#and some bikers are outside just revving their bikes?

[mriignaini]

are you ever trying to study, but outside some biker is USELESSLY REVVING THEIR BIKE?? yaha syllabus ka chaap hai, aur bahar koi nalla biker apne bike ko faltu mei sirf "vroom 😎 vroom😎 vroom😎" kar raha hai. atleast shanti se rone do yaar.

[saintobio]

⊹★⋆ two wheels and a hot guy.

pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader tags. 1k wc, biker boy x biker girl au, non-sorcerer au, crack, fluff, dirty jokes (?), satoru rides an s1k, biker!sukuna mentions, same au as my other fic. sparked by a random idea bcos why haven't we thought abt biker!gojo honestly? he would be so funny on tiktok if he was a biker boy lmao

You’ve all heard about Biker!Sukuna. That famous biker boy on biketok who has tattoos and rides a blacked out Yamaha R1. 

But have you heard about Biker!Gojou? 

Well… For starters, Satoru Gojou wasn’t a seasoned biker. 

In fact, he was more of a poser than anything, but you’d never catch him admitting that. His prized BMW S1000RR, the crown jewel of superbikes, was more about image than skill. The sleek, aggressive lines of the machine, combined with the prestige of the BMW logo, were all he needed to keep up appearances on TikTok. And he learned that appearances were everything, especially when Sukuna, with his obnoxious face tattoos and natural charisma, hogged the limelight (especially from all the girls!) with every post, even with a girlfriend already in tow. The sheer audacity of that scum was enough to drive Satoru up the wall. Fine, he had to admit. He was jealous of Sukuna’s popularity and the fact that he snatched a cute booktok girlfriend as his backpack. 

Suguru, his best friend and fellow biker, didn’t let him forget it either. As they stood by their bikes outside Barnes & Noble to spot booktok girls, Suguru glanced at Satoru’s liter bike and smirked. 

“Pretentious motherfucker,” he muttered, slinging a leg over his Yamaha MT-10, the less flashy but undeniably badass naked bike. Unlike Gojou, Suguru didn’t care about clout. The MT-10 was all about raw power and agility, the kind of bike a real rider appreciated. “You only got that thing because it’s a BMW. You gonna actually ride it for real one of these days?”

“Shut up.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adjusting his white Alpinestars riding gloves while holding his phone up to go live on TikTok. Starting with a 1000cc as a beginner bike wasn’t a very wise choice, but still... “People love the S1K, you know that.”

And let me tell you about Satoru’s favorite time of the day (or night). It was whenever he would go live, and the comments would pour in as soon as his stream started. That was when he could lavish in his social media presence the most.

user19463: Bro, when are you gonna show us some actual riding content?

anon875biker: All that thirst trapping. Bet you don’t even take that thing out of the garage. 

harleysRbetter: U punks R ruining the riding community! 

Gojou grinned at the screen, winking at both his followers and haters. “Alright, boomers, calm down. I’ll post some riding content soon. Don’t cry too much before then, yeah?”

r1.skn: Sir, can you do wheelies? 

Suguru found that comment hilarious, recognizing the username and knowing exactly who it belonged to—Sukuna. But Satoru’s competitive nature kicked in instantly while he continued to scroll through the comments. “Yeah, I can do wheelies. Ignore Sukuna, guys. Focus on me!”

msbikerluvr: Still looking for a backpack, Gojou? Lmao.

“About the backpack… you know, I’m just waiting for the right one. Applications are still open—” He was about to launch into another witty retort when a sound cut through the chatter of his stream—it was a deep, throaty rev that sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. Satoru’s head immediately whipped to the direction of the sound, just in time to see a flash of race blue zipping down the street.

There you were, riding a Yamaha R7, your black Dainese jacket hugging your curves as you leaned into the wind. The way you handled the bike, so smooth and confident, it was as if the motorcycle was an extension of you. 

“Damn, she’s hot.” Without a second thought, Satoru ended the live stream abruptly, “Gotta go, guys. Someone just stole my heart,” and pocketed his phone.

“Did you seriously just—” Suguru started, but Satoru was already mounting his S1000RR.

“Catch you later, Suguru!” he called, gunning the engine without even looking at his best friend. Soon enough, the 1000cc bike roared to life when he shifted into first gear, and he sped off in pursuit of the blue R7.

He caught sight of you at the next red light, the signal holding you in place just long enough for him to catch up. Thank God there was no sign of a biker boyfriend around when he pulled up alongside you, visor down, adrenaline still kicking him alive. He tried to get your attention by revving his S1K, and you turned your head slightly, barely acknowledging him as you pulled your visor up and revealed the prettiest eyes Gojou had ever seen. 

Satoru flipped up his visor too, then flashed his most charming grin. “Hey there,” he said, trying to keep his voice smooth and casual. Like it was a normal encounter. “You’re fast. I like that.”

You may have rolled your eyes, but he could tell you were smirking underneath the balaclava as you talked through the Cardo intercom linked to your AGV K1s. “And you’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.”

Oooh, she’s spicy. He laughed at the silly thought in his head, unbothered by your dismissal. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to get to know the girl who stole my heart in the middle of a live stream.”

“Your heart, huh?” you teased, revving her engine just slightly. “Sounds like you’re more interested in what’s under my jacket.”

“Now that’s a baseless accusation,” he retorted, leaning in slightly. “I don’t do anything on the first night, you know. I usually wait until the second, after a nice dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”

His remark made you snort, shaking your head at his boldness. “You’re a ridiculous guy.”

“But I’m also serious,” he added, his voice sincere despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Let me take you out, just dinner. No strings, no funny business—unless you’re into that kind of thing. I don’t mind that, either.”

Your laughter sounded like a sweet melody to his ears. “You’ve got guts, mister. I’ll give you that.” Has anyone told you how hot you looked while leaning into your bike? Damn. Satoru was distracted, checking you out for a moment until you spoke again, “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think you’re getting into my pants just because you ride a fancy bike.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, grinning from ear to ear.

The light turned green, and without another word, you revved your engine and took off with Satoru right on your tail. The chase was on, but this time, it wasn’t just about the thrill of the ride. 

For Satoru Gojou, it was about something far more exhilarating—winning the attention of the most intriguing biker girl he’d ever met. 

And perhaps, the biker boyfriend and backpack girlfriend content he’d been hoping to post on Tiktok may slightly change into a different direction than he expected. 

[artificialbreezy]

i was antsy about my biker folio world and just wanted share snippet of it that doesn’t really fit in the actual one shot i’m writing.

CW: indications of weed and smoking, smut, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader, nicks got a filthy mouth, flirty nick needs its own warning, lots of dialogue sorry bro, a real shit ending (why are endings so mf hard????)

it was late, the sun had gone and went. your front porch no longer the place to be reading. those solar lights in your back yard with a blanket in the hammock when just where you wished you were.

grabbing your blanket and book, you were quick to run outside. if anyone asked you your favorite part about being an adult, it was this. staying up late, reading in the dark in a big comfy hammock.

you were quickly pulled from your thoughts by the weird smell and a subtle cough from next door.

“sorry sweetheart! i didn’t mean to distract you.” your neighbor yelled over the fence. you just waved at him, a silent signal it was okay.

you don’t know what was wrong with you, you could talk to him outside of your little hi every day you saw him. he just made your brain short circuit, it was better to not speak than embarrass yourself.

before you know it, he was leaning against the fence with his hands over on your side. “ya know sweet thing, you stare a lot for someone who doesn’t talk to me. you see something you like looking at? cause i can name a couple things i like looking at and they all start with you.”

your throat was dry, eyes a little wide and face bright fucking red. words wouldn’t come from your mouth. you just stared at the man at the fence.

“what’s the matter sweets? not gonna talk to me now? i’d love nothing more-“ he grunted a little as he hopped the fence. “than to hear your pretty voice say my name again. can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he was standing directly in front of you now. there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. you had to face him now.

“Nick..” your voice was barely above a whisper. you swear if he wasn’t watching your mouth he wouldn’t have heard you.

“don’t think i heard you fully, try it again.”

“Nick…” a little louder now.

“oh no, honey. that’s not my name. whatcha call me out in the driveway?”

“Nicky.”

“atta girl, can i touch you?”

you almost choked on your own spit.

“uh, um. yeah. yeah. okay, sure.”

his hand reached down to yours, pulling you up and out of the hammock. “come on, let’s go inside. somewhere that Janet is gonna get a free show.” he chuckled mentioning your grumpy old neighbor who hated hearing his bike rev at 10:30pm.

“a free show?”

his hand was on the slider door, opening it as he spoke. “you’re real sweet ya know? yeah honey. was making a reference to us doing something. but i won’t do anything if you don’t want too. i’m okay just talking too.” he was comforting and soft.

“no! i want too! i just, im nervous. i haven’t had a whole lot of experience with that kind of stuff. i mean! i’ve had sex. i’m not just a virgin. just, not a lot. dear god i’m gonna shut up now.”

he smiled down at me, “more than happy to do whatever you want. think you deserve it really. always such a good girl.”

he sat himself in the recliner in my den, “right here.” he was pointing to the floor between his legs. “want you to sit, gonna go over some stuff.”

“need you to know, been thinking about this alot. have been for a while too. just been too nervous to talk to you. wanna do this at your pace, whatever you want today we’ll do. and don’t fret, we can do more stuff later. don’t feel rushed. we got months and years ahead of this okay?”

“can i ask you something?”

he nodded, hand setting on top of mine that was settled above his knee.

“um, can you show me what you like? wanna do it for you. read about some things and i wanna feel that.”

he smirked, eyes brows raised a little. “read what baby?”

“just like. head and stuff. but i wanna do it how you like it.”

“happily honey. just wanna make me happy huh? wanna be just what i want you to be don’t you?” he pushed his sweatpants down just enough that his dick was leaning against his stomach.

“just gonna start slow, okay? couple kisses, hands on my thighs. then you’re gonna- fuck, your lips feel good. gonna kiss the tip a little, there you go. tongue out a second. atta girl. just stay like that a minute. wanna put this view into memory.”

mouth wide, tongue out just, cock resting against it. feeling the weight of him in my mouth was all i wanted. this was comforting.

“alright, lick the underside. all the way down and then back up. and just like those popsicles you’re always eatin. suck a little bit, relax your jaw baby.”

his hands went to my hair, gently guiding me where he wanted me to be. holding my head still, and taking whatever he wanted.

“honey your mouth is like heaven. real fucking close already. come on, off. don’t wanna make you gag right now. gotta work you up to that.”

“wanna feel you down my throat, Nicky. please?”

“open your mouth. just like before. tongue out.”

my knees were starting to get sore, but i wanted to make him proud. wanted him to come back again. watching him stroke himself was going to be forever burned into my brain. feeling his load against my tongue was gonna be there for a while.

“come on, let’s get you off the floor honey. i’m proud of you sweetheart. gonna have to tell me about your books tomorrow though. what other filth are you reading, huh?”

[keikikait]

ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

for my other megumi fic, click here (warning - smut!)

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: you love your new apartment, as small as it is. it's in the perfect place, right next to the train station, and is cheap as hell. the only downside? your neighbour, who revs his bike outside your window every morning.

warnings: NO SMUT!, no angst!, multi part series, kind of enemies to lovers, slowburn?, megumi is kinda rude lmaoooo, the girls are fighting!, he says sweetheart twice, reader is kinda down bad lmao

a note: sorry for the delay, i've been busy with work! also, 8 square metres is about 86 square feet :).

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

The rent was cheap. Suspiciously cheap. 

You should’ve been wary, but you didn’t have many options. After a bitter fallout with your roommate, you needed to move out quickly. You should’ve paid more attention to the listing, you realise, as you stop in front of the building and it sinks in that your new digs weren’t 18 square metres.

It was eight square metres. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have much furniture with you, needing to sell it all to afford the move. Your apartment was essentially one long, two-story hallway, just enough for your desk chair and TV. 

You get settled in quickly, trying to liven up the place by replanting your herb garden outside on your small porch. The apartment doors faced an alley, and on the other side of the alley was another apartment building. You didn’t know how much sunlight your basil would get, but that’s a problem for future you.

A problem for the current you, however, was your neighbour's motorcycle. The bike is an exact replica of the legendary Honda Super Cub that was used in the original anime Akira, and as pretty as it is, that shit is loud. His apartment is right on the edge by the sidewalk, meaning the only place he can park it is right in front of your window.

You’ve tried everything. Earplugs. Noise-cancelling headphones. Ear plugs under your noise-cancelling headphones. Sleeping with a white noise machine. Nothing works. You only moved in a month ago but you’re already sick of this mysterious man and his bike. You don’t run into each other often, catching glimpses of him as he drives off in the morning and comes home at night. You didn’t want to be that neighbour, the one that complains about every single little thing, but it was driving you mad. He revs his bike so loudly and for so long, that you’re starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.

You wake up that fateful morning and decide you’ve had enough. You wait for him to return home, hyping yourself up in the mirror before heading outside to confront him. You idle nervously in front of his front door for a few seconds before knocking. 

He answers, looking exhausted, his hair a mess from his helmet. “Yeah?” You have to admit, he’s pretty cute. Tall and lean, with bicep muscles that strain against the fabric of his black t-shirt. And you swear you can see some eyeliner smudged on his water line.

You smile, trying to come across as calm and casual, slightly flustered by how attractive he is. “Hey. I’m your new next-door neighbour,” You gesture with your thumb. “I don’t wanna be that person, but would it be possible for you to not rev your engine so loud in the morning? It’s just…it’s right by my window, and it’s really loud.”

He lets out a sigh of frustration, not exactly in the mood for what you're throwing at him. It was already 9 pm on the third day in a row that he had worked the late shift, and this was not something he needed right now. He looks at you, his expression a mixture of irritation and confusion. “Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I park where I park, nothing is going to change that. You just moved in, this is how it's been and how it's always going to be.”

You blink, a little taken aback by how rude he was being. “I understand that, but surely I'm not the only person in the building who gets inconvenienced by your bike.”

He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. The last thing he wants to do after a long shift is argue with someone about something as insignificant as noise. “Look, if you don't like it, then move out. I don't see anybody else complaining. You're the only one.”

You clench your jaw. You had some experience with bikes, your ex-boyfriend being a mechanic. You knew it was possible to make the revving quieter, it just seems like he didn’t care. “Can’t you just buy a muffler silencer?”

He lets out a short, sharp laugh, one that doesn't hold a single trace of humor.  “A muffler silencer? For a Super Cub? Are you serious? That would be like asking a Ferrari to be quiet.”

“You can’t expect everyone to just be okay with how loud your bike is, man.” You say. “I’m sure it inconveniences everyone in the building, but no one wants to be the person that confronts you.”

He seems to be holding back from saying what he wants to say, taking a shallow breath. “Look. It's my bike. I can do whatever I want with it. No one else is bothered, so why should you be any different? Why do you care so much?”

“You’re not the only person who works early mornings.” You say. “You aren’t the only person in the world, you know.”

That strikes a nerve, clearly, but he still doesn't seem interested in hearing what you're saying. He just rolls his eyes, looking away at his bike for a moment before looking back at you. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but in case you haven't realised, you're not that important.”

“Neither are you.” You say impulsively. It was mean, and you didn’t like being mean, but he wasn’t giving you any other option.

He glares at you, his expression darkening. It's only for a moment, but you can see there is actual vitriol in his eyes. “Look, I'm going to make this simple for you. If you don't like the noise, then move out. That bike is not going anywhere. It has more meaning to me than you'll ever understand.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Akira meant so much to you as a kid,” You say sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t keep doing this, man. Buy a muffler silencer.” 

He laughs, but there's a slight tinge of bitterness to it. “Oh, so it's just a cartoon to you? It’s not an influential masterpiece that changed motorcycle and animation culture forever? Okay, great. Good to know.” He is starting to get worked up, but then he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. “Look, like I said, I am not doing anything to this bike. Not the mufflers, nothing.”

“Then park it somewhere else.” You snap. “Keep it away from my window. I don’t want to hear that shit.”

There's a flash of annoyance on his face. “There's no place to park it away from your window unless I block the sidewalk, which I guarantee you would cause more inconvenience. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

“Are you always this rude and stuck up?” The question stumbles out of your mouth before your mind can process it.

His temper flares up. He takes a step towards you, putting his hands on his hips as he glares at you. “Are you always this entitled and self-absorbed?”

You take a step back. You hate to admit it, but the way he towers over you is arousing. His cologne fills your nostrils and you find yourself getting lightheaded. It was slightly spicy, with a hint of vanilla and coffee. 

You ground yourself, swallowing hard. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want us to come to a reasonable compromise.”

He glares at you, his eyes boring into you as you step back. You can feel the heat on your skin as if every drop of sweat in his body has been activated by the situation. His cologne is overwhelming you, filling your whole body. “There is no compromise to make here. You don't like the noise, tough. You're just going to have to get used to it or move out. That's it.”

Your eye twitches. “You’re such an asshole.” At this point, you didn’t feel bad being mean to him. He kind of deserved it.

He laughs, seeming almost amused by your temper. “You're one to talk. You come barging up to my apartment, demanding I make changes to my bike, and then you get mad at me when I tell you not to waste your time. Look in the mirror, sweetheart, and then come back with the right to tell me I'm an asshole.”

Fuck. You shouldn’t like the way he says sweetheart, but it causes your throat to dry up. “I tried to be nice to you,” You say. “You’re the one that got defensive and rude.”

“Nice? Maybe in your little dreamland that's what you think you were doing. Maybe you even believe that you were just being friendly and reasonable, I don't know. But in reality, all you were doing was pissing me off and acting like some sort of entitled princess.” He takes a step closer to you, his finger pointed in your face. “But one thing is certain. I’m not changing anything about my bike just to make you happy.”

He’s so close to you that it makes your head spin. You step back again, leaning against the railing surrounding his small porch. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame me for being upset.”

He doesn't seem interested in letting you off the hook yet, not when he looks so close to snapping. “It doesn't matter if you're upset or not. You don't get what you want by coming here and giving me an attitude like a fucking brat.”

You swallow hard. Fuck. You shouldn’t be attracted to this man, he was rude as hell and didn’t seem to care that he was inconveniencing not only you but everyone in the building. But you couldn’t help yourself. He was so pretty, and he smelled so good, and his voice was so nice. You were going to have to change your panties when you got back home. 

You stand up straight, trying to stay headstrong. “You’re being incredibly rude about this.”

“And you're being incredibly entitled. There's only one of us that needs to change here, and it's not me.” He narrows his eyes, his gaze still burning into you.

You lick your lips. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere by arguing.”

He gives another one of those short, sharp laughs. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip. “You finally said something smart. I didn’t know it was so difficult for you. Now, are you ready to accept that you're not going to get what you want, or do you want to keep wasting my time?”

Your eyes narrow. What the fuck? “Excuse me? Did you just call me dumb?”

A smirk spreads across his lips. “You heard me. Or did you need me to repeat it for you?”

You let out a sharp laugh, moving off of his porch. “You know what? Fuck you.”

He raises his eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. “Oh, so you've switched from demanding to insults? Real mature, aren't you?”

You head over to your apartment, laughing again. “I should’ve known trying to reason with you would be impossible.” 

He calls after you. “You're damn right it's impossible. You come here, make some demands, and then get mad when I tell you no. You're a spoiled brat who always gets her way, aren't you? Well, today's a bad day for you, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, holding the door to your apartment open. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He says, smirking slightly. “I’m not into brats like you. I think you need to be taken down a few pegs. You need someone to put you in your place.”

You scoff and flip him off before slamming the door behind you, and just like that, you have given up. 

He leans against his door, crossing his arms and smiling as he watches you leave, his eyes on your ass. He’s just a tiny bit disappointed that you gave up so quickly. He's got to admit, it was pretty fun messing with you, watching how angry you get. He thought you looked cute like that, your cheeks all red and flustered.

Maybe next time…

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here

dedicated to the lovely @whereflowerswenttodie

[highonmarvel]

You just let it happen

Bucky Barnes: After witnessing an ostensible but seemingly non violent crime in its outcome, you push it to the back of your mind, but the offender escalates.

An entry for Day 2 of the exciting @sintember challenge! [this is my favourite prompt, I hope you enjoy!]

Prompt: You just let it happen, ft [Biker AU] Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

“Bystander, victim or accomplice, perhaps you shouldn't have let it pass...”

warnings: dubcon!, robbery, violent crime, very mild ‘gore.’ 18+!

It’s not like you lived in the most dangerous of areas, but there’s not really a neighbourhood a reasonable woman would feel comfortable walking in alone after sunset. Despite the relatively warm air, you shiver slightly, pulling your cardigan tighter as you walk at a brisk pace down the cobbled pavement.

There’s only really one spot you’d say was explicitly ‘sketchy,’ for lack of a better term. You’ve heard a few motorcycles rev near a small gas station, but they didn’t really stick around for more than a few minutes every couple of days—you think they know the owner or something, or maybe the owner owes them something, but you’ve never really heard of them being violent—they may just very well be some regular guys who just happen to ride bikes, not every group of guys is a gang. Still, you’ve never been one for walking past more than two men at a time.

You stop in your tracks and sigh as you check your watch. It’s nearly eight, all the grocery stores are definitely closed by now, and you really need to pick some stuff up. You look up the small hill to the garage—there’s only one motorbike parked outside it, it probably doesn’t even belong to one of those guys.

You shield your eyes from the bright lights illuminating the road and gas pumps, but other than the loudness of the neon, it’s silent. The automatic doors slide open and the chill from the air conditioner causes a shiver to run down your spine as you reach to pick up a plastic basket. Unfortunately for you, you don’t notice the scene at the front of the store.

You grab a few things from the aisles, it takes less than five minutes, you anticipate being out of the store before eight strikes, but as you turn the corner to join the queue to pay, you freeze.

A tall man, broad shoulders, with his back turned to you is holding a gun up to the cashier, almost lazily, like he does this often and he’s getting bored of it. You gasp and nearly drop your things. Just as his head turns, you manage to duck behind some shelves, clasping one hand over your mouth, the other on your chest, as if you can somehow control your spiked heart rate by pressing down hard enough.

You hear the man make a curious noise behind you and cock his gun. You shut your eyes as you hear footsteps approach, like you’re a child who lives by ‘If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.’ Heavy boots come to a stop in the row behind you, and you hear a mechanical whirring of some kind. When he turns and the footsteps get lighter and lighter, you nearly want to sigh in relief, but don’t dare make a sound.

You’re not sure how long you’re hidden—realistically it can’t have been more than five minutes (robbers just wanna get in and out, right?) but it feels longer, and the hushed conversation you can barely hear over the blood thumping in your ears seems to last too long for a normal heist.

When you hear the ding of the automatic doors open and then close, you know he’s left. You risk a glance to the counter, where the owner (who’s working as the cashier) is dragging a rag across his sweaty forehead, and looking shaken, understandably so. But you don’t remember hearing the cash register open. Maybe your panic blocked it out, you could hardly hear anything with how harshly you were breathing behind your clammy hand anyway.

Should you say something? What could you do, call the cops? You don’t think he stole anything, he just had a gun, isn’t that some protected amendment in the US? Was a crime even committed? Maybe this could count as harassment, intimidation, but did you really see enough to make that call? The owner doesn’t seem hurt, just stressed out, maybe there’s other stuff going on, nothing to do with what just happened. You don’t even know what the guy looks like, and the owner isn’t making any moves to call the police, he’s not calling anyone at all, so it can’t have been that bad, can it? Maybe that guy didn’t even have a gun, and you were just seeing things because you’re tired. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes sense. It was probably nothing.

Although you’ve talked yourself into believing—realising—that you didn’t really witness anything, you still dart out the door, ignoring your name being called by the man behind the counter and leaving your basket in your hiding spot. When you get home, you shut the door firmly behind you and triple check all the locks.

***

The next day, there’s not a peep of what happened. No one in your neighbourhood seems to have heard anything about it: so you were right, nothing happened at all. Even if the cops weren’t called, you’re sure some gossip would have spread if it was a scene, but it wasn’t. You were right, it was nothing.

You feel a bit better as you go through your day, having tossed and turned the night before about whether you made the right call, but evidently you did: nothing bad happened! That is, until you’re walking home, and yellow tape is lined outside the gas station, cop cars and men with notepads gathered around the scene. You can’t help but walk up, feeling a sense of dread at what you might find.

The owner is laying on the floor in the middle of the parking lot, crimson bleeding from his head. You gasp at the sight and an officer whips around to see you. He shakes his head, tuts and sighs as he flips his notepad to a new page.

“Go home, lady,” he says, but he seems more tired than anything, almost like he was… expecting to find this. “This ain’t a safe place for a dame like you.”

You swallow hard and turn on your heel, trying to maintain a normal pace (that ends up being speedwalking, nearly running) as you near your flat. In the building, you all but fly up the stairs to get to your floor.

Oh, god, should you have said something? You can’t change yesterday, but should you turn back and say something to the cops now? Tell them what you saw, have them question you on why you didn’t say a word to anyone, let alone the authorities?

You’ve closed the door behind you and are safely in your apartment when you finally let a few tears fall. Back against the door, you dig the heels of your palms so harshly onto your eyelids colour blots your blackened vision. Oh god, oh god, oh god, what should you have done? What can you even do about this now? You really don’t know anything! If the security cameras caught something, then it would be okay, right? They’ll find the guy—you only saw him from the back but he wasn’t wearing a balaclava or anything. And if they needed you, they’d be able to find you too, right? If they could identify you on the CCTV. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

The door opens and you fall forward with a shriek. Oh, fuck, you had been so focused on your inner monologue you didn’t lock it.

You fall onto your front but manage to prop yourself up on your forearms, turning over onto your back to look up at the intruder. Your stomach sinks.

You didn’t see his face yesterday but you know this is him; even if his broad shoulders and leather jacket didn’t give it away, under what other circumstances would a man burst into your place shortly after you entered unless he was following you, and what other man would be following you except one who knew something, or knew you knew something.

The lights are off in your apartment, but the hallway ones illuminate his silhouette like he’s an axe murderer standing in your doorway. He raises his gun and you whimper, shutting your eyes and turning your head away.

“I heard you,” he finally speaks in a low voice, slightly gruff.

“I didn’t tell anyone!” you swear, tears spilling out of your eyes. “I didn’t even see anything, I couldn’t even see anything, I swear!” you cry in between deep breaths.

And you’re sure you imagined a snort. You look up in horror, expecting to hear a bullet fly. But you hear… a laugh?

“I’m sorry,” he apologises and straightens his posture. He flips the light switch on and you see his face: his teeth sink into his plump lower lip, and he tries and fails to suppress a smile, “I’m sorry!” he apologises again, this time he laughs out loud, and you realise he’s apologising not for the situation, but that he can’t keep a straight face about it. “Sorry, it’s just��I could hear you, you know.” He steps closer and you back away again, shuffling on your forearms because you’re not sure if your legs will be able to carry you if you tried to stand, let alone run. He lets his brow drop into something like faux concern as he looks down on you with steel blue eyes. “Your pretty little heartbeat,” he murmurs, eyes briefly raking your form. “I can hear it now.”

Okay, you know you’re heart rate’s got to be in the 300s, but he can’t hear it… can he?

He raises a gloved hand, and for a moment you assume he’s going to cock his gun, and you brace yourself, but instead he sighs as he turns it over, looking at the back of the glove, and you furrow your brows in confusion. He twirls the gun and tucks it safely into his waistband so he can use his free hand to reveal… a metal hand? That must have been the mechanical whirring you heard last night. You tilt your head at it as he flexes the fingers, and somehow, this arm seems more dangerous than the gun.

“Relax,” he scoffs when he notices you staring at it as he pulls the glove off his other hand. “It’s not gonna feel good if I’ve got these on, now, is it.” He moves to stand over you, and you’re paralysed by fear. You’re not quite comprehending what he’s getting at until he winks at you. “And you won’t be telling anyone about this either.”

You finally manage to scramble to your feet but stumble back a few paces, your back hitting your bedroom door at the end of the corridor. He stalks towards you and you find it in you to speak again, ignoring how the shakiness to your tone has you seeming like helpless prey cowering in a corner. “You—you need to leave,” you try, as if a criminal is suddenly going to change his ways at a command.

“Come on,” he groans as he fishes his gun back out of his pocket with his right hand, pointing it at your thigh. You still when he finally comes to a stop way too close to you for comfort, or even a little relief. “This isn’t a punishment,” he sighs as he kicks your legs apart, and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You watch him with wide eyes as he pops his metal fingers into his mouth and smiles at you. “Don’t be difficult, and you’ll see how good this can feel.”

You shut your eyes when you feel the cool metal graze over your folds, slightly covered in saliva. When you tense, he whispers, “Relax.” and presses the gun into your thigh. You reluctantly unclench as he slowly drags his fingers along your folds before pressing his thumb onto your clit, making you gasp and dig your nails into his skin, to which he just hums in delight.

You can’t help the wetness that slowly gathers as he rubs rhythmic circles over your clit, gently dragging his fingers back and forth until they’re coated with slick. You clench again to try to keep him from breaching your entrance. “I know you feel bad,” he coos, but doesn’t let up on his assault, “But just let this happen. Yesterday… you just let it happen.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek when he finally slips a finger inside you, and you involuntarily adjust to him. “There you go, good job,” he praises, ignoring the tear that falls onto his lip. When he slips another finger into you, you cry out and throw your arms over his shoulders, burying your face against him to muffle the quiet moans you can’t control, urging him closer to you, and pressing the metal of the gun harder into your thigh, making an indent you’re sure you’ll see the mark of tomorrow.

You feel your stomach tense as the bubble builds and builds, and when you finally let go, throwing your head back with a frustrated groan, he nuzzles his face into your neck. You feel him smile against you as you push at his shoulders trying to get him off of you, or even just to relent his fingers still dragging in and out of you even as your legs wobble, hardly keeping you up, and your aftershocks start to reach a level of intensity that’s bordering on painful.

“Just let it happen…”

✪

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier

[gayleatherstories]

Becoming a biker's sub

It all started with car trouble. I was moving myself and my meager belongings to the other side of the country trying to start anew.

I closed all my accounts (didn't have much in them anyway), sold pretty much everything I could sell, donated the rest and started my trek across the map.

Unfortunately for me after a couple days of driving my shitbox of a car suddenly just stopped working. That's how I found myself on the side of a seemingly empty stretch of highway bent over my car's engine. Hoping that through sheer power of will I could get the damn thing to start working again.

After about 30 minutes of this I suddenly hear the rumbling sound of a motorcycle heading my way. To my surprise the biker parked his bike a couple meters in front of my car. Dismounted his vehicle and made his way over to my situation.

The man in question was taller than me, had a bit of a belly and was dressed in head to toe tight shiny black leather. and after taking a quick look at my broken down engine proceeded to propose driving me to his house so I could call road assistance.

I agreed, grabbed my backpack with my most important stuff (like passport, drivers license etc) and propped myself on the backseat of this man's harley. He revved his engine making me grab on to his leather covered waist to steady myself.

After the drive to his place, which had been further away than I had presumed, we dismounted and he led me inside. For some reason I had expected him to change out of his full leather look but he just took of his biker jacket, revealing a short sleeved leather button-up and a pair of toned arms.

After showing me his landline he offered me a beer, which I accepted, and took one for himself and sat himself down at his kitchen table while I called a tow truck to get my car and bring it to the closest auto repair shop.

After my phonecall I joined the biker, who's name turned out to be Mark, at his kitchen table.

We talked for a while during which I told him about how I was leaving everything behind to start anew. At some point I somehow got half a bottle of beer spilled all over me. Mark kindly offered his washer & dryer for my beer soaked clothes, showed me his bathroom where I could shower and told me he'd put out some clothes for me to wear while my stuff was being washed.

The pile of 'clothes' that Mark had laid out for me were interesting to say the least. It consisted of the tightest, shortest leather shorts that for some reason had a zipper running from the back to the front of the garment and a tight leather polo shirt. Since I didn't want to go out there naked I squeezed myself into the shorts and top.

I came out of his bedroom and during my shower Mark had gotten comfortable on his leather couch. His shirt was now hanging open revealing the harness he'd been wearing underneath made out of wide leather straps. One of which disappeared into his leather pants.

While looking at his chosen outfit for me, he padded the couch cushion next to him. Making me suddenly realise that I actually had no idea where I was and that I couldn't go anywhere as long as I was dressed the way I was dressed.

I sat down.

As he kept staring at my leather clad body I noticed he'd started messaging his leather bulge and he asked me if I had ever been with a man before. To which I said that I hadn't since I was straight. He thought for a second and then asked if I knew how I was actually going to repay the kindness he showed me so far. I told him that I didn't have any money. He said that there are other ways to thank a man than to pay him money and slowly unzipped his leather pants revealing a long thick uncut cock. I repeated that I was straight to which Mark replied with an ultimatum. Either I could leave now dressed as I was barefoot or 'play with his dick a little' until my clothes we're dry.

It was getting dark outside and I knew my chances of survival would be low so I slowly slid myself closer and grabbed Mark's dick with two shakey hands. I took comfort in the fact that no one would know I'd jerked off a guy and started moving my hands up and down.

Because I was so preoccupied with contemplating my life choices that had led me up to this point, I didn't notice the camera Mark had hidden in his living room.

After a while Mark noticed I was getting tired so he let me know that the quickest way to make him come was with oral. I said that there's no way I'd put a man's cock in my mouth to which he said that it was totally my choice and he was willing to put on a condom but that I wasn't getting my stuff back until he'd cum.

After a couple of minutes I just wanted this whole ordeal to be over with so I kneeled in-between Marks knees while he grabbed a condom out of a side table. With his cock wrapped in latex I slowly put his dick in my mouth. As I started going up and down I heard Mark call me a good boy which only added to my humiliation. When he started to get close he surprised me by grabbing my head with both hands and fucking my mouth with his latex covered cock. Finally, Mark came and released his hold on my head. I started coughing the second I didn't have a dick ramming down my throat.

Mark told me he was sorry for losing control and offered me a glass of water. I told him to fuck off and that he was fucked up. I decided I had had enough and went to grab my clothes from the dryer. Turns out Mark had taken my clothes and probably hidden them somewhere. When I walked back into the living room to confront him Mark was slowly jerking off while looking at a leather porn he'd put on. Before I could start shouting Mark told me how good I was on camera and nodded to the screen.

There I was on my knees in leather seemingly willingly sucking another leather man's cock.

I asked him what he was planning to do with that footage to which he said that obedience gets rewarded with anonymity. I asked him what that meant and as a response he got up, walked until he was right in front of me and ordered me do put his semihard cock back into his leather pants. Feeling completely hopeless about my situation I did as I was told. When I zipped his trousers back up he told me to follow him.

He took me to his basement which at first glance looked like something from a bdsm porn set. He told me to hold out my wrists which he subsequently cuffed together and attached to a chain that hung from the ceiling. Effectively stretching my arms above my head. Mark told me he was going to make some adjustments to my "uniform" before we'd go to sleep. At this point I was so caught up in my anxiety about the whole thing I didn't even try to fight back.

Turns out the adjustments were a steel chastity cage, a thick leather collar and he switched my leather shorts out for leather chaps. When I asked if could get any underwear Mark laughed and said sure. My relief was short-lived when said underwear turned out to be a shiny bright pink latex thong. After I was deemed properly dressed Mark took me over to a full length mirror. I looked like a leather fetish guy. With a hand on my now exposed ass Mark said it was time for bed and guided me back upstairs.

In his bedroom he told me to get on the bed on my stomach. He chained my collar to the bed and cuffed my arms behind my back. After taking off all his clothes, except the harness, he laid down next to me. I was shaking like a leaf this point wondering if I was about to get fucked. Mark seemingly having read my thoughts told me that if I didn't want to fall asleep with his cock buried inside me, he'd settle for making out but I'd have to make him feel like I wanted to kiss him. I said ok to which Mark draped me over his side one hand on my ass and the other guiding my head towards his face. To my surprise I didn't mind the kissing as much as everything else I had done with this man. I was so focused on kissing Mark, I didn't even notice when one of Mark's fingers was gently rubbing over my asshole. After a while my captor said we should get some sleep and to my surprise I was dead to the world not long after Mark's breathing had evened out.

[gvfgal]

*New* 12. Barbarian Princess

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ story, minors DNI!!!

A/n: HI GUYS!! So there are about seven chapters left to this series (plus an epilogue) and I’m going to try not to drag it out any longer than necessary! So be prepared for more frequent updates going forward. As soon as I get chapters finished, I’ll be uploading them 🫶🏾 Anyways without further ado here’s chapter 12! Leave questions, comments, concerns where ever you see fit, and as always, enjoy ❤️

Content Warnings: Not much, just some fluff and of course some angst (cause what’s Barbarian without it?).

Word Count: 4.7k

“Good news for you, Bobby. Looks like we’ll be out of your hair pretty soon.” The Barbarians had made another trip to Bobby’s casino, some of them in the process of stuffing their latest sum of money into bags. Though this revelation was good news for Bobby, he couldn’t see past the piles of cash disappearing right before his eyes. Ace and Jake were getting a kick out of his distress.

“Yeah, you’ll be out of my hair,” Bobby replied through gritted teeth, “but you’ll have bled me dry by the time you get your greasy Barbarian paws off me. I’ll hardly have anything left.”

Jake shrugged. “Guess that’s something you should’ve thought of before you started stealing from us, huh?”

Bobby scoffed bitterly. “I wasn’t stealing from you all. You assholes just weren’t smart enough to see what was going on right under your noses.” He turned to Jake with a crooked grin. “Seems like Rex wasn’t on his job like he was supposed to be, huh?”

Jake’s mind immediately flashed to the money hidden in Rex’s walls. He hadn’t told anyone about it and still had no clue where it came from. The possibility that Rex had been up to no good behind the Barbarians’ backs, potentially in cahoots with Bobby, unnerved him. If Rex had indeed been siphoning money from the group and someone found out, it could spell even more trouble for Jake.

On the defense, his fist flew before Bobby could brace himself, the punch landing squarely on his jaw. Bobby crumpled under the force, collapsing into the arms of his men who were conveniently standing behind him.

Ace chuckled and shook his head. “Thought you’d learn by now to keep that mouth of yours shut, Bobby.”

The tension in the room thickened. Bobby’s men looked ready to pounce, but the sight of the Barbarians, cool and composed, kept them in check. Jake shot Bobby a glare, his eyes burning with a warning.

Ace clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Alright, enough fun. Let’s get out of here.”

The Barbarians gathered their bags and headed towards the exit, the sound of heavy boots on the casino floor echoing ominously—a stark reminder of the power they held. Jake shot a final glare at Bobby, ensuring his message was clear. Outside, the night was still and dark, the perfect cover for their departure.

As they stepped into the cool night air, Ace nudged Jake with a grin. “You know, kid, you gotta stop knocking out our business partners. Makes it hard to keep relationships civil.”

Jake smirked, rubbing his knuckles. “He had it coming.”

Ace laughed, the sound rumbling through the quiet night. “Guess we know what button to press if we need you to swing next time. Just mention old Rex.”

The Barbarians shared a chuckle, lightening the tense atmosphere, but all Jake could think of was the money. They moved towards their bikes, the metallic clinks of their gear echoing softly. Jake swung his leg over his Harley, feeling the familiar rumble beneath him. Ace and the rest of the crew followed suit, their bikes growling in unison.

Ace revved his engine and turned to Jake, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Next time, let me know before you decide to redecorate someone’s face. Gives me a chance to place bets.”

Jake chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s get out of here.”

Ace turned to the group of guys with Nicky, who were busy loading the money into the truck. “We’ll take off ahead of you guys. Put some distance between us, just in case.”

Nicky gave Ace a salute, casting his usual glaring scowl at Jake before continuing to direct the crew.

Jake rolled his eyes, mounting his bike and pulling on his helmet. “That guy’s got a stick so far up his ass, I don’t think it’ll ever come out.”

Ace laughed, “That’s just Nicky being Nicky.”

The roar of engines filled the night as the Barbarians revved their bikes. They shot one last look at the casino, its neon lights flickering in the distance. With a nod from Ace, they tore down the road, leaving Bobby and his empty vault behind. The night swallowed their roars, but the message was clear: the Barbarians were not to be trifled with. And this was all thanks to Jake.

About twenty minutes into their ride, the group saw the flashing of red and blue lights behind them.

“Shit,” Ace grumbled under his breath. Jake looked back at the two motorcycle cops behind them, then over to Ace. They both wondered the same thing: should we run? Their first instinct was always to evade, given their club’s history with law enforcement and the thrill of the chase.

But knowing too much was at stake, Jake nodded towards the shoulder of the road, and one by one, the Barbarians began pulling their bikes over. They had nothing incriminating on them, and this was likely just harassment.

The cops pulled up to the front of the procession, right beside Jake and Ace.

“Evening, officers,” Ace greeted before the men even dismounted their bikes. “Any reason you’ve pulled us over?”

The pale, slender cop slinked his way over to Jake, while the shorter, dark-skinned officer walked up to Ace with a faux grin.

“Just wanted to see what you guys were doing out here this time of night.”

Ace shrugged. “Just taking a ride with the boys. That a crime?”

Jake fought the urge to scowl at the bony cop standing over him, attempting to intimidate him. He wasn’t scared in the slightest, just annoyed.

“Nope. Not a crime. We just—”

“We noticed you guys have been taking a lot of trips up to Bobby’s casino,” the cop near Jake interrupted, smacking his gum in an increasingly annoying way. “Care to explain that?”

Just then, the large box truck driven by Nicky zoomed past the group, safely out of the meddling officers’ grasp. Jake smirked as he watched it go by, then turned to the lanky officer standing far too close to him with a shrug. “What can we say? We love to gamble.”

The officers weren’t ready to relent just yet. “Gambling, huh? You sure you boys aren’t up to something more… interesting?”

Ace’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Officer, the only thing we’re up to is trying to find the next blackjack table. You know how it is.”

The shorter cop narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it but unable to prove otherwise. “Well, just make sure you don’t get into any trouble, if possible. We’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Jake grinned, his patience wearing thin. “Good to know someone’s looking out for us.”

The cops exchanged a look, then reluctantly backed off. “Alright, move along.”

The black cop began making his way back to his bike, but the other stood lingering beside Jake as if he had something else to say. Jake waited patiently with a smug look on his face.

When the officer realized he could say no more, he finally turned to join his partner, the two mounting their own bikes before speeding off into the night.

Jake shook his head, frustration evident. “All the trips we’ve made through here, and now those fuckers decide to stop us.” He put his helmet back on and turned to Ace. “How much you wanna bet Bobby had something to do with it?”

Ace chuckled, a dark humor in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He probably didn’t take kindly to getting knocked on his ass. Luckily, the money made it past. That’s the most important thing.”

“I should’ve hit him harder,” Jake muttered, clenching his fist to gauge how sore it’d be the next morning.

Ace raised an eyebrow, grinning. “It’s not too late to turn around.”

Jake smirked, but shook his head. “He’s not worth the energy. Besides, we need to be getting back to town.”

The men revved their engines once more, the powerful roars echoing through the night. One by one, the Barbarians pulled back onto the road, their headlights piercing the darkness as they continued their journey back to Riley’s.

They weren’t done with the partying yet. As soon as they arrived, the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses filled the air. Angela, alone behind the bar, was already arranging a round of shots.

Ace grabbed two from the countertop and handed one over to Jake. “Gonna stick around for a while?”

A few other Barbarians crowded around them, raising their glasses before throwing back the shots. The burn of the liquor was a familiar comfort to Jake, and he savored the sting before setting his shot glass down on the table.

“Nah, I should be getting home to Cherry. She’s probably looking for me.”

The men around him erupted in playful teasing, shoving him and calling him whipped. Jake took it all in stride, a grin spreading across his face. He didn’t mind the ribbing, especially when it came to you, the mother of his unborn child.

“Alright, alright, leave the kid alone,” Ace laughed, giving Jake a rough shove. “Get outta here before she calls me looking for you.”

Jake said his goodbyes, the anticipation building as he made his way back to Cactus Creek, back to you, his favorite place to be these days.

He found you in your usual spot on the couch, curled up watching TV, waiting for his return. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face, and his heart swelled at the sight of you.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted as he joined you on the couch. You were finally beginning to show, though just barely. A small bump in your lower stomach that filled both of you with a happiness you never thought possible.

“Hey,” you nuzzled into his side as he pulled you close, his hand immediately moving to rub over your stomach. “I missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too. And I missed you,” he spoke to the bump, a bright smile lighting up his tired features. It was always so endearing to you, the way he spoke to the baby as if it were already here. No matter what mood he was in, joy always found him whenever he got the opportunity to do so.

“Just three weeks,” he continued, his voice soft with wonder. “Three weeks, and we get to find out what you are.”

“Mhmm,” you were enjoying his excitement about finding out the gender, but you already had your suspicions about what was growing inside of you. “She did tell me that’s she’s craving that twenty-four hour Chinese takeout from Wu’s.”

Jake looked up at you with playful apprehension, “She? you seem so sure that it’s a girl. What if it’s another Barbarian Prince in the making?” He winked

“Hey, I’ve been the one stuck hanging out with her for the past three and a half months, I think I’d know better than anyone what she’s gonna be,” you laughed, “which is also how I know she really wants that Chinese takeout.”

“Alright alright,” Jake chuckled, sitting up from his lax position, “Chinese takeout it is, then. Anything for my girls,” he joked, throwing the word ‘girls’ out as if it were some unbelievable notion, “but we’ll let the doctor be the final decider on that.”

He moved to put his boots back on, grabbing up the keys to the truck as he made his way to the door.

“Hey Jake,” you called to him before he could leave. He turned back to look at you. You could see the exhaustion evident in his face, but you knew he’d never let it get in the way of doing for you. Never in a million years did you think you’d be so lucky to have someone who cared for you so much. After all you’d been through in your life, sometimes it felt too good to be true.

“I love you.”

Jake smiled at you, “I love you too, Cherry. More than anything.”

The ticking of the clock on the off-white wall was the only sound breaking the silence in the doctor's waiting room. You sat there, leg bouncing impatiently, flipping through a maternity magazine. The article on lactation held little interest for you; it was merely a distraction. You were minutes away from discovering the gender of your baby, and Jake was nowhere in sight.

The waiting room was filled with other expectant mothers, many visibly far along in their pregnancies, each accompanied by a supportive partner or family member. Your worry began to grow, and you pulled out your phone to double-check the appointment time.

You: 3:30pm!

Jake: 10-4 mama bear. See u at 3:30.

You sighed and stuffed your phone back into your purse, trying to quell the rising anxiety. Picking up the magazine again, you half-heartedly glanced at the pages, but your eyes kept darting toward the door, hoping to see Jake's familiar form striding in.

The doorbell chimed, and your heart leapt. But it was just another couple, the woman looking ready to give birth any day now. You glanced at the clock, its hands moving inexorably toward three-thirty.

Right on cue, a nurse appeared, calling your last name with a broad smile. You managed a small grin in return and cast one last hopeful glance toward the door before setting the magazine aside and following her to the back.

The nurse began the routine checkup, taking your blood pressure, measuring your heart rate, and asking a series of standard questions. The mechanical nature of the process offered little comfort.

"And I see here you have a Mr. Jake Kiszka listed as the father," the nurse noted, looking up from her clipboard. "Is he supposed to be joining us today?"

You sighed, feeling a twinge of disappointment but quickly brushed it aside. "He's supposed to be here," you replied, forcing a smile. "He will be here."

The nurse nodded understandingly and continued with her questions. As she worked, you tried to focus on the excitement of the moment rather than the empty seat beside you, hoping Jake would walk through the door any second now.

Once the nurse completed her initial checks, she excused herself to fetch the doctor for the ultrasound. Alone in the room, you took the chance to call Jake one last time. The phone rang endlessly before going to voicemail, leaving you feeling more anxious. You were about to dial again when the door opened and Dr. Turner walked in.

You listened quietly as she reviewed a few routine matters, nodding at appropriate moments, but your eyes kept darting to the door, hoping Jake would appear.

“Alright,” Dr. Turner said, grabbing the gel from the counter, her short bob swaying, “I’m going to apply this on your belly. It’ll feel a little cold, just a heads up.”

Your heart sank at the thought of Jake missing this special moment, and your mind raced with worst-case scenarios. But just as the cold gel touched your skin, the door burst open, and there he was. Jake stood breathless, looking disheveled with sweat dampening his hair, but to you, he was a sight for sore eyes.

The nurse behind him tried to hide her amusement at his dramatic entrance.

“Hey, I’m so sorry,” Jake rushed out, thanking the nurse as he moved to your side. “Dr. Turner, good to see you,” he greeted, but his eyes were on you, filled with relief.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead repeatedly. “I’m sorry, baby. I got caught up with some stuff.” You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” Dr. Turner chimed in, spreading the gel smoothly over your stomach. “You definitely don’t want to miss this.”

Jake held your hand tightly as she began gliding the transducer over your belly. The ultrasound image flickered to life on the screen, and despite not fully understanding what you were seeing, the sight of your little one filled you both with joy.

“Alright,” Dr. Turner announced, “everything looks good—normal, nothing out of the ordinary.” She scanned a bit more, then asked, “Do you want to know the gender now, or are you planning to wait?”

“We want to know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, not quite sure why you felt the need to be quiet.

“Do you want to know now?” Dr. Turner teased with a smile.

Jake’s eyes lit up. “You mean you can tell us now? We don’t have to wait for you to print some stuff up?”

Dr. Turner chuckled. “If you’d like to wait for me to ‘print some stuff up,’ we can, but I can tell you right now.”

You nodded eagerly. “What is it?”

The doctor paused for a moment, double-checking the image, before she revealed, “It looks like you two are having a little girl.”

Your excitement bubbled over, making you want to leap off the table and dance. “I knew it, Jake! I knew she was a girl!”

Jake stared at the screen, a look of astonished joy spreading across his face. “Holy shit,” he muttered, causing you and Dr. Turner to laugh.

“We’re having a girl,” he repeated, looking at you with pride shining in his eyes. “Cherry, we’re having a girl!”

“Can you show us?” Jake asked, still in awe. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

Dr. Turner pointed out specific areas on the screen that looked like nothing more than pixilated blobs to you. She could have said anything, and you would have believed it, so filled with awe and happiness were you both.

The room buzzed with excitement as Dr. Turner finished the scan, going over a few important points with you. She printed out the ultrasound photos, which you both gazed at like they were treasures. As you made your way to schedule your next appointment, Jake’s hand remained firmly in yours, both of you grounding each other in this unforgettable moment.

After the appointment, you and Jake decided to celebrate the big news with an early dinner at Gino’s. You ordered one of your favorite desserts, savoring every bite while Jake watched you with a fond smile. He loved seeing you happy, especially now with the news of your little girl.

On the drive home, Jake mentioned needing to stop by the Tavern to pick something up from Ace. You, feeling full, tired, and pregnant, grumbled the entire way there.

"Jake, I've been out all day. I'm exhausted. I just want to go home and cuddle."

He chuckled, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. "I know, baby. We can still do that. I'll be quick, I promise."

As you pulled into the gravel parking lot, you noticed it was lined with Barbarian bikes and a few cars, signaling a full house. However, the usual rock music was absent, and the normally bustling area seemed strangely quiet.

"You want to come in real quick?" Jake asked as he killed the truck’s engine. Despite your fatigue, curiosity got the better of you. Something was definitely up, and this was Riley’s Tavern, your Tavern now, and you wanted to be in the loop.

You hopped out of the truck and followed Jake to the door, eyes squinting with suspicion. As soon as he pulled the door open, you were greeted by an explosion of pink—streamers, balloons, and banners hung everywhere, one of them with ‘Barbarian Princess’ etched across it in pink paint. The room was packed with your Barbarian family, who erupted into cheers and shouts of "It’s a girl!" as you entered.

Your jaw dropped, and tears welled up in your eyes. The surprise and joy of the moment overwhelmed you. Jake wrapped his arm around you, grinning ear to ear. "Surprise!" he whispered in your ear.

"You planned this?" you marveled, looking at him, then back at the crowd of hardened men who had shed their tough exteriors to celebrate this moment with you and Jake.

"Well, Angela and I did," he shrugged. "We’ve got a lot of blue decorations to return to the store, by the way."

Ace appeared from behind the crowd of men, a pink party hat perched on his bald head, holding a pink, fruity drink in one hand and a cold beer in the other.

"Hey, I had a hand in this too," he corrected, approaching with a grin. "I’ve been here all evening blowing up pink balloons." He handed you the pink drink. "A mocktail for the mother-to-be," he said, then gave the beer to Jake. "And an ice-cold brew for the Barbarian’s newest girl dad."

The room erupted into cheers as everyone raised their drinks to toast the newest addition to the family, and the party kicked off. Angela found you in the crowd, giving you a big hug. "I’m so happy for you."

"I love you, thank you."

Jake was on cloud nine, walking around the tavern with his chest puffed out in pride, basking in the joy of the night. After receiving congratulations from everyone, you found a quiet table near the back of the room. You watched as Angela and the new bartender you hired served drinks, and the Barbarians partied. Despite the happiness, the news of your baby’s gender had your mind swirling with new thoughts and worries. You blamed your pregnancy brain and the trauma from your past for letting your thoughts wander during such a joyful time.

After a few minutes alone, Ace plopped down beside you, still wearing his party hat. He smiled at you, and you did your best to conceal your troubled thoughts.

"So... a girl, huh?" Ace smirked, his tone warm and teasing.

You couldn’t help but smile back. Ace always had a way of making you feel at ease. He was one of the first people you met when you arrived in Genoa, and he had been like an uncle, looking out for you when Riley passed. Knowing you had someone like him made life there a little easier.

"I know," you chuckled, twirling your straw around in your empty glass. "Can you believe it?"

Ace sensed something was off and leaned in, his tone growing more serious. "Everything alright, sunshine?"

You perked up, not wanting to reveal how conflicted you felt. "Everything’s fine! I’m really happy; I wanted her to be a girl. I knew she was a girl. It’s just..." You trailed off, your eyes drifting to Jake across the room. He was all smiles, challenging some of his brothers to a game of pool, money on the line, of course. He seemed blissfully unaware of the additional emotions the news had stirred in you.

"Girls are different, you know, Ace?" you continued, watching Jake line up a shot on the table. "We’re dealt different cards in this world."

Ace nodded, waiting to see what else you had to say. Your hand unconsciously found your stomach, rubbing it soothingly. "I just hope she’s dealt better cards than I was."

Ace took a swig from his beer, his eyes thoughtful as he watched Jake. "Look, sunshine," he began, "I don’t know what kind of cards you’ve been dealt in your life, and I don’t need to." He shifted his gaze back to you. "But you wouldn’t be in this position right now if it weren’t for the hand you had. There's a hidden beauty in that, you know?"

You stopped staring at Jake to meet Ace’s eyes. His words resonated deeply, cutting through your worries. "I think, sometimes, our hands—no matter how shitty they may be—set us up to be exactly where we’re supposed to be," Ace continued. "And that, sunshine, that’s the beauty of life. It’s unpredictable, and we can’t control everything."

His words were exactly what you needed to hear. Ace wasn't just offering a generic pep talk about how you'd be a great mother or how you’d shield your daughter from repeating your mistakes. Instead, he reminded you that your daughter would have her own journey, her own set of challenges and joys, and that was okay. It wasn't your job to control every aspect of her life; it was your job to support her as she played the hand she was dealt.

"Thanks, Ace," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I guess I needed that reminder."

Ace grinned, raising his bottle in a small toast. "Anytime, sunshine. I’ve always got your back.”

You smiled, feeling a renewed sense of peace and acceptance. As you glanced back at Jake, still engrossed in his pool game, a wave of gratitude washed over you. Your daughter would indeed have her own path to walk, but she wouldn’t be alone. She would have you, Jake, and an entire community of support behind her. In that moment, you realized that was the best hand anyone could ask for—one filled with love, support, and the strength to face whatever life might throw her way.

“Refill?” Ace asked, pointing at your empty glass. You slid it across the table with a nod. “Extra cherries in this one.”

You and Jake lingered at the party for another hour before slipping away, escaping the lively clamor and heading home. The drive was a serene contrast to the day’s excitement, the quiet road a perfect backdrop for reflecting on the news you had received earlier that day. When you arrived, you invited Jake to relax in Riley’s old, rickety hammock, tucked away on the back side of the trailer. It creaked under your weight, but the night air was cool and comforting as you both lay back and gazed at the star-studded sky.

“I still can’t believe we’re having a little girl,” you said softly, your eyes wandering through the constellations. Jake’s hand rested gently on your growing bump, his touch warm and reassuring.

“I know,” he replied, his voice tinged with wonder. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Well, I thought,” you teased, “I knew. It’s just crazy that I was right.”

Jake poked playfully at your side, making you squirm slightly before you both settled into a peaceful silence. His gaze remained fixed on the cosmos, his mind seemingly lost in the vastness above. You cherished these quiet moments with him, feeling a profound sense of connection.

“Where would you go, Cherry?” Jake’s voice broke the silence, his tone unexpectedly serious.

“Huh?” You turned to face him, curiosity piqued.

“If we packed up tonight and left all of this behind,” he continued, “where would you go?”

The question caught you off guard, though it was something you had considered many times before. Life had changed drastically for you in recent months, thanks to Jake, but the idea of running away still lingered in the back of your mind.

You paused, gathering your thoughts as Jake waited patiently.

“Somewhere quiet,” you finally answered, “way up north, like Washington. I’d love to live in a cozy house out in the woods, maybe with some land to grow fruit trees.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Fruit trees?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a hint of excitement, “I could grow fruit, make my own jams and preserves. Maybe I’d sell them at a farmer’s market.”

Jake’s smile widened. “I can see you doing that.”

You continued to ramble about the joys of living off the land, Jake listening intently. The image of your dream life was vivid and compelling, and he could see the happiness it brought you.

But as Jake listened, his thoughts began to drift. Things lately felt almost too peaceful, a stark contrast to the turbulent life he was accustomed to. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that trouble was always lurking just beneath the surface, he just couldn’t pinpoint what direction it was coming from. The money he had stashed away in Rex’s house, the potential for a new life—everything seemed to be aligning perfectly, but Jake’s instincts told him to be cautious.

A part of him wondered if now was the time to act, to take the money and make your dream a reality before anything could go wrong. Yet another part of him hesitated, sensing that the right moment hadn’t arrived yet. He knew that when the time came, he would have to be ready—but he just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @slut4lando @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

CRUSH- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Biker! Bucky x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: home for the summer, you plan on spending it in isolation, too shy and innocent to get into trouble. bucky barnes- the head of the local biker clan, has other ideas in mind.

Warnings: teasing, heavy flirting, pet names, drinking/ drugs mentioned, swearing, lap sitting, enemies to lovers trope

“can you read my mind? i've been watching you couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool camo' jacket, robbing corner stores hard odds to beat when you're on all fours good men die too, oh, i'd rather be with you”- crush, ethel cain

PART ONE OF THE CAIN SERIES. 

You could hear the revving of the bikes from where you stood, safety guarded behind the glass doors littered with posters and signs, peeling and jumbling over each other- colours starting to fade from the summer sun. 

It was loud, their voices somehow seeming to overlap the roaring engines as they slipped on their glasses. You knew the men in that group, puffing out smokes in the convenience store parking lot. 

All of them. 

And you didn't know what that made you. Cool, for perceiving the closely, tight knit biker gang? Or shameful- for being seen anywhere near them?

 They were troublemakers. They had always, flaunting their tattoos and leather, never needing an announcement whenever they stepped into a room. You just knew who they were, that they were there and they meant business. 

Bucky Barnes and his posse never expected less. You, on the other hand, were the opposite. Shy, quiet, reserved. A girl who was headstrong yes, but knew that the bark and bite was not always the best strategy. 

You were polite, the kind of person an older person would think ‘What a sweet girl. I like her, so modest!’. Perceiving others, but not wanting to be perceived herself. Innocent. You were like that at school, and you were like that while being home for the summer. 

The gang was the same, and you dreaded the fact Bucky’s father lived right near yours. Which is why you felt your stomach drop at the bustle outside, clutching your plastic bag tighter, feeling the handles twist and pinch at your fingers circulation. 

You didn’t want them to notice you. But the rest of the parking lot was next to dead empty. Only an older man glared at them as he bagged things in the trunk, too far down in the parking lot for the group of men to care. 

Eyes stared at the back of your neck as you debated how to approach your old pickup truck, trying to assess the situation at hand. 

Not that there was a situation. Why did there need to be a situation? Just walk to your car. Don’t engage. 

The cashier, lifted his eyes from the newspaper, eyebrows cocking in concern. “H-have a good day. Thanks again.” you murmured, wanting to smack yourself. 

You had already said that. Just shut the fuck up and get home. The sticky, warm air of the west in the summer hit you as you removed yourself from the air-conditioned shop, and you took a breath before you fumbled for your keys. 

One step, then two. One step-  

“Hey sweet thang.” the leader called out, accent thick as all heads turned towards you. Your eyes met his, shades protecting the baby blues you knew were hidden under as he smirked. You felt your breath quicken, stomach turning in on itself the longer you stared. 

It was like a battle off. You were a Capulet. They were the Montagues. He reached for the smoke between his lips, throwing it down on the pavement before twisting his boot sole on it, ash smearing.

 “You shouldn't do that, you know. It’s bad.” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, wanting to shrink back as soon as the words left your mouth. 

Little ooo’s and chuckles rose up from the other man, and you recognized some of them, even without the names on the back of the jean vests. Rogers. Wilson. Stark. 

He stepped towards you, cocking his head. Examining you. You couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not, and you weren't planning to stick around and find out. 

“Whatever you say Y/N.” he chuckled, making your eyes widen. Sweat broke out down your neck from the beating sun, and the fact he knew you. He knew you and that scared you. 

But also excited you, just a smidge. 

He noted your tense stance, and couldn't help but get a form of satisfaction out of it, even if his boys teased him for having such a crush on someone so unlike him. 

You rushed off before Bucky could say anything more, the breeze brushing the silky white sundress against your thighs as you slammed the truck door shut. Backing up without sparing a second glance, you sped out of the deserted parking lot, down the highway and away from him.

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

It had been days since the last time you saw him, yet it replayed in your mind as if it had happened only a minute earlier. 

The way he noticed you. Had called out for you, as if he had been waiting the entire time you were in the store, wandering through the isles.

 It haunted you, in a way. You weren't sure if you cared for him or not. You had been watching him for quite some time now, though it had been mainly to steer clear of his antics. 

Bucky was a bad boy. You were a goodie two shoes. It didn’t fit. Intimation seeped your bones whenever you passed him, caught wind of his husky voice from whichever parking lot he crawled out from. 

So why were you still thinking of him? He scared you. Frightened you. But he was beautiful. 

Dangerously beautiful, like you couldn't say no to him no matter the question or cost. He was high strung with authority, a maturity about him that made you want to cling to him and never let go. 

Bucky was indescribable you decided, as you swung back the bottle of red wine, the sweet, tangy liquid caressing your throat as the cool night breeze blew through your hair. 

He looked like he worked with his hands and smells like marlboro reds, was all you could place in the category that you had organised in your mind. Though it was foggy, the lines slightly blurring the more you drank, the higher the moon rose in the night sky and the more the wooden railings creaked from the wind, you knew there was a reason he was constantly on your mind. 

It was silly really, how much your deep subconscious clung to the idea of him. Intoxicated or not. 

You heard the mosquitoes swarm towards the dim porch light by the old screen door, cicadas chirping in the tall grass. It was peaceful out here, alone. You let yourself dawn on how much you really missed home, the feeling of the freedom out in the middle of nowhere. 

“Drinking is bad too, ya know.” a low voice called from the shadows, making you jump- heart hammering in your chest as Bucky emerged from the darkness.

 Air whosed through clenched teeth as you sucked on your cheek, admiring him. Though he was in his ‘gear’, a rolled up henley, jeans and a smoke between his lips, he seemed different. 

Calmer.

 Like his guard wasn't up as much as you had seen it around his friends, or anyone else for that matter. “Why are you here Bucky?” was all you could muster to ask, not even knowing where to begin. 

You knew he knew where your father lived, as the two of you grew up on the same street. You just never expected him to show up. 

“Ah so shy girl  knows my name eh?”

 “Of course I know who you are. I’m not stupid.” He threw his hands up in defence. “Hey, I never said you were. Quite the opposite, from what I’ve observed.” 

He hinted towards the empty spot beside you.

 “Can I?” 

You nodded, watching as his beefy body adjusted to the smaller spot, knees brushing yours as he hung his head low. 

“Why are you here?” you repeated.

 “I don’t know. I guess seeing you the other day made me want to know you more. Is that bad?”

 “Yes.” you stated firmly, taking another swig of booze as he fumbled with his lighter. Your own answer startled you, words abruptly coming out of your mouth. It was the wine talking. But it was too late now. “Its a bad thing because you're a bad guy. You shouldn't be hanging around me.” 

He smirked, hand running through his dark, messy locks, tugging at the back of his neck. “Is that right? I forgot you're such a goodie two shoes. Are you too good for me?” he mocked, and you rolled your eyes.

 “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… we’re so different. And I don’t know you, like at all. You’ve done… bad shit.” 

“Like smoking pot? Or are you talking about that guy I murdered?” Your eyes widened, mouth forming an O shape as you whipped your head around to face him fully. Anxiety churned like angry waves in your stomach, and you feed the acid would rise up to the surface.

 “Kidding! Jesus you’re so fun to nag doll. It’s too easy, should’ve seen the look on your face! Priceless.”

 “How was I supposed to know that?!” you hiccuped, knocking the glass bottle against the bottom step, setting it down before you finished it all. That was a bad idea. Especially around a pretty boy with as much charisma as a snake charmer. 

“No idea, but some faith in me would be nice. I’ve put plenty of faith in you, ya know.” he bumped your shoulder, as if the two of you had been life long friends. 

You were baffled at the thought of what was happening right now. Never in a million years could you have pictured this, the teachers pet paired with the notorious bad boy, allowing him to sit on your porch and unwind with you when the minimal interactions the two of you had left nothing but mysteries in your mind. 

Who was he, really? Why were you so intrigued by him, though you knew he was nothing but trouble? And why, oh why did you find yourself actually enjoying his company? 

“How so?” you asked, looking down with interest at the dog tag that swung on his neck, silver shimmering in the gloom of the night. You didn’t want to look into his eyes. It scared you. 

“Well I had faith you’d come around, and let me talk to you. You’ve always looked so timid. I didn’t want to scare you.” 

You felt your breathing stop. “Why did you want to talk to me?” you asked, hesitantly. 

“Because you’re interesting to me. Like a puzzle. And I feel like there’s a lot more to you than from what I’ve seen and I want to know more.” 

You let Bucky's words settle, rest in the western air. They hung low over you, like a physical force. You're interesting to me. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that feeling was mutual.

 “I’m glad you think I’m entertaining.” you shrugged, trying not to show how his words made you feel. 

“Come with me to the Lounge.” Smoke trickled from his rosy lips, and you watched the ash fall to the dirt before squished the but into the wood. What like… right now?” you asked, confusion spewed across your features. 

The Lounge was the towns local bar, its dark and grungy vibe off putting to you. The bikers often hung out there, the misfits throwing back drinks like it was no tomorrow You had never been to a bar before, let alone one where Bucky and his crew practically owned. 

Between its southern gothic walls was nothing but smoke and cheap booze was what your father told you, highly suggesting you steer clear of the towns local hangout. So naturally, you flinched. 

“Everyone's there right now. It’ll be all good, I promise.” 

“So why aren't you there then? At your ‘spot’” you air quoted, making him laugh. It was low and husky, tinging your skin warm with heat despite the cooler air.

 “I left to come invite you. Don't make me look stupid. I can't show up empty handed.” he teased, and you felt an obligation to follow in his footsteps as he rose, brushing off his jeans. 

“I know its a Saturday night and all and I’m supposed to be out but I’ve never… its not my territory.” you shrugged, rubbing your arms in comfort. 

“You're welcomed there. I promise. But if you don’t feel safe, or comfortable, don’t worry about it. I just wanted to see if you’d be willing, is all sweetheart.” 

You sighed. The right thing to do would be to shake your head no, grabbing the bottle and heading in for the night. Leaving him on the porch, with his bike parked down the street for himself. 

But you couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when you finally had the guts to properly answer him in a conversation, even if it was ambushed onto you on your own property. 

“Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

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

If the wind was chilled before, it was crisp as ice now. You clung to him as he sped down the old roads, barley daring to breathe as the engine throttled, revving onwards as he laughed. 

The breeze roared in your ears, whipping through your hair that escaped your the helmet he had conveniently packed, an extra. Fingers were clenched tightly to the deep maroon of his henley, bunching as you hugged him tighter. 

This was the closest you had been to him, ever. On the back of his Harley, zipping down back roads you knew took you the longer way to the bar, as if he was intently wanting you to cling to him tighter the faster he dared to go, for as long as possible. 

It was frighting, but exhilarating. Like a wave of cool water on a hot day. It was refreshing to see the endless bounds of wheat fields and old barns through he shade of the viser, a taste of his lifestyle. 

You almost wanted to throw your hands up, to feel the air rush through your fingertips. 

“You doing okay doll?” he roared over the whip of the wind, glancing at you with a smile though the side mirror. You nodded, to frightened to speak, throat parched dry. 

Before you knew it, you emerged from the cool, undertones of deep blue,bright light shinning from the distance. You could already make out the bundles of people scattered in the parking lot, gripping Bucky tighter as the two of you slowed. 

Bikes were parked everywhere, and you could remember some of them from the other day from the gas station. No familiar faces. The world came into focus as he parked, helping you down and slid off your helmet, bursts of talking laughter and music swarming your ears, the lights seeming brighter without the blur of your viser. 

It was busy, but that was expected. Bucky had already told you everyone in town was here- the misfits at least, but it didn’t quell your anxiety any more. 

Part of you wanted to grab his hand, scared of loosing him in the crowd you were about to face, but he had already done that for you. His large, slightly rough, callused hand was warm as it enveloped yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“We can leave at any time. I’ll be with you honey. Promise.” he reassured as you nodded, looking over at the dozens of bikers that scattered along the outside of the bar. 

They took no notice in you, minding their business as they chatted away, smokes in hand. Good. No one was gawking yet. You hoped it would be like that the whole time- but you knew it wouldn't be. You stood out too much, and it was because of your lack of spunk for once, and not the other way around. 

Plus, anywhere Bucky went, people stared. It was hard to look away from him. You knew from personal experience. 

Loud bustles of music streamed from the speakers with the murmured of dozens of voices, swarming your head as you took in the scenery. There was leather everywhere, smoke blending in with the neon signs. Dart boards and pool tables were all occupied, bartenders buzzing like bees in a hive as they poured drafts and shook cocktails. 

“Where are we going?” you asked him, leaning in closer as you squeezed by the other bodies that crowed the space. 

“Where it’s quieter.” 

You prayed it was also more secluded, as the eyes began to follow you. Your little white dress was no match for the sea of dark neutrals here. Bucky’s group appeared, sprawled in booths around the back wall- like it was their territory. 

You didn't know if you felt welcomed or not, feeling like a show pony on display as the stared at you. “She’s here!” the blonde on called, smirk wide on his face as he looked at you. 

Steve. You knew him right away, always seeing him appear next to Bucky, front and center. The right hand man. 

Then there was Sam you learned as you sat down next to Bucky, giving you a little wave before downing the shot he had in front of him, always seeming to be in the shadows. 

There was at least ten of them, all of them as eager to meet you as the last. Like they were infatuated with you. Before you knew it, dozens of drinks were sent your way, and after about two beers you had somehow landed directly on Bucky’s lap. 

“So your the girl who turned Barnes soft eh?” Sam asked you, making your eyes widen.

 “What do you mean?” you asked timidly, wiggling your hips anxiously. 

“Oh doll he doesn't mean literally.” Bucky chuckled, and you felt a very prominent bulge press into your ass as his hands guided your hips downwards. 

Your cheeks burned with heat. Sam laughed, the smell of smoke heavy on his jacket, and whisky on his breath. Your head spun, and you felt yourself slumping  against Bucky the longer the night went on, starting to forget you barely knew him the way you wanted to- that this wasn't your crowd. 

“You okay?” he murmured against your head as you gripped his jacket, blinking slowly. 

“Mhm fine. Jus- drunk.” you hiccuped, breathing in the ceadarwood and smoke that clung to him. 

“I shouldn't have let you drink that much.” 

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snapped back at him, standing your ground. Bucky was already unravelling you in a way that made you feel vulnerable enough, you didn’t need him making decisions for you too. 

“Shes got a point Barnes. Pretty soon it’ll be the other way ‘round.” Steve announced, seeming to reappear from thin air as he slide in the booth next to Sam- twirling his keys around his ring finger. 

“Where’d you come from?” Bucky asked, eyebrow raised. You wanted to ask the same question. He looked like he was on cloud nine, eyes wide and sparkling, the booze giving his cheeks a tinge of pink. 

“Jus’ beat Romanoff at darts n now shes all pissy.” he laughed, and you leaned your head over the side of the concave to search for her.

 You liked her. She was the only girl in the gang, but her personality shined bright enough to be at least four. Her red hair was as fiery as her personality, and you would be terrified to piss her off. You were surprised Steve wasn't worried about her grabbing the dart and gouging his eye out with it. 

“She’s gonna beat your ass man. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sam shrugged, making you giggle. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or the quiter atmosphere in the back, but you found yourself enjoying their company. 

The fact you had made Bucky ‘soft’, whatever that meant- made you happy. You wanted to be the only person who made him feel that way. “Cmon.” Bucky said suddenly, waking you from your drowsy state, leg bouncing to startle you. 

“What are we doing?” you asked as he shimmed the pair of you out of the booth, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as his large hand slipped in yours, thumb rubbing your skin in a soothing motion. 

He just smiled, that cheeky little smile you had seen him slide your way so many times- the one that intimidated you because there was no one a man like him could look at you like that and not be pulling your leg. 

But here he was, with you. Looking at you like that- and making it authentic. It was crazy to you how easy it was for you to be caught up with him, wanting nothing more then to seek his attention and validation. 

Though he was bad- and you knew he had done some very, very bad things- the warnings seemed to falter in your mind the second he flashed you that dangerous smile.

 “We’re dancing.” he shrugged, as if it was the most average thing for the leader of a biker gang to do.

 “Dance? But no one else is dancing.” you noted, confused as you looked around the room. Though more people had dwindled out over the night, there was still plenty of people here. None of them dancing, all of them staring. 

This establishment seemed much like a fight club and less like a dance club.

 “Awh you shy?” he teased, guiding you away from the bustle and the lights, towards the entrance. Of course he wasn't. He had no reason to be. You were sure Bucky had never felt shy a day in his life. 

“Do you blame me?” you demanded, eyes wide as he tugged you a little harder, nearly making you stumble over your own two feet. You wished you weren't so clumsy. Especially now. 

“We’ll go outside where its quiet. And then we’ll dance up a storm.” Bucky sung, spinning you around as he pushed open the front door, clearly drunk. 

You laughed, the chill air making goosebumps rise on your skin through your little dress, though the wine sloshed in your tummy made you feel giggly and warm. “I didn't think you were a dancer.”

 “Looks can be deceiving.” he replied, wrapping his arms around your middle, swaying you side to side as he guided you over towards his bike, parked next to the others. 

It was far enough from the human eye, but close enough you could hear the music as clear as day. Hands were wrapped around his forearms, gripping him tightly as he moved you, guided you to a state of serenity. 

“It's gonna be a fun summer shortcake.” he whispered, kissing your cheek softly, as if you were a piece of glass china, scared to hurt you. 

You let him. The sweet, soft melody trickled from the speakers, lyrics intertwining you to Bucky. Like it was made for him. 

Something's been feeling weird lately There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby) Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy) And piss him off 'til he hates me

Yeah right... he fuckin loves me...

[hecatemoon87]

Minors DNI.

Chapter 11

"No fucking way," George said, shaking his head vehemently. To Johnny's dismay, the rest of his crew nodded along with George's retort.

"We all put in our dues for this gang, Johnny. You can't just let some woman take all our hard work away!" Andy, another bike member, said in anger.

"She isn't even a biker herself! She's got no blood in this game. I say break up with that shrew and focus on what's important, the gang!" Judy shouted, just as angrily as the rest.

Johnny didn't allow himself to externally show them a reaction. He stayed stoic and cool on the outside, but internally, he raged.

"Look, I see your point. Alright?" Johnny said, holding up his hands. "Then let me just ask, can we handle this ourselves? Is there an alternative anyone is willing to suggest?" Johnny said, practically pleading.

Everyone fell silent then. No one in the room could look Johnny in the eye. Not even Benny. It wasn't because they were disrespecting him, they just didn't want to help Amelia.

"Really?" Johnny said, this time sounding hurt. Benny glanced up and made a pleading face. "Johnny, she isn't one of us. She's doesn't have history with us, she didn't help build what we all have now. Sorry, man."

"Fine. It's a vote. I'll figure it out my damn self," Johnny said, grabbing his jacket and storming out of the back room of Sal's bar.

It was raining hard, but Johnny strapped his helmet on, revved his bike and skidded away from what he thought were his friends. He drove aggressively, weaving around cars on the road, ignoring their blaring horns at his abrupt lane changes.

A lightning bolt lit up the sky with an eerie phosphorescent glow. The sound of dull thunder echoed off in the horizon. Johnny increased his speed. His mind racing as fast as his bike.

He had to tell Amelia the truth eventually. He couldn't keep up with the lie that he wasn't in a gang. And if he told her the truth would she stay with him? And even if she did break up with him, would that mean she'd be safe from the Vipers?

He slowed his bike and pulled off from the road. He ripped his helmet off and threw it to the ground, shouting "FUCK!" He watched as the helmet bounced off the ground, a crack forming on its side.

He breathed in deeply, knowing he needed to regain composure. He first needed to be a leader to his gang, that was important to him. He knew he'd say the same thing to one of them if they asked something like this.

But it hurt thinking of not being with Amelia. He liked her gentleness, her elegant way of speaking and her soft touch, her smooth skin and her kindness. He knew he'd have to do what all great leaders needed to do. He needed to place the needs of the gang before his own.

He walked over to his now broken helmet. Instead of bending down to pick it up, he angrily kicked it out into the open field before him. He again shouted, looking up toward the sky and cursing God. Why couldn't he just have one thing for himself?

[siancore]

After the Smoke Settles | Attoye | E | 2.4k words | AO3 Link

For Attoye Week 2023 @attoye-week

Day 2: Alternate Universe - Biker!Attuma and Party Girl Okoye

Summary: Attuma is the Sergeant-at-Arms for the Talokanil War Gods M.C. There is a tentative alliance between his M.C. and local Wakandan crime boss M'Kathu AKA The Chief. Both organizations are celebrating a year of successful partnership with one another. Attuma, new to the local chapter, sees Okoye at a party at his M.C's clubhouse. He wants to get to know her, but she is The Chief's daughter. Namor warns him not to go near Okoye because her father is overprotective and it would surely sour their alliance, but Attuma won't say no if the Wakandan beauty is interested in him -- even if it is just for one night.

Content: Unprotected sex; oral sex; hooking up; recreational drug use; drinking; drunk sex; dirty talk; language; minor violence.

The sounds of laughter and clinking drinks filled the space of the club room. Attuma stood next to his friend and new President, Namor. Ever since Attuma had come over and joined that chapter of the Talokanil War Gods Motorcycle Club as their Sergeant-at-Arms almost two months prior, he had been fitting in well. Namor ran a tight ship. They were working on forming alliances with other outfits in order to continue their operations. Having grown up together, Attuma and Namor knew and trusted one another. It was the reason why Attuma came to work with him.

They glanced around the club room, watching their brothers enjoy the party. Namor did not often throw parties, but they were celebrating a year of an alliance with the Wakandans. A year of prosperous partnerships for both outfits.

Both parties were having fun. The mood was light. Drinks were flowing, the music was good, and a few people were dancing. Attuma’s eyes fell on a group of young women at the edge of the makeshift dancefloor. A couple were Sweet Butts, and the rest were Wakandan. He watched them dance and laugh, enjoying themselves, until another young woman from the Wakandan group ambled over – scratch that – glided over.

Attuma was certain his jaw dropped at the sight of her. Big doe eyes; long braids; dark skin; and a blinding smile. She was breathtaking. She danced her way into the center of the circle of girls, twirling as she went. The yellow form-fitting dress drawing attention to her slender body and round ass. Attuma was practically salivating.

“Sakun winik,” said Attuma to Namor. “Who’s that?”

“Who?” Namor replied.

“That goddess in the yellow dress.”

Namor looked over at the dancefloor and then back to Attuma.

“Don’t go there, itz’in winik.”

“Why not? Is she someone’s Ol’ Lady? I’ve never seen her before. What’s her name?”

“Okoye.”

“Okoye,” Attuma repeated, enjoying the way her name felt on his lips.

“And she’s off limits. That’s the Chief’s daughter. He’d probably bury anyone who even looks at her.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious. You know Long John Silver over at the shop?”

“Yeah, that white boy with the eyepatch? Wait, you tellin’ me the Chief knocked that kid’s eye out for lookin’ at his daughter?”

“Nah, he got into a hunting accident or some shit and lost it. But, the Chief cut off his trigger finger ‘cause he was in the club and tried to touch Okoye’s hair without her permission.”

“Fuck,” said Attuma before laughing. “Silly prick deserved that.”

“Right,” Namor replied. “No more hunting for his ass.”

Attuma laughed once more and then said, “If he even looks at my future wife, I’ll take his other fuckin’ eye.”

“Attuma,” Namor warned. “Leave her alone. We’re celebrating a year of peace with the Wakandans. Don’t fuck it up over a pretty girl.”

“Christ, brother. I’m not gonna fuck anything up. It’s cool. I won’t go near her.”

…

The party was in full swing and Attuma needed some time on his own away from the revellers. He stood out in the high-walled yard and lit a joint. A bike’s engine revved outside the gate before it opened and let someone in. A girl shrieked and then laughed off in the distance. A beer bottle smashed nearby.

Attuma took a long pull at his joint and then leaned his head against the wall of the clubhouse. The door nearest to him flung open and two people stepped out. The sound of footfalls on gravel caused him to look over in their direction.

“You need to stop!” said a young man.

“Fuck you,” the woman replied.

Attuma straightened up and narrowed his gaze. It was the Chief’s daughter, Okoye. She was being followed by some guy, who then reached out and gabbed her by the arm.

“Don’t touch me, W’Kabi!”

“We’re leaving, now,” said W’Kabi firmly as he tried to drag Okoye away.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Stop being such a brat and move your ass!”

Attuma eyes narrowed even more, he flicked his joint to the ground, and then walked towards the pair.

“Hey, Okoye, right?” he asked when he got close. “Are you okay? This asshole giving you trouble?”

She turned her head, then looked up at Attuma’s face. Before she could answer, W’Kabi spoke up.

“Fuck off and mind your business,” he spat, tugging on Okoye’s arm once more.

Attuma stared him down and then looked back at Okoye.

“You wanna take your hand off o’ the young lady?” said Attuma, inching closer.

W’Kabi let go of Okoye’s arm and poked Attuma in the chest.

“I told you to fuck off –”

Before he could finish his sentence, Attuma grabbed W’Kabi’s wrist and twisted it, causing him to groan loudly in pain.

W’Kabi bent over as Attuma leaned down and said, “Nah, I think you need to fuck off before I break your arm and your face, lil’ bitch.”

Attuma then pushed W’Kabi away, causing him to stumble, before he righted himself, threw Attuma an unimpressed look, and walked away. Attuma watched him leave, before turning to Okoye.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer than before.

“Yeah. I mean, yeah. Thank you.”

“I don’t usually step in when couples are arguing –”

“I’m not with him,” she replied quickly. “He’s just some asshole who works for my father.”

“Why was he putting his hands on you?”

“Because he thinks he has the right to as my bodyguard.”

“That bitch made motherfucker is your bodyguard?” asked an incredulous Attuma.

“Not anymore,” Okoye replied as she grabbed her phone and started to dial a number. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Attuma.”

“Hi, Attuma. Sorry, excuse me a sec. Hello?” she said into the phone. “Baba? Yes. Everything’s fine. I don’t want W’Kabi on my security detail anymore. He put his hands on me. Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

She looked down at the small patch on Attuma’s vest and then said, “The Sergeant-at-Arms of the TWG stepped in and helped me. New guy. Attuma. Yes. Baba, I’m okay, really. Attuma’s going to look after me. Sure.”

Okoye removed the phone from her ear and then looked at Attuma.

“My father would like to speak with you,” she said handing the phone over.

Attuma knit his brow but answered.

“Hello, sir? Yes. Well, the guy was yelling at your daughter and tried to forcibly drag her away. Yes. Yes, sir. I stepped in, roughed him up a little, and made him leave. No need to thank me, anyone would help like that. Yes. I appreciate you saying so. That’s fine. Happy to help. Thank you, sir. Goodnight.”

Attuma handed the phone back to Okoye. She bid her father goodnight after reassuring him she was safe and well.  She looked at Attuma who stared back at her. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave her a small smile, which she returned.

“My father asked if you would wait with me until his driver picks me up. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” said Attuma.

He gestured for her to follow him to one of the picnic tables that stood over near the high wall. Okoye walked beside Attuma, and they both took a seat beside one another.

“So, how did you know my name?” she asked while positioning her body so that she was facing him.

Attuma placed both of his legs astride the bench seating. He licked his lips absently and said, “A lady like you steps in the room and a man like me finds out your name pretty quickly.”

“Alright then,” Okoye replied with a nod and a smile. “Thanks again for what you did.”

“It was nothin’. I hope these guys who work for your father all don’t think they can treat you like that.”

“They don’t,” she proffered sincerely. “Just W’Kabi. He thinks because we grew up together that things are different between us. They’re not. He’s still one of my father’s shit kickers.”

“Yeah, well, fuck him,” said Attuma, as he reached in his pocket to get another joint and his lighter. “I’m done talkin’ about that asshole.”

He lit his joint and took a deep drag before holding out to offer Okoye some. She gave him a crooked, devilish sort of smile and leaned forward. Okoye placed both hands to Attuma’s thick thighs and shifted closer. Their faces were close, and heat was radiating from both of their bodies. When Okoye’s lips neared Attuma’s, she licked them and said, “Shotgun me.”

Attuma placed his hand to Okoye’s slim waist to hold her in place. He then released the smoke from his mouth and blew it between Okoye’s lips. She closed her eyes and drew the smoke in. The effects of the drug and the headiness of being in such proximity to Okoye made Attuma’s head spin. He didn’t know how long he had been staring at her, but suddenly realized the young woman had climbed into his lap, with her legs wrapped around his hips and her arms draped over his shoulders.

“You’re pretty,” said Okoye as she ran her fingers through his long tresses.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Attuma replied, staring into the darkness of her obsidian eyes.

“We don’t have much time.”

“For what?” he asked, tightening his grip on her hips.

Okoye leaned forward and pressed her lips to Attuma’s. He deepened the kiss immediately. She pulled away slightly, and he followed her, craving more.

“For me to show you how grateful I am for you stepping in to help me.”

Attuma brought his hand up to cup Okoye’s face before he said, “You don’t have to do anything to thank me, Sweetness.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked, a conspirative expression crossing her beautiful face.

“Hmm,” Attuma nodded.

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” she whispered close to Attuma’s ear. “And I really wanna do you.”

…..

As far as bad ideas went, the one that had found Attuma and Okoye in the small office felt way too fucking good. After shoving most of the papers from the desktop, Attuma laid Okoye down and sunk to his knees. She hiked her dress up and placed her legs over his shoulders.

Attuma ran his hand over the lace panties Okoye was wearing and she shivered. He stuck his fingers under the garment and then tore them from Okoye. She let out a little welp.

“I’m keepin’ these,” he said as he shoved the torn panties into the back pocket of his jeans.

Before Okoye could reply with a smart answer, Attuma had began to suck kisses to her inner thigh as he toyed with her clit. He hummed against her skin as he peppered biting kisses there. Okoye let out a moan when his lips made their way to her glistening pussy. Attuma ran his tongue over her slit and up to her sensitive nub. He sucked her clit into his mouth and hummed once more. A wave of pleasure washed over Okoye. She laced her fingers through Attuma’s hair as he ate her out. She came moments later with a shudder and his name on her lips.

…..

“Fuck – Ma, this pussy so tight,” said Attuma as he sheathed his impressive length inside of Okoye.

He had her bent over the desk with his raw dick deep between her swollen folds.

“You gonna do something about it or just stand there looking pretty?”

“You got a smart mouth on you, Sweetness,” he said sharply, as his hips snapped forward. “Won’t be so smart with this dick in it.”

He thrust forward again with more fervor, causing Okoye to whimper and curse.

“Shit – shit.”

“Fuck.”

“Wish we had time for that,” said Okoye as she threw her ass back, drawing a loud moan from Attuma’s lips. “Really wanna choke on it.”

“Fuck,” said Attuma as he grabbed at Okoye’s throat and pulled her head back while he rammed his cock into her again and again. He lifted her leg so that it was rested on the desktop as he wrapped a hand around her chest to draw her back to him. Attuma kissed Okoye’s neck and then bit down onto her shoulder, all the while he kept driving himself into her.

His orgasm was drawing nearer, and he could feel that Okoye’s was, too. She was almost crying out in pleasure as her walls clenched around his dick. Soon, she was creaming over his length and coming hard. Her well-fucked cunt drew Attuma’s aching cock deeper inside and he finally came. He didn’t pull out, but both of them were too fuck-drunk to care.

After a moment, Attuma withdrew himself and found something to clean them both up with. Okoye was still bent over the desk as Attuma fixed her clothing, and then his.

“Damn,” she said, all breathless and beautiful. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.”

Attuma let out a little laugh and then wrapped his arms around Okoye. He turned her so that she was standing and facing him. He captured her lips in a slow, sensuous kiss before running his hand up and down her back.

“That was fun,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair again.

“You were amazing,” Attuma replied.

“We should do this again some time,” said Okoye as she rested her hands on his firm chest.

“Definitely,” Attuma offered as he dipped down to kiss Okoye again. “Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

…..

The meeting was almost at its conclusion when Namor poured himself another drink and said, “One last order of business.”

The brothers around the table gave him their attention even though some were watching the clock.

“The Chief wanted to give his formal thanks to our brother Attuma for lookin’ out for his daughter last weekend at the party.”

Some of the men patted Attuma’s shoulders.

“You did a good thing, Attuma,” said Namor. “His girl is his pride and joy. You did both of them a solid by takin’ care of her when she was on our property.”

“Any of us would’ve done the same thing,” Attuma said, leaving out the part where he had fucked Okoye within an inch of her life. “Just glad we’re in their good books.”

“You definitely are,” Namor replied. “The Chief wants to hire you as his daughter’s bodyguard. Interim bodyguard, actually.”

“What?” asked Attuma, genuinely shocked.

“Apparently you made a real impression on her,” Namor explained. “She asked her father for you specifically to look out for her until they hire someone else. You up for it?”

Attuma thought about the offer for less than a beat before her said, quite enthusiastically, “Yeah. Fuck yeah. I’m up for it. Sign me up.”

[writtenjewels]

Biker, redux

[long story short: I like this AU but was having severe writer's block on how to continue it, so I'm basically rewriting it from the beginning]

The sidewalk was mostly deserted, and any pedestrians who drew close gave a respectful distance. A few members of the gang chuckled and revved their engines; the civilians quickened their pace. Salim took in another hit on his cigarette and watched as the people disappeared down the street. He didn't personally find any entertainment from intimidating people, but Dar felt it was important every now and then.

Movement from across the street caught Salim's attention. He glanced up and saw that the doors to the community center were opening. He was familiar with the place—Zain sometimes went there after school. It was far too late in the evening for any of those activities, though. As he watched, a group of adults filed out of the building. It was hard to judge from this distance, but they all appeared different ages. Most of them split off to go to their cars, one lingering behind to lock up. Another figure was making their way to the crosswalk.

That path would bring the person close to Salim's gang. He watched with growing anticipation as the stranger crossed the street. Dar called out and revved his engine; the others followed suit, jeering at the stranger. The stranger casually showed them the middle finger before walking on. Salim chuckled to himself.

[Hey!] Dar shouted. He dismounted from his bike. [Come back here and learn some respect!]

[Dar, wait,] Salim interrupted, swiftly moving to stand in front of his leader. [Let me take care of this.] Dar pursed his lips and glanced between Salim and the retreating figure. After a moment Dar nodded his approval.

[Go ahead, lieutenant.]

Salim let out a breath and hurried after the stranger. The person had just walked into a nearby convenience store. Salim followed and immediately moved down an aisle so the civilian wouldn't notice him. Salim sneaked glances to better judge who he was dealing with. The person had their back to him: all he could see was a black T-shirt, worn jeans, and a baseball cap covering dark hair. They were built more slender than him, their exposed arms muscular. The person opened the fridge and took out a drink.

“A Red Bull at this time of night?” Salim didn't mean to speak the words out loud. The person turned at his voice, revealing their face to him. They turned out to be a man, fair-skinned and clean-shaven. There was a white snake printed on the front of his shirt. Salim couldn't help taking note of the slope of the other man's nose, the shape of his thin lips, the cut of his jawline.

“Yep,” the stranger responded, emphasizing the “p” with a pop of his lips. His features were somewhat shadowed by the brim of his cap, but Salim could still see those dark eyes take in Salim's appearance. Salim was dressed to match the rest of his gang: dark pants, leather jacket over a plain black shirt. Chains were looped to his belt and tonight he had put in his stud earrings. Yet the look didn't seem to faze the other man.

“It's an interesting choice,” Salim commented. The man shrugged and moved to another aisle. He grabbed some beef jerky and a bag of chips. “Your dedication to health is inspiring,” Salim noted wryly. The man turned to look at him again.

“You must be the kettle,” he remarked. Salim raised an eyebrow at the words. “I can smell the cigarette smoke on ya from here,” the man continued. Salim took note of the Southern drawl in the man's accent.

“You make a good point,” Salim conceded. “I apologize; I was only making conversation.”

“And here I thought you came in to measure your dick like your friends outside,” the man drawled. He moved toward the counter with Salim following. “Unless you're here to rough me up for flickin' those guys off.”

“That's what they think I'm doing,” Salim agreed. “I actually came in because I was curious what sort of person would give a biker gang the middle finger.”

“Not all of 'em,” the other disagreed, turning his attention back to Salim briefly. “Just that one asshole.”

“Ah, but you see, that's the problem: 'that one asshole' is the leader.”

“Figures.” The man paid for his items and ripped open the bag of beef jerky. “You want some?” he offered. Salim eyed the bag skeptically.

“It doesn't say that it's halal.”

“I got not idea what that means.”

“ 'Permitted,',” Salim interpreted. The stranger glanced at the jerky for a moment before shrugging and popping a piece in his mouth. “My name is Salim,” Salim introduced. He had to wait for the other to chew and swallow.

“Jason.”

“Do you like snakes, Jason?” Jason looked confused and Salim pointed meaningfully to his shirt. Jason's expression turned incredulous.

“What kind of biker gang member doesn't know Whitesnake?”

“Oh, so it's another gang?”

“It's a band,” Jason corrected, rolling his eyes. “Tell me you at least know Van Halen.” When Salim didn't answer, Jason shook his head in disappointment. “Bon Jovi? Queen? For fuck's sake, do you live under a rock?!” Salim tried not to laugh.

“I'm sorry. I actually prefer David Bowie.”

“Oh.” Jason looked startled. “Well, yeah. Who fuckin' doesn't?” Salim shared a smile with him. The way Jason's face softened made him look younger while still emphasizing the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. It was a charming look.

“Do you live nearby?” he asked.

“Nah. Took a bus to get here.” Jason glanced down at his watch. “Speakin' of, I'd better go out and wait. Next one should be comin' soon.” Salim felt disappointment sink into his gut. He was enjoying this conversation with Jason. “Do you live nearby?” Jason countered.

“Yes, this is my neighborhood.” Jason's eyes moved over Salim, slower this time.

“Maybe tomorrow you can show me what's halal in this store.”

“Oh.” Now Salim was the one who was startled. “Yes, I could do that. Let's say five o'clock?” Jason nodded, his eyes passing over Salim for a third time. Salim swallowed and gave into the temptation of doing the same. Jason's fair cheeks looked a little red, but the other tugged down on the brim of his cap, effectively shadowing his face.

Jason headed out the door. Salim waited before exiting as well and heading over to join his gang. He was sure his expression was neutral despite the thrill of that encounter.

[Well?] Dar demanded.

[He got the message,] Salim assured him. And Salim was going to see him again.

[plumulesauvage]

Paradise in Hell 2 : The sandstorm

Genre : Sf, drama, adventure, psychological

Warnings : rude language, swearing, crude parts, mention of Mary being killed, mention of pet names, Dementus

Relationships : Furiosa x reader, Dementus x reader, Immortan Joe x reader, Max x reader

Chapter 1 here

Table of contents here

It’s been a long day for the girls. They were exhausted, dirty and full of sand. But none of them were speaking while a woman cleaned them up. They were only exchanging a few glances, unsure of what to do. Only one thing was for sure : they couldn’t speak. Not to these men. They would destroy the Green Place just by looking at it. As Vuvalinis it was their duty to protect the oasis from destroyers like those bikers. And they were ready to die for that. Just as they’ve been taught.

The silence was filled by the howling wind outside, as a sandstorm was sweeping the camp.

One of the two men in the tent suddenly stood up, hearing a noise. After he exited the tent, the other man and woman stole Furiosa’s peach and began to bicker about it. What put a stop to the ridiculous quarrel was the corpse of the first man, falling inside the tent. Then, the second ended up dead. And Mary entered the tent, armed and ready to kill the woman.

At this sight, the two girls stood up happily and ran toward their mother.

“Mommy !” “We thought we lost you !”

Just by seeing the Vuvalini, they were relieved and ready to escape. But their mother was still wary, looking menacingly at the woman, targeting her with her deadly weapon.

“Please ! Don’t kill me ! I’m a mother too !” Begged the woman, hands up, down on her knee, with a scared look.

Mary seemed to hesitate before rushing her girls towards the exit, finally deciding she didn’t need to kill another person for now.

But, as the trio escaped, they were shot in the back, and Mary caught fire.

Despite the raging sandstorm and their motorbike, they didn’t run far enough, and were soon caught by Dementus and his men. Mary then told the girl to flee without her while she stayed behind to kill as many men as possible.

Facing this order, Furiosa tried to refuse, while Valhalla began to cry, understanding they were parting ways forever.

The girls finally obeyed, riding the bike as far as they could.

___

In the silence of the storm, Valhalla was quietly sobbing. She couldn't help it. And Furiosa didn’t know what to do. She felt sad too. Sad for her mother, sad for her sister. They weren’t sure they could escape the biker gang, but it was certain that they would never see their mother again. Knowing that, they couldn’t help but want to return by her side, fighting with her. And dying with her if there was no hope left.

As Fury was driving, Valh recalled her memories with her mother, fidgeting a necklace she wore.

Her biological mother died while giving birth to her, and her only memory was that necklace. She never knew her “real” mother, but was the happiest little girl having Mary as her mommy. And she couldn’t accept to lose a mother once again. Not now. Not because of stupid beasts who called themselves men. Why must it happen this way ?

As she was torturing herself with her fearful and sad thoughts, Fury was thinking about going back.

She too couldn’t give up. She couldn’t let her mother down. The magnificent and talented woman she had the chance to call mother wasn’t going to die killed by some pathetic men who couldn’t take care of themselves. Never. She deserved way more than that.

“Listen Valh !”

The engine wasn’t revving anymore. The bike had stopped.

“We’re Vuvalinis. We protect and take care of each other ! We’re not letting mommy down !”

Saying it out loud determined the two girls to go back to where they left their mother, with the hope to save her. At worst, they’ll accompany her in her death. No matter what, they weren’t letting her all alone.

Unfortunately, they came back in time to see their very own mother being crucified and tortured by Dementus men. Seeing them, Mary couldn’t help but cry out of anguish, understanding that her little girls would never escape those men.

“Furiosa ! Valhalla !”

As she screamed, the two girls tried to help her, but were caught.

And just like that, those two children saw their mother die in the most awful way. Just as Dementus said “There is no looking away”. This was burned in their skin and mind.

There is no looking away. There will never be. Because even if you close your eyes, cruelty will still be there. Even if you look away, people you love will still die painfully. Because that’s what life is.

Because that’s the Wastelands.

___

It had been weeks since their mother passed away. Weeks locked up in what seemed like a moving jail.

Since this awful evening, the two girls stayed silent, only holding hands. With open eyes they looked everything, everyone. There was no sleep, no hunger, no sadness, no hope left. There was only anger.

Furiosa had a muzzle because she had tried to bite every man who approached her. Valhalla was gaged because she only talked to say mean things to everyone looking them dead in the eyes.

Dementus was overwhelmed to say the least. He didn’t know what to do with these two little monsters who made everyone run away. They were a great duo at discouraging and destroying his men. But he stopped to find it funny the day he became their victim.

“Little girls are supposed to be cute and polite ! Not fucking freaks !” Had he shouted one day out of pure anger after standing with the two tornados all day. And enough was enough for the warlord. Now, he just wanted some rest.

As the night felt, he came outside of his tent to breathe some fresh air. Keeping the children was gonna be hard, he knew it the second he decided it. But he didn’t expect them to be as much as their mother. He tried to talk to them. To befriend them. Nothing worked. They were always looking at him in the same way, with pure rage and hate. But if looks could kill he would have died way before leafing them.

He was a bit discouraged, but deep down, he knew they could succeed him. They had the temper, the will. Growing up they will surely gain power. Wasn’t it epic, to know that one day they’ll avenge their mother and become warlord instead of him ?

Thinking about it gave him chills. But not of fear, only of excitement.

His men couldn’t understand. They were too serious or weak for that.

Only the Octo-boss saw through him, but instead of trying to understand he just told him that he was a creepy old bastard. “ Keeping them around, they will be the death of you.”

Thinking about that, the Aussi rolled his eyes, bored. Seemed like his men were all pussies deep down. What a shame ! Didn’t they want a chilling journey in the Wastelands ?

HE was gonna make it epic. Just wait and see…

___

As the time passed, Valhalla was more and more convinced that her kidnapper was a moron. First, he did look like a creepy old man with his disheveled hair and beard. Second, he sometimes talked like a crazy guy, shouting nonsense about “making it epic” and “mark History”. Third, he kept calling her dollface with a gentle tone, as if he was her father.

Just thinking about it made her sick. There was really something off with this guy. And she couldn’t endure it anymore. Each time she saw him, she wanted to make his little grin disappear from his hideous face. But she could even talk back to him since he just gagged her saying she was too mean for her own good.

Her only reason to keep calm was Fury.

Her sister didn’t say a word nor shed a tear since their mother’s death, and she was worried about her. She knew her sis. She was gonna try to kill the crazy bastard next time she will be put out of this cage.

But Valh couldn’t agree more.

The two girls wanted to come back to the Green Place. because they made the promise to their mother that they’ll go back. And because they didn’t want any of this “epic life in the Wastelands”. So they had tattooed the star map to remember the path to their oasis, as a secret between them. As proof that they will always be with one another, no matter distance or death. If one of them came back, then the other too.

And like that they endured each passing day in this dreadful desert. Waiting for their time to come… Patiently waiting for their revenge against the warlords who killed their worlds…

[springdandelixn]

Against the Tide - Part V

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn as the leader of the biker gang that took over your town sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, graphic violence, coercion, manipulation & death. Some may be added in the future but always prepare your flashlights.

Characters: Dark!Biker!James Conrad x F!Reader, Michael from Legion, Billy Lee from Bad Times at the El Royale, and Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak (biker au)

A/N: Was finally able to update this and my arm is still sore.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope you guys enjoy!  💙

Against the Tide Masterlist

The wind blows roughly against your face and the deafening roar of the engine fills your ears as you ride behind James on his bike well into the night. You look around and try to see if the surroundings are familiar, to give you an inkling of where you’re headed and where you have been. But you see nothing, only the expanse of trees on either side of the road, another prison despite being out of the previous one.

You tried to ask Thomas for any information when you caught up to him climbing the truck outside of the home. Yet, just as you expected, he was once more tight-lipped and simply gave you a shrug of apology before James grabbed you by the arm and away from your friend.

“No talking to the runt.” He warned and you nodded wordlessly, knowing better than to disobey.

James then speeds up on the asphalt, your arms tightening around him and cheek pressed against the leather fabric of his jacket for fear of falling off the speeding vehicle. You feel his back rumble, his laugh echoing through the noise and you’re filled with irritation in an instant, knowing he’s done it on purpose to most likely add to the fear that’s already clinging to you. 

“Gotta hold on to something hard, sugar,” Billy shouts when he levels himself with you, his head turned in your direction and sending you a malicious wink before howling into the open air when he revs his bike and speeds up past the group. 

You can’t tell how long you’ve been riding but James slows down by a dirt path, your eyes widening in surprise when you see the glow of red and blue lights against the branches of the trees. Curiosity takes the best of you, peeking past the gang leader in front and you stay still in your seat when you see a police cruiser up ahead, the symbol of the sheriff painted on the side of the door. 

“Took ya fellas long enough.” A familiar voice calls out when the engines of the bikes quiet down. Sheriff Bodecker stands before James, toothpick rolling in his mouth as a smirk plays on his lips, tipping his hat over to you when his eyes meet yours. “And I see ya brought your damsel with ya.” He slithers. “How ya doin’, missy? Face all healed up?”

“We have no time for small talk, Bodecker,” James grunts, the sheriff’s attention leaving you and focusing on the gang leader. “Where is he?”

“In the grave, just like you said,” The sheriff says. “But hurry up with it—asshole’s been screamin’ since he fell in and my boys be itchin’ to shut him up themselves.” 

“And everything’s been set? No trails to follow?”

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout nothin’.” Sheriff Bodecker waves his hand at James before framing his wide hips with his hands, the look on his face turning serious. “All you gotta think about is the deal.”

“Very well,” James nods and snaps his fingers. You see Michael step off his bike and walk to where the sheriff stands, a thick envelope in his hand before slapping it against the palm of the officer. “Count it if you want, it’s all there.” 

The sheriff does just that, opening the flap of the envelope and running his thumb against the contents before closing it back and tucking it in the back of his pocket. 

“And the other deal?” He asks. 

“Yeah yeah. What else do you fucking want?” 

“Calm down now, Conrad. We just doin’ business here, that’s all.” Sheriff Bodecker chuckles before taking a step closer to James’ bike. “There are these new people in town, a mother and his son. Moved to the corner near my place.”

“And?”

Sheriff Bodecker glances at Michael who scowls in his direction, the latter’s wrist resting casually against the gun nestled in his holster.

“Tell your lackey to come by their place tomorrow, roughen up the boy a bit.”

“Why?”

“Bastard’s been sweet talkin’ my wife and since there’d be an election comin’ up soon, I can’t be seen getting my hands dirty, y’know?” He explains. “And with me bein’ the sheriff, no one gonna stop your business from comin’ through the town.”

James laughs at the sheriff’s words, leaning his elbow against the handles of his bike. “What? The big bad sheriff is having a hard time keeping his wife on a leash?” He scoffs and the sheriff’s face looks displeased, anger flashing in his eyes. “Why the hell would I have my men do your dirty work?”

“‘Cause I had mine do yours.” Sheriff Bodecker spits. “But I didn’t come here with nothing.” He continues. “You do this and the sheriff in the neighboring town will let you do business in theirs. Widen your territory.”

James seems to consider the offer, silence looming over the men. “Just the boy?” He asks.

“If he fights, fuck his mom or kill her. I don’t give two shits s’long as he leaves my wife alone.”

“Deal.” James agrees and the man before him smirks, slipping his thumb and forefinger between his lips and whistling, several uniformed officers walking out from the woods and gathering around both men. “Your problems will be solved by morning.”

“Perfect,” Sheriff Bodecker grins. “Nice doin’ business with you boys.” He calls out before tipping his hat over at you. “Miss,” He bids you goodbye and walks over to his cruiser, James and his men staying put and waiting til the officers pull up and drive away.

James kicks his bike back to life and you move to grasp the bar behind your seat as he drives past the dirt road and into the thick forest, the tall trees secluding you from the open. You feel a tinge of fear creeping up your spine as you face the darkness once more, your knuckles going white as you grip tight on the handle behind you upon hearing a man screaming up ahead. 

The headlights of the bikes are the only source of light against the dark. Billy’s silhouette is the only form you see at the front, his laughter bouncing against the trees as he points his gun at the ground. He shoots at something—or someone—as the shouting from the ground resumes, flinching in your seat when the sound reverberates through your ears. 

“Alright. Off the bike.” James instructs and you quickly comply, standing at the side and keeping your eyes up ahead while he kicks down the stand of his bike and climbs off just the same. 

He grabs your arm and pulls you to stand in front of him, your feet reluctantly walking forward to where you hear the shouting. You try to pull away when your eyes see the hole in the ground, turning to be free of his grasp and run away from whatever sinister plan he’s prepared for you. But his grip is too strong, keeping you in place before wrapping an arm around your neck and urging you further, hearing him laugh as you stand over the edge. 

“Shine the light, runt!” He calls and you look at your side to see Thomas quickly staggering to where Billy stands, fumbling with the flashlight in his hands. 

You gasp when the beam shines down on the ground, the hole looking more of a grave than a ditch and inside is your father, bloody and covered in grime, his hands gripping on the sides of the dirt wall and pushing himself to climb out. But each attempt he makes fails, Billy laughing at the pathetic scene when your father falls on his back.

His eyes then meet yours, taking a step back from fear when you see the rage burning within. He barrels over to the side of where you stand, angrily pulling at the soil as he pushes himself to climb out. 

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts. “You put me here! You fucking put me he—”

You scream and turn your head away when a gunshot rings through the woods, followed by a cry of pain coming from the man in the grave. When you look over, you see your father once more on his back, his hands cradling his thigh as blood seeps out of him, staining his clothes and his hands. 

“Shut up, you old bag!” Billy sneers before spitting into the ground. “You keep whining like a bitch and I’ll kill you myself.”

“What’s going on? Why did you take me here?” You say in a rush, panic surging through your veins and you try to turn your head to look back at James but stop when his hand frames your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes forward. 

“This is my surprise, sweetheart.” James snickers, feeling his hot breath on your cheek and his chin resting on your shoulder. “Vengeance.”

“I—I don’t u-understand.” You mumble, tears brimming at your eyes as confusion mixes with your fear. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not stupid, baby. Don’t you want to seek revenge on the man who beat you to a pulp and humiliated you in front of the entire town?” He drones while his fingers caress your face, the act only adding to the anxiety building in your chest. “He wished you dead, maybe he even killed your mother so he could kill you off next when you were nothing but an innocent child.”

Despite being scared, anger suddenly fills your senses as the memories of the past begin flooding back; how you were forced out of your home and sought refuge from strangers for fear that the man who was supposed to care for you and protect you would kill you after your mother breathed her final breath. Dread never leaving you and constantly looking over your shoulder each time you left Sammy and Eleanor’s house just to be sure that your father wasn’t there to end your life. 

“He harassed you, sweetheart, and kept asking for something that he wasn’t owed.” James continues to speak, the shock from earlier dissipating and is soon replaced by rage. “I heard he even followed you one day back home, staking out and waiting for you to come out. If that surrogate parents of yours didn’t call for help, who knows what he could have done to you.”

You remember that day well. Sammy called his friends over after several days of hiding in your room, the old men scaring your father with axes and pitchforks in their hands, threatening him to never show his face in the neighborhood ever again. Sammy made it a point to drop you off and pick you up from school after the incident. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t even be standing here right now, having the privilege to watch him suffer.”

You feel something cold and metallic being pressed to your hands and you look down to see James tucking a gun between your palms. He eases his arm off your neck and cradles both your hands in his, slipping your finger through the trigger and extending your arms, aiming the gun to your father writhing in the dirt. 

“Just one shot and all your problems will come to an end.” He whispers against your ear and you stay perfectly still when he presses a soft kiss against your cheek. You make to look around, to face Thomas to at least find a semblance of reason to latch on to but James tuts and frames your chin once more, keeping your eyes on the target. “Eyes forward, baby. You wouldn’t want to miss.”

He then lets you go but you feel his presence looming over you, his shadow cast before you from the headlights shining behind. You feel a battle ensuing between your conscience, telling you that it's wrong to take the life of another, and your emotions, dictating that this is what you must do, to kill the man who wants your dead before he can lay upon you such a tragic fate. 

Indeed, you hate your father. Hate him with a passion, but is it right for you to stain your hands with his blood? He’s done such terrible things, yes, but killing him? 

You think of what your mother would say if she saw you right now. Would she be happy? Or would she be disappointed that you’d be killing off the last of your kin. 

“I’m going to kill you when I get out of here!” Your father shouts and it’s as if his words locked something in your head, pushing away the voice of reason and pulling forward the hatred that’s been simmering in the depths of your soul. 

He ruined your life. He killed your mom. So, it’s only right that you do the same. 

Without thinking twice, you shut your eyes and pull the trigger, flinching and dropping the gun when the shot rings loudly in your ears. You keep your eyes closed as you feel the adrenaline running wild through your veins, your chest heaving as you breathing turns heavy, opening your eyes when you hear James’ command from behind and gasping when you see your father’s lifeless body on the ground, his eyes wide open with the blood trickling from the wound on his forehead. 

You cover your mouth and stagger back in shock, your body going rigid as you couldn’t believe what you’ve done. You try to turn away, to leave the place all the same when you feel your surroundings closing in on you, suffocating you. But James catches you, his arms wrapping around your frame and you don’t care that he’s held you captive for days, weeks, months—you don’t know—and cry against his chest when the tears begin springing out from your eyes. 

He says something but words are muffled in your ears, only a distant ringing and several voices playing in the background as your world spins and renders you numb from everything. You feel yourself move but you’re unsure if you’re walking or being carried away. His chest is then pressed at your side and you look up to see the seriousness painting on his face. A loud roar resounds through the woods and the cool breeze of the night once more brushes against your face when he finally drives away. 

I no longer hold a tag list but if you wish to be updated with new fics I release, follow my archives blog, @springlibrary​ , and turn on the notifications. For more of my dark fics, follow @shadeysprings.

[ranchracoon]

The Heist

Clair Redfield

requested by: hiandhelloandlove

The wind drowns out all other noise as the motorcycle weaves through lanes of traffic all slowing because of the incoming rain. The rider flicks down their visor to protect their eyes, of course it has to start raining now. The wheels splash up mucky water onto cars that they pass, revving their engine to cut through a yellow that turns red. They arrive at their destination, the world class Emporium of Rare Gems and Jewels, or in her mind Emporium of Please Come Steal Us, We're All Conveniently In One Place. The biker stashes their bike under a canopy of trees, away from prying electronic eyes. They remove their helmet and brush back their long brown hair, remove the outer black, leather jacket to reveal their signature bright red jacket underneath. Finally they remove the black leather chaps around their tight fitted jeans, and adjust the large bungee holster around their waist.

"Almost over Clair. In and out." She sighs. 

She already has a buyer, if she gets this jewel she'll have enough money to put her past behind her. Maybe settle down on a nice beach in Mexico drinking to her hearts content. From the inner pocket of her jacket she pulls out a detail sketch of the facility with all visible cameras on the outside, inside, and guard rotations. Weeks of planning went into this, she cannot blow it now. They should be doing a rotation soon, and if she times it just right, she can sprint for the blind spot on the ivy wall. She tucks the map away and opens the seat of her bike, pulling out her climbing rope and carabiners. Clair sneaks from the canopy to the edge of the building, watching the camera rotate before sprinting full speed to the wall where she slams herself flat against it. She begins the climb up the building, there's plenty of windows and the ivy is imbedded in the walls to give her enough to climb. Or so she thinks. 

One loose root falls as she clutches it, making her gasp in surprise and nearly lose her footing, luckily she captures herself on a hole in the brickwork. She pants heavily as the adrenaline slowly comes down and she realigns herself enough to finish the climb. Once on the roof she finds the glass dome leading directly down to the exhibit she needs. She takes her rope and finds a sturdy enough anchor point before attaching the rope to her climbing belt. Now she waits. The security guard walks through the exhibit, inputs a code then exits. She has exactly 30 minutes before the next time they come through, she puts a timer on her watch and opens the glass dome. 

Clair slowly eases herself over the edge then attempts to drop her weight at a reasonable pace so her rope can tighten and catch her. She swings aimlessly in the open air before carefully descending until her eye catches a flash. She halts all her movement and inspects closer to see small beams of light in various directions around the exhibit; clearly some kind of motion laser or light sensitive beam. She hadn't entirely planned for this, but she can work around it as she swings her legs to make herself swing. Once she has enough momentum she grabs onto a nearby support beam for the roof, using the wall she carefully climbs down until she's far enough to where she can swing to the gem she needs. 

Now there's only one problem: how is she going to bypass all the lasers and swing herself to the case? She looks up the wall and gasps seeing her rope perfectly inline with one of the sensors, but no alarms or anything has been given off. Either it can't pick up her rope, or it's a silent alarm, either way she has to hurry and be careful. With a tug of her climbing rope she lurches herself upward, if she times it just right, she can "jump" over the nearest beam, then lower herself onto the gem case. 

With a deep breath she jumps off the wall, yanks the rope, then barely catches herself on the edge of the case. The gem sitting perfectly inside it's glass domain. She tightens her leather gloves and uses a piece of electrical tape to tape over the glass sensor. Her watch beeps reminding her she only has 20 minutes left so she has to hurry, but if she hurries, she's more likely to make mistakes. She wets her lips and lifts the glass off, swiping the gem into her coat pocket, and replacing the glass once more. Now to get back through the roof. She pushes herself off the container and yanks the rope, carefully climbing upwards and using a combination of pulls, yanks, and swings to avoid the beams. Finally she makes it to the very top where she wraps her climbing rope around her body once again and closes the glass dome. 

Now for the hardest part: getting back down the ivy wall. Climbing up is easy, she could see the holes and cracks in the brickwork and use the vines to her advantage, but now she has to go the opposite way and blindly look for footholds. Her watch beeps again: 10 minutes. She slowly climbs over the edge and sways her foot back and forth until she finds a catch that will support her weight, she does this the entire way down until her watch beeps repeatedly to tell her she's out of time. Clair gasps and silences her watch looking down to see she only has a short distance left so she decides to jump down and roll through the wet grass. She pants and sprints for her bike just as the alarm is activated for the museum. She stuffs her rope and clothing into her bike seat before clasping her helmet on and mounting her bike. Clair revs the engine and peels off into the rainy night.

[agentnico]

The Bikeriders (2024) review

Norman Reedus shows up for only 5 minutes and yet still has more dialogue here than in the entire 11 season run of The Walking Dead.

Plot: Over the course of a decade, a Midwestern motorcycle club evolves from a gathering place for local outsiders to a sinister gang, threatening the original group's way of life.

My screening was not full on this one, but of the people that were there it was primarily older women. I was wondering why this was the case until an arms naked Austin Butler popped up on screening and began flexing over a pool table, and I could literally feel the audience around drooling and then some. But in reality the target audience for this film are men, and more so men who love/ride motorbikes. As The Bikeriders is a deconstruction of coolness and biker culture as a macho posturing that is really an incredibly fragile ecosystem of male relationships and values. But there are so many cool bikes in this, and a lot of scenes involve guys just sitting around a bar endlessly chain smoking and chatting crap. For one I absolutely dug the sound design. Of course it could have been the good sound system of the cinema I was in (the Everyman) but I felt every rev of the engine. The sound is so forceful, it’s like being caught in a carburettor of a Harley Davidson. This partnered with a fantastic music soundtrack as it freewheels you through the many hits of the 60s and 70s, from The Stooges to The Shangri-Las, the sound is this movie’s secret weapon.

This movie is very much a guys hang-out sesh, and yes there is a loose narrative reminiscent of Goodfellas and even Tom Hardy’s Legend, but overall this is Jeff Nichols’ generalised outlook of the motorbike culture from a individual who seems absolutely infatuated with this community. As much as I loved the feel of this film and I was never actually bored at any moment, due to the structure of it all there wasn’t a single character I cared about. They’re all macho guys trying to showcase how badass they are, but essentially that’s all they have to them. The performances across the board are all engaging, but the reason we connect with them is purely cause we’re fans of the actors themselves. Austin Butler is a modern day movie star through and through, and since Elvis he’s been effortlessly cool non stop. Tom Hardy puts on a strikingly thick Chicago accent and again, is great to watch. Michael Shannon and Norman Reedus show up with crazy hair-dos and messy almost-barbaric physicalities, and Jodie Comer is a stuck in a narration bit and her character essentially only works as a romantic foil to provide the movie with some limited emotion, which is what it lacks.

The Bikeriders is a perfectly enjoyable crime drama that is an entertaining time, but also boils down to kind of nothing. There’s not much meaning to be found here besides the classic “let’s be cool”, however as a jacket wearer myself I got a big dig at seeing the various outfits and leather jackets characters were wearing. Essentially you won’t be disappointed when seeing this on a Saturday night, but chances are you will forget quite quickly.

Overall score: 6/10

[crater-lake]

91

3/30/24

This is not my choice.

In order to get anything (phone had to change it haunting) out I have to speak about my right pointer finger which feels too warmly against the back of my phone, my upper right trap aching along its ridge, the back of my head wet with itching, my face twinkling with itches. As I write this, I am defying the sensations: small, restless needles prodding my face.

Outside of my window: outer Amsterdam. The metro line is elevated and runs sleek trains littered with graffiti to and fro, like Gotham City. A big bus depot takes most of the view. Buses return, say "geen dienst" and go to sleep, like I should be doing. Light is starting to warp into summer. Primordial indigo, shattered gold, industrial silver reek from the landscape. Canals tesselate blocks into chunks of city. Wine dark water laps like a thirsty dog at the artificial wall. Inches above where the water purrs, a faint green glows, showcasing the precision of sun and water in harboring life. Bikes are not even chained to fences. A big building on the left holds big windows, most dimly lit. Staircases slither up the right hand side. The road opposite the depot carries nervous cars and drunk bikers to and fro. There is not really a sense of danger. I write about these things to express gratitude for the present tense. My god, there is no greater gift: this voice, these letters, sit in a room in Amsterdam.

This is the furthest away I've ever been. I also write because I dislike sitting idly and getting revved up by my phone. I deleted the app (it is clear which one). I am trying to rock the frustration into understanding and save some important conceptions for later, for when I'll need them.

Just yesterday it was Molly Brodak's birthday. (A subway train just rushed by.) I am also done with Molly, the book, which documents the nature of her suicide. I have been puzzling at her death for some months in close reading her poetry. I need to be patient for whatever voice feels next. I also need to read more often. To understand her better.

Her poetry feels like a dissection: like body parts, also beating and pulsing, but unable to work together. Her enjambment (this was autocorrected stupidly) invoked broken metal ripped out of concrete foundations. A broken jaw slobbering over mute syllables. And ice pack freezing tense into singularity. The lurid metal juts out sharply like broken limbs. It feels warlike. Mollys poetry is barraged by various griefs. And neglect. How grief manifests around absence over and over. I understand why she cheated for example. The poetry is an assessment about the nature of not having a story, really. I think her voice maybe drove her to suicide. The conclusion of it. I wonder if she hadn't written, she wouldn't have died. I maybe worry that whatever I conclude from building poetry in myself will kill me.

I know it is not just writing that did it (car whooshes from far away. It is not just the quietness of distance, but the muteness, like speaking underwater. The way your eyes see through the gauze of light. The skin bright as summer. And young.)

Molly's writing is surgically precise and disjunct. I think her syntax is incant and brilliant. I am plagued by too many words. I don't know which words to trust. I'll have more to say about this later.

The writing did not just do it. But making sense of her gravity. I do wonder if she enjoyed feeling cleverer than others, through the severity of her judging other people. I fear the ways I connect with her. I feel jealous of her having such conviction and fierce analytical skills. She just understood things and announced it. I wish deeply to read "Folk Physics." When I one day feel brave, I am going to be a poet too. But this version of me, probably not. But I am proud of who's next.

I read through the suicide this morning. She ate halloumi. It was pretty heavy. Though it feels good to do non phone related things, and to keep the poetry spinning around, for fear it hardens into a nothing thing, and to keep finding ways to have good conversations. To just be more conscious when it is possible. Conscious and reasonable, and even empathetic.

The industrial allure of outside my window arouses my longing for summer. I have inchoate visions of falling through an amber city 100 of layers deep. Of capsizing. Of collecting distances from rooftops and fire escapes and high windows and blowing smoke out of me into any captivating wind. The way it comes out of you for good. I am trying to remember well the good TikTok I saw about the seasons and wrap myself into the flavor of that nostalgia. If I were younger, I wonder how all of this would change my life.

Another reason I write this is that what once broke me does not break me. I move between beautiful places mostly unscathed and not feeling battered and feverishly lonely, after the fact. I leave and the whole of me goes. The more I have experienced and written and love lets me be stronger. And I know how to enter and leave experiences. I can touch men, smoke, find the good flowers, book a tour. But I write in honor of the boy I used to be who would marvel at the joy and quality and impermanence of my life. I feel remarkably safe.

I was just in Brussels and the family friend I used to feel limerence for used to live there (I do not want to check Grindr). I was prowling those streets minutely curious about how growing up there was. Zach seems to have no connection for Belgium. He just was in Europe at an age when my whole life was confined to Metuchen. My suburban American house. I didn't know the glory and safety of it: the reality that my world was my world. I didn't know how to feel important or heard yet. I am making efforts to be heard, not just by others, but by myself, above all else.

I writhed then, in my room, on July 22, 2013, and cried into my diary. Because why did I have to suffer like that, and then? Because, he who I am. Who I am, loves exactly like this. I mean it and try to mean it. I let beauty disarm me. I pretend fight with him with giant metal spoons to make the smile in his eyes even softer. He was soft and caramel brunette and horribly ephemeral. His precious body was around for a few hours. I used to dream of the weeks and feel thrilled by the anticipation. This was the only sort of love I had then, because I wanted out from my loneliness, and when you are younger, such feelings are the only conceivable experiences larger than the loneliness. Not larger, but more real. As a child, I called my solitude loneliness and said that is that. Back then, I let my loneliness make me more real. Loving Zachary helped tend the fire of that feeling. I wept with the chains of despair, and it felt good to point at something that would envelop you.

Hours after he left. My basement was more than empty. My body disturbed the spatial silence. I felt shifted: my childhood black and white game, where inversion allowed you to traverse levels in totally different ways, getting from one door to the next. I went down there and my story detached from me. The loneliness of that basement. I went to the blue leather sofa, with the cigarette holes from my dead aunt, and sniffed the seat where he had been sitting. It was hypnotic, saccharine, lovely. It welled my eyes like a bee sting, or stabbing your toes. I wrapped myself in whatever it was. I felt connected to all of the other selves that longer for him in that loneliness shawl. I don't know anything we would ever talk about it. In that part of my life, it was difficult that things happened at all. Now things happen all the time, and I don't feel anything. I was late to this party of unfeeling. Kylie Roesler didn't feel grave in Eighth grade like me and would go to barbecues or something and was just cool. But I was nervous and lonely and felt excluded by beauty and beheld it for too too long all the time. And I like pleasure too much to be swayed to ignore it in most instances.

I thought of this self when I was in the Magritte museum looking at his progression as an artist and reading French quotes on the wall. I saw "the Explanation" by Magritte, the wine bottle, and the carrot, and how explanation is a type of transformation that weaves contest between two arbitrary things. Context can be connected between anything and doesn't need to be. Magritte contended with the wordiness of words. The infernal nature of conceptualizing the world at large. He made superficial commentary about modernity, consumption, linguistic conception, and epistemology. I wonder what drove him to keep making art despite not being so good at it initially. He called his art visual poems and I don't know if I fully agree. I am trying to connect this to Zach. I think of the house in the tree stump and I understand because I have a Jose Tejas in a Christmas Tree under my nipple. I have a red shiny apple for a heart. I have a Wii remote. I bite into it and it gushes water. I have ideas that let me fly for a while. I ignore select important things in order to live and relish the ability to do so.

Magritte understood some concepts don't exist. Good artists respect the boundary of their arts meaning. And some like to make fun of it. And others feel very disturbed by it. Molly Brodak said that the facts leave her out all the time. I acknowledge meanings shore like Jasper, the annoying cat I live with.

When I keep the door open, Jasper runs in and eats any of the food I have on my desk. And he sits on my lap, just to bite my arm hard for petting him. And every time I go to the kitchen, he waits patiently at the door for food. Vulnera is how he asks, every time, for the food. It makes me frustrated but not insane. I am pretty alright that the words fail like lantern light retreating inside phantom dark. I am pretty reasonable about what we can agree on. Poets try to be really weird and that is just good advice.

The last concept I want to think about here is the supposed conflict between meaning and feeling. Because I am spending a whole lot of time discussing feelings and then ask, but what does it mean? That I am a lover or doomed or chronically sad or defeated? That ... anything? I think because language teaches us explanation exists, that cause and effect are valid modes of slicing reality into easier bits, that we encounter flavors of feeling all day and through heuristics at them. But in par with this metaphor, you cannot use science to taste, you have to live. Molly writes very abstrusely. The images seem random, unorganized, fringe. This is the very point of their mentioning.

Charlie, my good friend, said putting objects in a room is a good way of writing an effective poem. Molly takes the room away. And just throws object. Maybe Magritte puts objects in a room and asks if these are really the things he put there or what you think is there, or what you think the room is. A feeling is the last apple on a table, in the nighttime, one day before it overripens, it's soft skin fallow yellow, squirmish. I don't agree that it is powerful not explaining the absurdity of that movement inside- but I do revel the awe of responding to anything and asking everybody else except knowledge what they think about this living. If there are siblings to languages, they are not speaking with logic. Faith, maybe, speaks with credibility or feeling. Other rhetorical forms maybe offer insights into different meaning systems. Meaning is not absolute and it is horrible stretching out words in poems all the time to throw strange linguistic shadows in the mind eyes to simulate living. It's dreaming of a four dimensional word by ciphering two dimensional shadows on a walk that doesn't even exist.

I will spend time soon collecting objects and self fix instances for a room I call my own. And not even to avoid suffering. And not even to relish the transformative nature of writing, which I most look forwards to. But just as a practice in present tense, in self respect, in being conscious, analytical, and empathetic. The joy of learning.

I have reached just the end of what I am actually thinking about. Before this, I was in Grindr for a while wanting to be wanted for an hour or so. I am pointing at myself pretending it is enough. I accept how it is not enough and don't let it burn, though it is uncomfortable. I scrolled through TikTok not having talked about this with anyone. Even though Emily is here, and we've had a great time, this sort of regurgitation didn't seem appropriate for her or the friendship, which I don't mind. Some people just wait for people to draw things out of them.