke into his ear. You felt him chuckle under your palms as he kicked the engine into gear.

“Maybe I’ve liked waiting.” he said over the machine’s roar.

#modern au #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman x you #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #snk x you #attack on titan x reader

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kemetic-dreams · 2 years ago

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Benjamin F. Hardy (July 25, 1921-1994) was an African-American custom motorcycle builder who made the Captain America and Billy choppers for the 1969 Peter Fonda road movie Easy Rider.

The Captain America bike, made from a then 20-year-old, heavily customized Harley-Davidson panhead is considered one of the most iconic motorcycles ever built.

Working with another African motorcycle builder, coordinator Cliff Vaughs, Hardy built two 'Billy' bikes and three 'Captain Americas', one of which was destroyed in the making of the movie, the rest of which were stolen. Each bike had a backup to make sure that shooting could continue in case one of the old machines failed or got wrecked accidentally. The 'Billy' bike was typical of the custom motorcycles Black bikers were riding at the time.

Hardy and Vaughs remained largely unknown and uncredited for 25 years as they were not accepted due to being African-Americans, and were not welcomed into the mainstream motorcycle world in the USA.

Known locally as "Benny" and "King of Bikes" Ben Hardy's Motorcycle Service was located at 1168 E. Florence in Los Angeles. He was a mentor to many of the local motorcyclists in South Central, Los Angeles.

His work was featured in the “Black Chrome” exhibition at the California African American Museum

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #afrakans #brown skin #benjamin hardy #benjamin f hardy #motorcycle #los angeles #african american museum #south central #billy #king of bikes #benny #african american

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breaniebree · 2 years ago

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Still not sure when it will be posted but hopefully by the end of March!

Here's a sneak peek to show you what I have planned...

Chapter One of Third Time's the Charm

The One With A Second Chance

Queen blared from the speakers as Sirius hummed along with the beat of Radio Gaga. He smiled as James began to hum under his breath next to him, shaking his hips to the beat. When he started to move his head and fist pump the air as he quite frankly, jammed out, Sirius stifled a laugh. When he began to sing along, Sirius couldn’t help but smile at his friend. He wiggled his own hips along, knocking them against James’ as they grinned widely at each other.

By the time the second verse started, James was singing loudly and powerfully, his smooth voice echoing in the workshop around them.

“Let’s hope you never leave, old friend. Like all good things, on you we depend. So stick around, ‘cause we might miss you, when we grow tired, of all this visual. You had your time, you had the power! You’ve yet to have your finest hour, radio! Radio!” James sang.

When he caught Sirius’ eye, he grabbed the wrench like a microphone and began to really sing as he clapped his hands together.

“All we hear is radio ga ga! Radio goo goo! Radio ga ga! Sing it, mate! All we hear is radio ga ga! Radio goo goo! Radio ga ga! All we hear is radio ga ga! Radio blah blah! Radio, what’s new? Some-one still loves you!”

Sirius snorted. “Do they now?”

James shrugged. “Well, I mean, there has to be at least one person who loves you, Padfoot. No one I know, obviously…”

“Piss off,” Sirius said, biting back a laugh.

James reached a hand up to scratch his cheek and spread engine grease all over his face.

Sirius shook his head. “You’re hopeless, Prongs.”

James attempted to wipe it off, but instead only smeared it even worse. “I don’t even understand how this shit gets everywhere!” When he only succeeded in blackening himself more, he pouted. “Help me!” he whined.

Sirius chuckled and reached for a cloth, moving to stand in front of his best mate and brother to scrub his face clean. “There. Hopeless.”

“I’m not hopeless, I’m just not good with the whole machine thing. That’s a wheel, right?”

“Smart arse,” Sirius said, throwing the towel at him. “If you can’t honour the bike, get out of the workshop.”

James chuckled. “That’s the moto-so-che bonneville harley, right?”

“I hate you.”

James grinned and passed his friend the wrench. “Love you, too, brother.”

Marauder barked and ran in a circle around James as Lady Godiva merely lifted her head to watch the dog, looking very unimpressed with Marauder’s antics.

They both looked up when someone came to the door and Fleamont stood there, a smile on his face.

“Boys, getting up to trouble out here?”

“Never, Dad,” James said.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Why don’t you come inside? Fee and Lily have prepared a picnic for lunch. Misha is joining us.”

“I hope Fee and the house elves made it,” Sirius said. “If it was Evans, I might not want to risk it.”

“I heard that Sirius Black!” Lily exclaimed, coming up behind Fleamont. “That was one time and I was pregnant with your godson!”

“So you say,” he teased. “I just remember you trying to poison me and Prongs forcing Moony and I to eat it.”

Lily shook her head in amusement before she moved towards Sirius to kiss his cheek. She took James’ hand in hers. “Well, come risk it if you dare. Misha wants to talk to you anyway.”

James tugged on her hand to pull her up against him so that he could kiss his wife deeply. “I love you, Lily.”

“I love you, too,” she said, grinning up at him with her heart in her eyes.

They kissed again and Sirius turned back towards his motorbike to give his friends a moment of privacy.

“I’ll meet you out there in a minute. I just want to finish something first and you two can get the snogging out of your system in the meantime.”

“Never!” James scoffed. “Have you seen these lips? They are the most perfect lips ever made!”

Lily squeezed her husband’s hand. “The sad part is that he’s talking about his own lips. Don’t be too long, Padfoot.”

James squeezed Sirius’ shoulder before wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist and leading her away from the bike. Fleamont put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

“Don’t be too long, son. You know Fee will want to feed you.”

Sirius nodded. “I won’t, Monty. Save me some of that treacle tart before Jamie eats it all.”

Fleamont chuckled. “No promises.”

Sirius grinned as he turned back to the bike. He picked up the wrench, humming along to “Radio Gaga” as the music seemed to grow louder, rumbling in in his ears like the wireless was moving closer and closer to him. Then, something flashed at his right. He turned, his eyebrow furrowed in confusion as music blared in his ears. He smelt her soap before he saw her and when she flashed again, covered in blood, his eyes widened.

“Zee! What…?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice echoing as the music stopped around him. “I tried to stop them.”

Sirius reached for her, but just as he touched her, his hand passed right through her. Before he could contemplate the vision before him, something punched him right in the chest. It hit him so hard that all of the breath was knocked out of him. He felt like his chest was caved in and that every rib was broken and stabbing him somewhere different. He gasped for breath, his eyes on Zee flashing in and out before him.

“Zee? Zee, where are you?” he demanded, but she flashed again and vanished before his eyes.

“Sirius?” Euphemia asked from the doorway. “Are you coming?”

“Fee…” he whispered, blood bubbling at his mouth.

“Sirius?” she called out, seeming to stare right through him. “Darling, are you in here?”

Euphemia stepped right past him as if she couldn’t see him. Sirius started to speak, unsuccessfully attempting to reach for her when suddenly, hands sprung out from the ground and tightly gripped him by his ankles. He tried to shake them off, ventured to jump away, but the grip was too strong. He reached for Euphemia again, his eyes wide before the hands around his ankles yanked. His boots sank into the ground like quicksand and he was abruptly pulled into the earth. The scream tore through him so loudly that it scorched his throat and Zee’s terrified face flashed before him.

“Zahira!” he cried out. “Zahira!”

He was dragged through the mud; falling and rising like he was clawing his way to the surface, but the surface of what he didn’t know. He swallowed the earth; dirt in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth. He could hear voices calling him and then there was nothing but the earth and the pain in his chest.

Pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Sharp, searing pain that made him taste his own blood.

Pain like something was being ripped apart inside of him, something that he tried desperately to hold onto to, but no matter how hard he fought, the more it ripped and tore free.

And then there was only blackness.

~ TTTC ~

#welcome to breanie's world of asc the kismet trilogy #third time's the charm #the kismet trilogy part three third time's the charm by breanie #sneak peek tttc #still don't know when I'm posting #harry potter fanfiction #breanie

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dabid-motozalea · 1 year ago

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This man created the most iconic ‘Captain America’ bike for the 1969 Easy Rider film but was shunned because he was black.

If you have not heard about Benjamin F. “Ben” Hardy, you could be forgiven if you are not a motorcycle fan.

Ben was no ordinary man. This African-American was a custom motorcycle builder who made the Captain America and Billy Choppers for the 1969 Peter Fonda road movie ‘Easy Rider’.

Easy Rider was released by Columbia Pictures on July 14, 1969, grossing $60 million worldwide from a filming budget of no more than $400,000. Critics have praised the performances, directing, writing, soundtrack, visuals, and atmosphere. The film was added to the Library of Congress National Film Registry in 1998.

The motorcycles for the film, based on hardtail frames and panhead engines, were designed and built by two chopper builders – Ben Hardy and Cliff Vaughs – following ideas of Peter Fonda, handled by Tex Hall, reports revolvy.com.

Ben, at just 20 years, co-built the motorcycles using a heavily customized Harley-Davidson Panhead. The motor is considered one of the most iconic motorcycles ever built. He was born on July 25, 1921, at Lincoln County, Georgia and died in 1994.

Ben and Cliff built two ‘Billy’ bikes and three ‘Captain Americas’, one of which was destroyed in the making of the movie while the rest were stolen. The ‘Billy’ bike was typical of the custom motorcycles Black bikers were riding at the time.

But all too typical of the American society weary of black innovators, Hardy and Vaughs remained largely unknown and uncredited for 25 years as they were not accepted due to being African-Americans, and were not welcomed into the mainstream motorcycle world in the USA.

Known locally as “Benny” and “King of Bikes”, Ben Hardy’s Motorcycle Service was located at 1168 E. Florence in Los Angeles. He was a mentor to many of the local motorcyclists in South Central, Los Angeles. His work was featured in the “Black Chrome” exhibition at the California African American Museum.

The provenance of existing ‘Captain America’ motorcycles is unclear, and has been the subject of much litigation.

A motorcycle on display at the EMP Museum in Seattle, Washington, is identified by that organization as the original rebuilt movie prop. A replica resides at the National Motorcycle Museum in Anamosa, Iowa.

#las motos también son personas #motorcycle #free biker aliance #fba 621 #bikerlife #live to ride #ride to live

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zumainthyfuture · 2 years ago

Photo

Benjamin F. Hardy (July 25, 1921-1994) was an African-American custom motorcycle builder who made the Captain America and Billy choppers for the 1969 Peter Fonda road movie Easy Rider.

The Captain America bike, made from a then 20-year-old, heavily customized Harley-Davidson panhead is considered one of the most iconic motorcycles ever built.

Working with another Black motorcycle builder, coordinator Cliff Vaughs, Hardy built two 'Billy' bikes and three 'Captain Americas', one of which was destroyed in the making of the movie, the rest of which were stolen. Each bike had a backup to make sure that shooting could continue in case one of the old machines failed or got wrecked accidentally. The 'Billy' bike was typical of the custom motorcycles Black bikers were riding at the time.

Hardy and Vaughs remained largely unknown and uncredited for 25 years as they were not accepted due to being African-Americans, and were not welcomed into the mainstream motorcycle world in the USA.

His work was featured in the “Black Chrome” exhibition at the California African American Museum.

#Benjamin F. Hardy #July 25 1921-1994 #African American #Captain America #Billy Choppers #Easy Rider #Harley Davidson #Benny #King Of Bikes #California African American Museum #Black Bikers #Black History Month #Black History

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whumpster-fire · 2 years ago

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(Jim Steinman Guitar Riff)

I'm gonna hit the highway like a battering ram on a 40 Watt rental e-bike

Oh the weather is hot, other drivers are angry cause I can't go any faster than five

I missed my exit while avoiding pot holes

And I think I might be a bit lost

I'm just going this way 'cuz Google Maps told me to

And a Harley wasn't worth the cost

#shitpost #Bat Outta Hell #incorrect song lyrics #Meat Loaf

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blackjewels5 · 2 years ago

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Benjamin F. Hardy (July 25, 1921-1994) was an African-American custom motorcycle builder who made the Captain America and Billy choppers for the 1969 Peter Fonda road movie Easy Rider.

The Captain America bike, made from a then 20-year-old, heavily customized Harley-Davidson panhead is considered one of the most iconic motorcycles ever built.

Hardy and Vaughs remained largely unknown and uncredited for 25 years as they were not accepted due to being African-Americans, and were not welcomed into the mainstream motorcycle world in the USA.

His work is on exhibited @ The African American Museum in California. Black Chrome

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curierx · 2 years ago

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ENG As a person who watch anime and as well I like motorcycles (Yes, I ride on bike too) I realize that in the new opening of MAPPA, precisely in the anime Jigokuraku (Hell's paradice) it have two bike that I saw and think, "I know that bikes" and for that is this post.

ESP Como una persona que ve anime e igual que le gustan las motocicletas (Sí, igual ando en moto) me di cuenta que en el nuevo intro de MAPPA, recisamente en el anime Jigokuraku (Hell's paradice) hay dos motos que vi que al verlas pense, "Yo las conozco" y por ello este post.

ENG The first bike on screen it is alike to the black sheep Harley Davidson V-Rod 1250cc. ESP La primeta moto que vi en la escena es similar a la oveja negra Harley Davison V-Rod 1250cc

ENG And for the second bike on screen here are a issue because it is a Cafe Racer but if we talking about in the market of motorcycles theirs not a company that fabricate a Cafe Racer with a V-Twin engine, the only bike that I know it have a V-Twin as a product of a company is the Guzzi V7 850cc but here is a thing, the engine of this bike is different despite it is a V-Twin. Maybe the Harley Davison Roadster 1200cc have some style but only for the handle bar and the sit position but I can´t consider a Cafe Racer as a native product of a company, maybe custom the foot rest can help. ESP Y la segunda moto en escena hay un problema ya que es una Cafe Racer pero si hablamos del mercado de motocicletas no hay alguna compañia que fabrique una Cafe Racer con motor V-Twin, la única moto que conozco que tiene un motor así y es fabricada es la Guzzi V7 850cc pero aqui hay algo, a pesar de que usar el mismo tipo de motor es diferente a lo convencional. Quizá la Harley Davison Roadster 1200cc tiene el estilo por el manubrio y la posición del asiento pero no lo concideraria una Cafe Racer como producto nativo de una compañia, quizá customizando los reposapies ayude.

ENGAs you can see the engine is a V-Twin but have a different angle. the most usual bike that use this type of engine have a fit position and the V7 have a peculiar position, it expose more the engine than the usual bikes like Yamaha (Star series), Indian or Harley Davison. ESP Como puedes ver el motor V-Twin tiene un angulo diferente. Lo usual en las motos que usa este tipo de motor esta posicionado más centrado y la V7 tiene una posición peculiar, esta se expone más a diferencia de las motos usuales como las motos de Yamaha (Serie Star), Indian o Harley Davidson

ENG But if we talking about Cafe Racer in the market, here some bikes: ESP Pero si habalamos acerca de las Cafe Racer en el mercado, aqui hay algunas:

Triumph Thruxton 900cc

Royal Enfield Classic 350cc

Royal Enfield Hunter 350cc

ENG Back to the point, the scene of the second bike definitely is a custom Cafe Racer bike.

ESP Regresando al punto, en la escena de la segunda moto definitivamente es una custom Cafe Racer

ENG Here a custom Harley Cafe Racer:

ESP Aquí una Harley Davison customizada como Cafe Racer:

#anime #opinión #opinion #motorcycle #motociclismo #motocicletas #curiosity #curiosidades #mappa

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laurfilijames · 11 months ago

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Bulletproof

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Mentions of being shot through a bulletproof vest. Bruises and welts. Swearing. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: After a close call in a gunfight, Jax turns to you to remind him of all the things in life worth living for.

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't help it. This is a teeny bit angsty and full of feelings. I needed to write something "short and sweet" (it's neither of those 🤣) to get my writing back on track, and well, here's this... enjoy!!

---

The buzz of your phone that sat on the nightstand beside your head woke you from a decent sleep, taking you a few minutes to register it was happening for real and not in a dream, a soft moan passing your lips as you reached over for it and hit the button to accept the call.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice groggy and unable to disguise your sleep, your eyes too heavy and blurred to have read on the screen who was on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jax’s voice registered in your ear, making you become a little more alert and sit up while running your hand over your hair.

“I’m on my way over,” he explained, his tone short and wired, like he was on edge or adrenaline was pumping through him.

Glancing over at the alarm clock, you simply agreed, not asking any questions, knowing if he was calling you and needing to see you at this hour that something more than just sex was on his mind.

The roar of his Harley came through before he hung up, and flinging the covers off while swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you did the same.

You walked through to the front door, wearing only his Reaper t-shirt that had become your nightly staple, flicking the bolt to unlock it as you leaned against the frame, peeling back the curtain that covered the small window to look out onto the dark street as if he would be rolling in any second despite him having just left to get there.

Letting your eyelids close, you continued to lean, wrapping your arms around yourself to try to keep some of the lingering warmth from your bed on your skin, partly hoping that Jax would be tired and ready for sleep when he arrived.

The familiar rumble of his engine sounded in the distance and grew louder with each second, and an automatic smile tugged at your lips, your heart picking up pace just as his motorcycle did to quicker close the gap between him and you.

You watched through the window, your fingers toying with the thin fabric as you held the curtain aside, seeing him roughly push down the kickstand with his white sneakers before quickly standing up and dismounting his bike, unfastening his helmet at the same time.

The way he was rushing made your pulse hammer, his deliberate strides a clear display of his desperation, and you opened the door for him before he blew through it and knocked it off its hinges, his expression a mix of frenzy and relief as his blue eyes landed on you.

Gloved hands gripped your cheeks roughly, pulling you into him equally as much as he pressed himself into you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so hard it stole your breath.

A slightly surprised gasp blew out of your mouth when he parted from you and gave you an opportunity to get air back into your lungs, your eyes searching his features with concern as you took in the sweat clinging to his reddened cheeks, his hair damp and darkened.

His chest rose and fell sharply, and tearing off his gloves, he raked his long fingers that held a home for his chunky rings through his messy tresses, exhaling a shaky breath as he looked down at the floor and then back up at you.

“Jax, what happened?”

He shook his head and chuckled falsely, pulling his bottom lip in his teeth before looking at you with what he must have thought was a convincing expression.

“I’m fine.”

His eyebrows sat high on his forehead and brought out the creases on it as he stared at you, and when you held his gaze almost challengingly, he blinked away the moisture that you caught building up in them and moved into you again, his sigh emptying out into your mouth as he kissed you slower this time, but with equal passion.

Your hands slipped up beneath his kutte, the heat of his skin pouring off of him as you rubbed his back in soothing motions, the act comforting yourself as much as it was him.

The familiar taste and smell of smoke assaulted your nose and transferred onto your tongue, knowing whatever stress he was under right now had caused him to light up one cigarette after the other to try to settle his nerves.

As your kiss faded out, Jax rubbed his nose against the side of yours, his breath hot on your cheek, the stickiness of his skin transferring onto yours.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing for a moment while he let his hands roam up over your bum and onto the small of your back, bringing your body even closer to his.

Swaying slightly on the spot, he nuzzled his face into yours even more, a moment of softness before he met your lips again, claiming you in another kiss that started slow and quickly increased in fervor.

His breathing became laboured, struggling to draw in enough air as he kissed you harder and with more desperation, his hands gripping at your flesh beneath his worn shirt.

You could feel his hard cock pressing into you as it strained against his jeans, making you rub yourself on it a couple of times with a teasing grind of your hips, your fingers moving down his stomach to work at the button and zipper while he shrugged out of his kutte.

It landed carelessly on the floor beside you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight wince on his face before it disappeared in his hoodie as he lifted his arms and pulled it over his head, immediately moving back to capture your lips again.

He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans, walking forward to force you back and further into your house, your hand rubbing him through his boxers before diving inside the waistband to take hold of his cock, stroking the hot, velvety skin of his length that made you moan into his mouth and him push harder on yours.

Both of you blindly made your way toward your bedroom, only pausing your kisses briefly to peel the white t-shirt that clung to his body off of him, your breath knocking out of you as he slammed you against the wall and began lifting the hem of the shirt still covering your body.

Once your naked form was available to him, he trailed his lips down your neck and along your collarbone while his hands smoothed all along your waist, one moving to your breasts where his fingers plucked one of your peaked nipples, the other traveling downward to slip between your legs.

“Jax…” you breathed, your tone needy and filled with lust, the sensation of his fingers entering and withdrawing from your slick hole making your eyes close and your head knock back on the drywall.

After losing yourself in ecstasy for a couple of minutes, you refocused, needing him more than ever, your thumbs hooking in the band of his boxers to tear them down his legs.

Jax took your hand and turned to lead you the short distance to your room, giving you a view of his back where your eyes were drawn to different spots of dark colouring that weren’t part of the ones that made up the large tattoo that covered almost all of it.

Peppered between the image of the Reaper and letters that spelled out ‘California’ were round bruises, his skin raised with welts, and your heart sank in realization of what had caused them; the impact of the bullets that had hit him unable to be disguised even with the protection of kevlar.

You instinctively reached out to lightly trace each one, counting three in total, a mix of emotions rushing through you that were half grateful and half terrified.

“I’m fine.” He repeated the same lie as before, glancing back at you as he paused in his steps and turned to face you.

You dove into him, wrapping your shaky arms around him to hug him so tight you didn’t care if it hurt, feeling his arms encase you in return and his lips press multiple times on the top of your head.

A sourness crept up your restricted throat, your guts twisting almost painfully at the thought of one of those bullets striking a place the bulletproof vest hadn’t been covering, and you frantically began kissing him everywhere you could reach, starting on his chest and making your way up his neck, your hands moving to cup his cheeks where your thumbs smoothed back and forth on his blond scruff. Your lips met again, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you transferred all your worry and grief into a display of love, his cock nudging at your core to remind you of what it was he needed right now.

The oncoming tears stung when you squeezed your eyelids together tightly, one slipping out and down your cheek as you retrained your focus on the feel of his tongue tangling with yours instead, the simplicity of needing to just be with him beginning to outweigh anything else.

You finally made it into your room, sitting on the bed and scooching yourself back to lay down with spread legs as he settled between them and sank overtop of you, continuing to kiss you with as much ardor that the skin around your mouth was already beginning to feel raw.

His knee pressed up on your thigh to guide it higher, spreading you out further as he covered your body completely with his, his fingers running along your scalp to send shivers across your skin.

You adjusted your hips, angling yourself to allow for his leaking head to push through your folds, lingering with just the tip of him inside you that somehow already made you feel full.

The skin on his back was tacky as you ran your hands gently up and down it, feeling his muscles flex as he began to move against you, his cock stretching you out inch by inch as he slowly pushed all the way in.

It was ironic; catching glimpses of the silver shell casing that hung from the chain around his neck in the light shining in through the window as it wagged and glided along your chest, filling the space between your hearts that hammered furiously and proved his vitality as if it hadn’t been threatened.

As soon as Jax had pulled into your driveway he felt better, the need to see you and be with you at the forefront of his mind, having bolted out of the clubhouse the minute he had changed out of his tac vest and clothes that were sprayed with holes from the gunshots he could still hear going off in his head.

Now that he had felt your lips against his and the softness of your skin beneath his palms, he was filled with an appreciation for you that he knew he took for granted too many times before, the relief he felt at being with someone who made him feel alive after a close call with death sobering him in a harsh bite of reality.

The way you made him feel was undeniable, giving him a vigor that was too often misplaced and diluted even though you showed him a brighter side to all the darkness that surrounded him, his lack of commitment to anyone but his club wrongly applicable even to you.

He thrusted harder into you, deepening his strokes as he peeled his mouth from yours to watch his cock pump in and out of you, the sound of your pleasure coming out in beautiful whimpers and soft moans while requesting more from him reiterating every reason why he came here tonight in the first place.

Jax dove against your lips again, needing to kiss you in order to stop himself from saying things that he feared may only be a result of how fucking scared he had been earlier, but deep down knowing the words that portrayed how he felt weren’t coming from a place of fear.

It felt different. Crazed and desperate and meaningful, the way he fucked you hinting at something more intent and unwavering than usual.

Sex with Jax was always mind-numbing and intense, but you never let yourself get too far into things knowing he could be gone before you even woke the next day and carrying on without thinking twice about it meaning anything more, his nonchalance always reminding you to take nothing from it other than pleasure.

Gone.

The potency of that little word had your eyes burning again, burrowing an emptiness in your chest that ached to be filled by anything he was generous enough to give.

There were never any labels put on what you were to each other or what this was, but the possibility of losing him at any moment made you desperate to show him what he meant to you, your fingers digging into the flesh on his upper arms so hard as if adding marks of your own on his body would make him stay with you forever.

You reached your face upward to press harder against his mouth, happy when he reciprocated and drove his tongue deeper inside yours, the long, rolling motions of his hips continuing, only now with more calculated force.

Heat bubbled within you, building up into that familiar tingle that taunted to be chased, every nerve in you warning of what drew nearer with each pump and drag of his long cock in and out of you.

The way his hands roamed your body in a calm, but needy way had your mind spinning, like the more he touched you the more it grounded and convinced him that he was still here to enjoy something this good; the gravity of today in no hurry to lose its effectiveness.

Jax paused for a moment, rubbing his hand over your forehead as he searched your eyes for permission or assurance or something more that scared even you, the sound of your panting breaths the only thing audible in the dark quiet of your room. He dipped down to brush your lips again, his scruff holding onto the sweat that had effectively coated every part of his body, lightly teasing with a softer kiss before resuming the purposeful tempo of his hips, the silence between you able to voice that you were both ready to find your high together.

Letting your bodies say what your words couldn't, you met his pace, grinding and rolling deliberately in time with him, the need to help him find his release with the use of your body seeming more important tonight than it ever had.

Jax gripped your face tightly, his fingers squeezing your jawline in an almost frantic way, groaning into your mouth desperately as a signal of his climax.

His thrusts never faltered, continuing to pound you while his hot cum filled you up in aggressive spurts, throwing you into your own orgasm as your clit rubbed against the coarse hairs on his groin. The feel of his cock sliding his thick seed in and out of you drew out your high, prolonging every blissful spark and shudder that tore through your body, the way his sweaty form laid heavily on top of yours a necessary weight that helped you stay rooted in the moment.

He remained buried inside you while you kissed, catching your breaths by sharing each other’s until he slipped from between your legs and crashed onto the covers beside you, his arm falling over his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

Despite having just been as close to him as you possibly could be, you felt a vacancy and longing for him, glancing over at him where you watched him close his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly as he drew in sharp breaths.

His necklace fell to the side from where it rested on his pec, hanging in his armpit as he continued to breathe, and you carefully picked it up between your fingers, the silver cold against them and a stark contrast to the heat that radiated off his body.

Even though his eyes remained closed, you couldn’t mistake the pained look on his face, a sort of fear and vulnerability that was rare to see on his features, his mortality shattering the usual invincibility that was layered on falsely by his cockiness.

Your chest felt tight, watching him let everything the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling earlier course through him, and you leaned over and traced your fingertips along the creases beside his mouth before pressing your lips to his, relieved when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back.

His arms came down to wrap around you, pulling your body to rest more on top of his, his hands carding over your back in a comfortable, soothing way.

You couldn’t recount the times sex with Jax had turned into a quick goodbye between smiling kisses and promises to see each other soon only to have days turn into weeks, convincing yourself and him that this was nothing more than a casual, fun fuck, having to disguise the way your heart ached for him and how many butterflies erupted at the mention of his name alone.

None of that mattered tonight, no longer caring if you let your cards show, the severity of tonight outweighing any need to try to stifle your feelings or bother denying that you felt more for him than you ever intended to let happen.

Jax remained pensive and quiet, his boisterous self clouded by his brush with a graver fate, but with the occasional kiss to the top of your head and the way his heartbeat had steadied in your ear, you knew he was comforted in your embrace.

As you laid entwined in your sheets, your leg hooked over his waist while he held your hand and played with your fingers, interlacing them and listlessly running them through his, you thought how you would never be able to control or guarantee if he would be yours to love forever, the way he lived his reckless life a threat to any sort of assurance.

A soft smile tugged at your lips when Jax shifted slightly lower on the bed to line up your face with his, kissing you slowly and clutching your hand in his where he brought it into his chest.

His nose rubbed against yours a couple of times before he settled his head on your pillow, a quiet hum sounding from his mouth, his blue eyes shining with a vitality and promise that for at least another day, he was yours.

---

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#jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller smut #jax teller x female reader #charlie hunnam #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy fic #charlie hunnam characters #jax teller fic #samcro

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themculibrary · 1 year ago

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Tattoos Masterlist 2

part one

And I Will Wend My Way With You (ao3) - mariana_oconnor bucky/clint E, 29k

Summary: After four long years, Bucky's mission is finally complete. All he needs to do is leave the Hydra Empire and make his way back to the Kingdom of Brooklyn with the information he has obtained. He definitely doesn't need the added complication of a slave, especially not one as angry and handsome as Clint Barton.

Apartment 409 (ao3) - 74days steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Steve Rogers meets the repairman for his building one day and now he's running out of things he can 'accidentally' break. Luckily, Bucky doesn't seem to mind the house calls.

A Tattoo of Parker Luck (ao3) - maroonweb harley/peter T, 5k

Summary: Guests started looking over at the commotion, when one of them walked over to get a better look.

Penny's eyes met Tony Stark's and she flushed when he looked over the mess they'd made. His disdainful gaze settled on her tattooed arm and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

She knew Tony would never be able to pick her out of a crowd, but to have him think of her so negatively upon their first meeting hurt more than she ever could have imagined.

AKA Penny Parker gets a tattoo that seems to embody Parker Luck.

Drawing gold from the dark (come inside) (ao3) - viverella clint/natasha T, 21k

Summary: “Hey,” he says. He puts his most winning smile on his face and says cheerfully, “You here to make a bad decision?”

The corner of her mouth curves upwards in a hint of a smile and she says in a soft voice that makes something jolt under Clint’s skin, “I was hoping to, yeah.”

OR: that AU in which Clint runs a tattoo shop that Natasha stumbles into one day and then keeps coming back to, and Clint gets maybe a little too invested and Kate teases him relentlessly.

His For All The World (ao3) - queerlyobscure (softestpunk) steve/tony E, 1k

Summary: As a drunken 21-year-old, Tony got a tattoo. As a sober 42-year-old, he's finally in a position to show it to the person it was in honour of.

Or, how Steve discovered that Tony has a tattoo of his shield on his butt, and what he did about it.

Ink (ao3) - Caiti (Caitriona_3) darcy/brock T, 1k

Summary: Darcy has zero intention of getting a tattoo . . . though the sexy artist might one day change her mind

Ink & Flowers (ao3) - Gottoomanyships steve/tony, bucky/sam, pepper/natasha N/R, 4k

Summary: Was Tony being absolutely ridiculous? Probably, but what else was new? He wasn't going to simply stand idly by while Rogers insulted him (even if he did look like a inked up version of Michelangelo's David). Sure, sending some passive-aggressive flower arrangements might have been a waste of his time and resources, but that wasn't going to stop him.

The Stony Tattoo-Flower Shop AU that no one asked for.

Ink Mark (ao3) - druswriting rhodey/tony G, 6k

Summary: Five times Tony got a tattoo for Rhodey, and one time Rhodey got a tattoo for Tony.

Invisible Ink (ao3) - ctimene matt/foggy E, 16k

Summary: The One Where Foggy Is A Tattoo Artist And Matt Is The Worst

Lucky Seven (ao3) - BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) steve/bucky, clint/natasha E, 94k

Summary: Captain America trashes his motorcycle a lot. Tony says he'll fix it, then never gets around to it and just buys him a new one. Steve, the Depression-era kid, can't stand the waste and goes looking for somewhere near him in Brooklyn where he can get his bike fixed. That's how he finds Red Star Bike Repair, and the hot Russian-immigrant bike racer who runs it: all long hair and muscles and tattoos. And for the first time since he woke from the ice, Steve feels a connection to someone; a comfort in the other man's silences and his space, an attraction in his sheer skill at racing. But James Barnes isn't exactly who he seems...

Mine (ao3) - lilsmartass steve/tony E, 1k

Summary: Tony has a very interesting tatoo.

much tattoo about nothing (ao3) - Deisderium steve/bucky E, 14k

Summary: Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

Nice For What (ao3) - grimeysociety bucky/darcy E, 3k

Summary: “Well, maybe I want to hang out with Bucky for once. We’ll wear black and roam the streets looking for victims. And then we’ll eat candy by the pool.” “Sounds like a date,” Bucky said, not quite believing she meant what she said.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (ao3) - NeverBeenSane steve/bucky M, 172k

Summary: Steve Rogers was content with his life. He loved his shop, loved creating works of art for people to display on their bodies, had a tight knit group of friends who cared about him, and had finally paid off his student loans and the loan he'd taken out to start his business. But it still feels like there's something, or someone, missing from his life.

Everything's going to change when he decides to take Natasha's advice and sign up for a military penpal program.

stuck on me like a tattoo (ao3) - letter2thepast maria/natasha T, 967

Summary: Maria Hill and Natasha Romanov are both tattoo fiends. Just in different ways.

The Arm (ao3) - singthebeginningofmoana steve/bucky G, 688

Summary: Before the war, he’d never thought about tattoos at all. But after seeing them be so commonplace in the twenty-first century, he realized that having some of his own might bring him a great deal of comfort.

Bucky gets tattoos. Steve sees them for the first time.

Tumbling Your Way Into My Heart (ao3) - jujukittychick clint/tony T, 1k

Summary: Tony Stark knew what he wanted and was willing to pay for it. So when he decided to get a tattoo, he did his research, asked around, found the best of the best. What he wasn’t expecting was a cute deaf klutz with a caffeine addiction worse than his own.

you're stuck in my head (stuck on my heart, stuck on my body) (ao3) - notcaycepollard sam/bucky T, 5k

Summary: "You don't gotta hold my hand," Bucky says after a minute or two. "It's not like it hurts."

"Sure it does, asshole," Sam tells him, but he knows it comes out almost fond, and his hand is warm, and Bucky apparently leaves it at that.

When the artist goes over the edges of scar tissue, Bucky tightens his grip, and Sam doesn't say anything at all.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #masterlists #au #tattoos #tattoos masterlist

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