#MotoGP Leather Jackets

[leathercollectionus]

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[ray935sworld]

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???

When they said be like Marc they didn't mean THAT

[shutinlear53]

Death's horse is supposed to be pale green Do you know who's pale green? Hatsune Miku

[nyehhhh-migrating]

MOTOGP 2023 SEASON

SANTIAGO DEL ESTERO, 2023 - Fabio Quartararo & Alex Marquez

📸Juan Mabromata

[i-tzi]

[Pokeddexy 2023]

Day 20 || Favourite Ancient Pokémon

#989

[readblogs]

As of my last update in January 2024, moto jackets were still considered a staple in many fashion circles. Moto jackets have a timeless appeal due to their classic silhouette and association with rebellion and ruggedness. While fashion trends evolve over time, moto jackets often remain popular due to their versatility and ability to add an edge to various outfits.

[maher-leather001]

Why Leather Motorcycle Jacket Is So Expensive

Suzuki motorcycle jacket is a popular fashion & protective statement for many motorcycle riders, but their price tag can often seem quite high compared to other types of clothing. In this article, we will explore the reasons why leather motorcycle jackets are so expensive. However, for high-quality MotoGP leather suits and jacket in cheap price, you can visit the maherleathers online store.

6 Things That Make Leather Motorcycle Jacket So Expensive

Material

One of the primary reasons why leather motorcycle jackets are expensive is the quality of the material used. Leather is a high-end material that is durable, long-lasting, and often requires a lot of time and resources to produce. The leather used for motorcycle jackets is typically thick, with a strong grain and texture that can withstand the harsh elements of riding. Additionally, the leather is treated and finished to make it water-resistant, fade-resistant, and more durable, which increases the cost of production.

Design

The design of a leather motorcycle jacket is another factor that contributes to its high price. Motorcycle jackets are typically designed with multiple pockets, zippers, and other features that make them both stylish and functional. The placement of these features requires precision and attention to detail, which adds to the cost of production. Additionally, motorcycle jackets often feature intricate stitching and embroidery, which requires skilled labor and increases the cost of production.

Brand Reputation

Another reason why leather motorcycle jackets can be expensive is due to the reputation of the brand. Some brands are known for their high-quality leather products, and they can charge a premium price for their jackets. These brands often have a loyal following of customers who are willing to pay the high prices for their products because they trust the brand's reputation and know that they are getting a quality product.

Handmade Production

Many leather motorcycle jackets are handmade, which also contributes to their high price. Handmade products require more time and effort to produce, which makes them more expensive than mass-produced items. Additionally, handmade jackets often require the use of specialized tools and techniques, which require skilled labor and add to the cost of production.

Limited Editions

Some leather motorcycle jackets are produced in limited editions, which can also drive up their price. Limited edition jackets are often produced in smaller quantities, and they may feature unique designs or materials that are not available in regular production jackets. These limited edition jackets are often sought after by collectors, and their rarity makes them more valuable.

Supply and Demand

Finally, the price of leather motorcycle jackets is also affected by supply and demand. If the demand for leather jackets is high, but the supply is low, the price will go up. Additionally, if the demand for a particular brand or style of motorcycle jacket is high, the price will also be higher.

In conclusion, there are many factors that contribute to the high price of leather motorcycle jackets. The quality of the material, intricate design, brand reputation, handmade production, limited editions, and supply and demand are all factors that can affect the cost of production and, ultimately, the price of the jacket. While leather motorcycle jackets may be expensive, they are often worth the investment because of their durability, longevity, and timeless style.

[jay779656565]

What's better than a leather jacket?

A leather puffer jacket is an elegant and versatile piece that can be paired with many different outfits. Here are some suggestions:

Jeans and a Tshirt: This classic, easy outfit can be easily reworked with a leather jacket. A black leather jacket is great paired with white T-shirts and blue jeans. For a complete look, add some sneakers or booties.

Leather jackets and dresses: For an elegant and modern look, you can combine a leather jacket and a dress. You can create a stunning contrast by pairing a floral gown with a honda motorcycle jacket. You can also pair a bodycon dress and a leather jacket together for a night on the town.

Skirts - A leather jacket can be worn with a skirt to make a chic and fashionable outfit. For a professional but sophisticated look, a pencil skirt can be worn with an elegant leather jacket. For a casual look, you can pair a mini skirt with leather blazer men.

Boots: Boots look great with leather jackets, especially combat or ankle boots. A black leather jacket can be worn with black jeans and black ankle boots. This will create a sophisticated and elegant look. You can also wear combat boots with a leather jacket and dress for a more grungy look.

Scarves can be a great way to add color and warmth to your look on cold days. For a casual, yet elegant look, you can pair a scarf with a blue jacket and jeans made of black leather. You can also wear a printed scarf and a leather jacket with a dress for a bohemian look.

A leather jacket is versatile and can be worn with many different outfits. To create your unique look, experiment with different colors and styles.

[lleatherjacketsnyc]

Red Suzuki Motul Motorcycle Leather Racing Jacket

Outer Shell:

1.2-1.3mm thick drum dyed top-grain cowhide leather for excellent abrasion resistance

Schoeller Keprotec with Dupont Kevlar(R) at the crotch, on inner arms, and behind the knees for perfect fit and ease of movement

YKK zippers throughout

Leather stretch panels at lower back and above the knees

Mesh lining

One inside chest pocket

Construction:

Pre-curved sleeves for a proper riding position

Dual stitched main seams for excellent tear resistance

Nylon stitching

Lightly padded race style collar

Protection:

Removable Hard CE approved armor at shoulders, and elbows.

Exterior TPU Armors at shoulders and elbows.

CE approved padding

[motogp-gears]

We are the Leather Clothing manufacturing and selling company based in Pakistan.we are Customizing suits and jacket as per customer order at a suitable price. We make sure to keep the end user’s requirements in mind and provide cheaper in retail.

No matter how old or young you are, male or female, we have just got the right Jacket, Suit and leather accessories for you.

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[leathercollectionus]

MotoGP Motorcycle Jacket

Since motogp motorcycle jacket are under the critical responsibility of standing in the face of all sorts of environmental hazards, they must be structured from premium fabric. Each of our MotoGP riding jackets is constructed out of top-grain, drum-dyed cowhide leather of a very thick composition. This is then combined with a 100% polyester mesh lining and double stitching techniques. Another crucial component of these MotoGP Leather Jackets is the pre-curved structuring that gives them an added benefit on the tracks in terms of maneuverability.

MotoGP Motorcycle Jacket

[nico-di-genova]

Hmmm I don’t particularly have any questions but feel free to just ramble on about any ideas you have, because I would love to hear more about this au because I honestly feel like this is them in a parallel dimension lol. Or, alternatively tell us more about how Strollonso met for the first time :33

I have SO many ideas.

So I was already decided on Fernando being a retired athlete of some sort. After all the strollonso motogp discussions today, I’m firmly settled on him being a retired rider.

He and Lance meet at a monthly car meet in Estero. Lance isn’t really a car guy per-say, that’s more Pato and Esteban’s thing and he kind of tags along. He likes looking at them, likes driving them sometimes, but he usually prefers his bike when it comes to getting around. Fernando is a car guy though, brings his own car to show off and sees Lance walking around in his motorcycle jacket, with his helmet in his hand and strikes up a conversation while Pato is ogling at his car.

Lance has no idea who he is, but they get to talking about Lance’s bike specs, one thing leads to another…

This fic will probably feature a substantial amount of bike rides tbh. They’re both adrenaline junkies, but also they spend a lot of time on the golf course too (Lance’s major and all). Since Fernando’s mansion is literally built in a golfing community, Lance spends a lot of mornings there. They sometimes race each other in the golf carts, much to everyone else’s annoyance. Lance teaches Fernando how to golf, Fernando teaches Lance how to ride (read that as you will).

Lance’s frat brothers are used to him showing up to meetings late, usually like 20 minutes late with a dunkin coffee and apology donut holes for everyone (which, ya know, they can’t eat really, since it’s not kosher but it’s the thought that counts ig). He was late before Fernando because of poor time management, now he’s late and the hickeys on his neck are the obvious reason.

If this fanfic had a scent it would probably be sunscreen and leather. Bike rides to the beach and Lance lazing around on Fernando’s yacht. Late nights spent at galas and banquets and fancy dinners where Fernando pays because Lance likes being taken care of and Fernando is happy to do it. Motorcycle helmets and suits because they ride to all of these events on Lance’s bike (they alternate who drives, sometimes they take two bikes, but Lance likes the feeling of Fernando pressed against him as they do 100+ mph on the interstate).

Idk, I have to stop rambling, this is getting nonsensical, but yeah. Strollonso college au 🥰.

[kingofthering]

Carc Primer : come meet the Spanish boyfriends

Marc Marquez, MotoGP rider. Carlos Sainz, F1 driver. Two Spaniards of the same generation who were brought together by various circumstances and who are now very good friends, as demonstrated below.

NATIONAL SPORTS AWARDS 2015

Oldest photos of them I could find are from the 17th of November 2015 when they attended the National Sports Awards in Madrid.

HONDA / RED BULL

Marc has spent his whole carreer with Honda. Carlos was a RB junior driver and then drove for Toro Rosso up until 2017. I couldn't find more content than what you have right after (from pre-season 2016, you can see more pictures here).

ESTRELLA GALICIA

The Estrella Galicia 0,0 Youtube channel is a gift. They had Carlos and Marc in the same commercial but separately in July of 2015 (video) and June of 2016 (video).

We can see them on screen at the same time on this video from March of 2017.

In 2018, they shot this beautiful thing.

(gifs source by @rookie-ofthe-year)

In July of 2021, they shot a video for the Artesanos del paddock series of videos.

In November of 2021, they were both involved in some promo stuff for the 5th season of La Casa de Papel. Here you have some backstage thing.

In December of 2022, Estrella Galicia made them visit MEGA (the EG museum) and they looked very boyfriends while doing it (video).

(gifs source by @c2-eh)

They interviewed each other (video in English - video in Spanish). They talked about how Carlos should try a motoGP bike one day (the way Marc says "claro que te gustaria" lives rent free in my mind).

They filmed a "this or that" video that Carlos published for Marc's Birthday (video). It has Marc saying "you guard it [my beer] and I dance" and the two of them challenging each other to a race (we're still waiting).

EG also made them pour beers (video) and we had some intense heart eyes action from Marc.

(gifs source by @c2-eh)

You can find more pictures from that day here, the "then and now" insta reel here. They also did some VR stuff, with Marc inadvertedly grabbing Carlos' hand (pictures & video).

In January of 2023, EG released a commercial for their new 0,0 beer with them (insta reel) and you can see Marc handing the beers to Carlos saying "you're stronger" and after Carlos struggles to understand the mechanism, Marc has to take the beers from him (saying that the guys from motoGP are stronger).

MADRID

In early 2022, Marc (and his brother Alex) moved to Madrid. Carlos helped him, he said : "Since I found out he was coming to live in Madrid, I tried to help him adapt himself and feel as comfortable as possible in my hometown [...] I don't live in Madrid anymore, but I go back there every weekend and try to meet him. We met twice for dinner, I have shown him the gym where I train, he is also training there now, and we have a lot of contact." (article)

They indeed trained together earlier this year, with the following photos from January 2023 (insta post).

During the World Cup, on the 1st of December 2022, they watched the Spain - Japan game together with friends (and made a joint insta post for their selfies).

You can find a group picture of that night here. And now, very important things to witness : Carlos feeding Marc omelet from his fork and playing the plane game with him (video) and the two of them discussing while Marc is seating at Carlos' feet in a very babygirl fashion (video). The scenes are from All In (Marc's Prime Video documentary), you can see Carlos in episode 5.

(gifs source by me)

INSTAGRAM

You can find them in each other's comments (for example here or here). Here you have Carlos filming Marc while he was sleeping in early 2017.

Also, this is Carlos wishing Marc a Happy Birthday in 2021 (here) via EG. And Marc was watching the Bahrain GP (2023) and I'm making it count as Carlos support (photo here).

OTHER

I couldn't find out where this was from but have some leather jacket Carlos.

And then, something that might be EG related but I'm not sure so we're putting it here. An event at the Barcelona Grand Prix in 2019 with Marc's brother and Carlos' dad. More photos here.

In March of 2023, Ignacio Rivera, president of Estrella Galicia, talked about Marc & Carlos in an interview. It’s pretty interesting and I will just highlight one quote (translated to the best of my abilities) :

But it’s sure that the understanding between the two was building while they were participating to events and publicity campaigns together. There, you could see how they supported each other and competively provoked each other. It’s fantastic for us to do sponsor activities with the two because you can immediately perceive their affinity.

FANDOM CONTENT

This is where I do promo for myself and my friends. I've written a couple of fics for them, you can find them on my AO3 (one, two, short stories). @c2-eh also wrote a very beautiful and very hot fic for them and @backwardscapcarlos makes the best moodboards.

I also made a dedicated gifset for them, which you can find here.

We're all obviously looking forward to more content so please join us in the Carc madness.

[ferrarism]

There's a party where you MotoGP/2/3, WSBK/WSSP/300, F1/2/3, FE drivers/riders or whatever are invited, but there's a catch. They need to be dressed up as something that starts as their first letter of their name/surname or popular nickname. It can be in any language you know. It can be as general as Celestino going in blue jeans and a blue sweater with his face painted in blue with black dots, as he is going as 'cielo' sky in Italian. It can also be specific as Celestino as Captain America.

So who is going to the party, and what are they wearing?

oooh an interesting question I love this very much, ty!

first of all i’ve been dying to talk about this for a hot minute so Joan Mir is there in a hot catsuit because ”mirri” in finnish means a cat. and he’d look very good in that i’d reckon.

now with one repsol honda rider we can’t miss his teammate, Marc, who obviously went for the costume route with ”Pedro Marquez” aka spiderman, a very fitting costume

the ”couple’s costume” goes for Fabio and Tom. they teamed up to for ”Tom of Finland” look with Tom dressing up in period clothing as ”Tom” Touko Laaksonen, the famous finnish artist, and Fabio in a hypermasculine leather getup reminiscent of Tom’s drawings straight from finland. it’s all very gay.

Lewis Hamilton is once again the most stylish person at the party, dressed up in his namesake Louis Vuitton’s clothing. I’d imagine it’s a loose look with interesting patterns and a pair of sunnies to go with it.

Valentino Rossi took the costume party also literally, as he is naturally going for a doctor costume. i wanna say they are doing a couple’s costume with Francesca, going as derek and meredith from grey’s anatomy (maybe the doctor’s jacket is named ”mcdreamy”)

his prodigee, Celestino Vietti is also there in a more of an interprative look, as ”vietti” means drive or libido in finnish, and he decided to dress like the god of love and seduction, Eros, with baby wings and a halo added.

Francesco ”Pecco” Bagnaia and Marco Bezzecchi went for a couples costume as well, going for a version of the classic finnish song ”Päivänsäde ja Menninkäinen” (Sunray and Hobgoblin). Pecco is wearing all fluffy yellow and light fabrics as the ray of sunshine, and Marco contrasts him with a darker, earthier look as the goblin.

Luca Marini matched his eyes with his outfit full of wavy blues like the sea, mare. he wore a simple coloured jeans and jacket - look that had all kinds of blues painted on.

at first glance, it looks like Charles Leclerc has just worn his ferrari suit to the party. upon closer inspection, it comes apparent that the number is 95 and those are not shell logos but rust-eze, and he has actually dressed up as Lightning McQueen.

Alex Albon loves to dye his hair so naturally he went as the redhead Archie Andrews, in a comic book style with the letterman jacket with R and all.

Lando Norris is clearly dressed like Lando Calrissian.

Max Verstappen went for a roman emperor look like Magnus Maximus, toga and all.

and who can forget Oscar Piastri, who went for a full-body golden look as an oscar statue. all the paint took weeks to come off.

Jonathan Rea shows up to the party dressed in discount tags because ”rea” in swedish means for sale. he keeps flirting with his wife, saying he’s going cheap today.

Jack Doohan took the safe route and borrowed an old race suit from his dad, because hey, there’s a famous racer named Mick Doohan out there right?

whereas the other famous mick, Mick Schumacher, took his surname literally and dressed as an old-timey cobbler or a ”shoe maker”.

i’d imagine there’s a funny moment when Casey Stoner shows up very stoned to the party.

[kyi195]

Thot abt putting this in the tags but honestly, if I had to type this out there I'd kms...

Anyway, I worked retail all of like 4 months. Shit gave me the worst anxiety and on top of working 55hrs a week between that and another non-retail job AND going to school I was definitely not in the best headspace. Anyway, it was an upscale motorcycle safety gear shop. I think the cheaoest thing we had in store besides trinkets were some gloves. Full mesh with calf leather (iirc) palms and plastic pads over your main knuckles. They were like $100 I think? Anyway, just set dressing.

The first item I sold that was the big ticket was the airbag jacket. Full leather jacket with an airbag vest inside that was self contained. Most airbag jackets have a tether you attach to the bike and when you come off the bike it pulls the tether and poof, airbag. This was one where it had some accelerometers and gyros to detect when you were moving in a non-standard way and poof airbag. Our store got three in sizes that don't really match up with thr locals and they were $1500/ea in an area where locals don't wear gear and if they do its cheap shit. I sold the first in the store to some dude who took it AND THEN started piling more shit up too. Cash fuckin mobey babey. Dude was super chill and hella loaded and he paid for his stuff and off he went. The owners of the building our store was in would host bike nights every week and he'd show up every so often, always in his airbag jacket.

Next up was a bit funnier. In the shop we'd host MotoGP watch parties every weekend they had a race during the season. I personally didn't care much for MotoGP. Went to a race once and it was fun as hell but watching on thr tv didn't really do it for me. Anyway we had a dude in the shop looking at race suits. I think the least expensive one we had in shop was like 11 or 1200? This dude was looking at one that was originally 1600 but was marked down to 13 because it was a style we were getting rid of. I laid hard into the sale, pumped up the benes of the design and brought up the discount and BOOM sale made plus some matching gloves and boots that we had to mail order.

OH WAIT homie's in the fuckin military and he's getting shipped to korea in like a week and a half. Before his boots are set to arrive! And not only that. My coworker said she tried to sell but him leaving made her pull back. I didn't see that interaction at all so that's why I went full sales pitch. THEN he finds me on facebook right before he ships out just to say that he bought the fuckin suit bc he thought I was cute. Sux for him, I was DEFINITELY not into a relationship. Esp not with someone about to be halfway across the world.

Anyways we kept making "worlds farthest booty call" jokes after that saying I was gonna fly to Korea to drop off this mfs boots and then suck some dick for america" or w/e. Ahhhh funny times at that shop.

Every sales job I’ve worked has that one item. The white whale. The biggest ticket you can sell. The sale you brag about when you’re chatting with other industry people.

When I sold mattresses it was a split king adjustable base. That’s two twin extra long mattresses next to each other to make a king, but each side can move independently. They’re insanely expensive and honestly kind’ve impractical but it was the biggest ticket thing to sell.

When I sold sex toys though our white whale was the 20lb ass. It was a female pelvis, a cut out from the waist to the tops of the thighs. It was hyper realistic material and cost about $500. I definitely had bigger tickets but not in one item typically.

In my time at the sex shop, I sold three. Each time was completely different in terms of how the guy acted about buying it. The first man was a little embarrassed and shy about it. I was professional and supportive as I rang it up. Once I handed him the receipt he looked at the box. Then he looked at me.

If you’ve ever wondered how big a box has to be to fit a 20lb ass let me just tell you: it’s pretty damn big. It’s an uncomfortably large armful of box and every side has a picture of the sex toy inside on it. It’s not subtle.

“Could I get a bag….?”

There was no bag that existed that could possibly contain all that ass. “Hang on,” I told him.

I got scissors and tape and covered the box in cut up black bags. Looking relieved he picked up his purchase and left.

The next man to buy one carried it proudly to the counter; self assured and not embarrassed in the least. When I said I didn’t have a bag, but I could wrap it for him he gave a hearty shrug and hefted it into his arms, marching out the door with the butt on full display.

The last man to get one was just kind’ve an odd guy. Not creepy, but eccentric. We got along great, and as I rang him up I said, “Well one guy wanted his taped over, and one guy carried it out. What would you prefer?”

“There’s no bags?”

“No store bags. I think our jumbo trash bags in the back might fit it….?” It seemed rude to suggest putting a $500 item into a trash bag, but he wasn’t bothered.

He considered this then said, “Bring me the trash bag.”

When I delivered it to him he still managed to surprise me. Instead of shoving the huge box into it he opened the box. He took out his new $500 sex toy, and all the little things it came with, tipping them unceremoniously into the trash bag.

“There! Now I don’t have to deal with the box later!”

I was slightly stunned but agreed that I could easily deal with the trash. Then in a move I still think about with delight he flung the trash bag over his shoulder like a Santa with a sack full of ass and sauntered out the door.