#biker party

[insanethrottlebikernews]

What was the Hollister Riot & Why It Changed The Image Of Bikers

Click the Banner and listen to Motorcycle Madhouse Morning Mayhem on Spotify The Hollister Riot, also known as the Hollister Motorcycle Riot, was a violent disturbance that occurred in the town of Hollister, California, USA, during the Fourth of July weekend in 1947. The event is considered to be the first outlaw motorcycle gang event and is often cited as the inspiration for the 1953 film “The…

[fleuraimer]

Something with dumbification, please!! Anything from the smut starters would be amazing

oooh ok coming right up! kinda made my own prompt/au for this so hope u like nonnie <333

wc: 1.6k

cw: smut. minors dni. 17+. alcohol consumption. d/s dynamics. oral (m receiving). dacryphilia. degradation&dumbification kink. pet name bunny. pls lmk if i missed anything!!

Y/N never thought she'd find herself intertwined with the likes of a biker gang.

They say love makes people do crazy things, though.

"C'mere, Bunny!" Bucky shouts over the commotion swirling through his house, cold neck of a beer bottle clutched in his large, tattooed hand. She glances at him from her spot by the television, where she'd been conversing with the other girlfriends' and female members. Though, suddenly their once riveting topic of conversation is no longer interesting to her.

She knuckles out of her position sat between Peggy, Steve's girl, and Natasha, another member, on the couch with a half-hearted mumble of departure—a departure met with hootin' and hollerin' from her girls', cheering her on in her rousing endeavors. She throws them a desperate look over her shoulder, something that surely reads as please, shut the hell up. They snicker amongst themselves, but otherwise leave her be.

The excitement running through Y/N's body—butterflies with flower petals for wings, fluttering—blooming—soft in her stomach, strays squeezing their way into her throat, stuttering her words—is solely a product of the man beckoning her. She's practically skipping over to his place by the pool table, cue clasped in the hand not holding his beer.

Her enthusiasm is decidedly muted, no less—forcibly subdued—when her approach comes to stop in front of him, hands cradled behind her back, lashes fluttering with her demure gaze peering up at him from underneath. She bites her lip to suppress a giddy smile.

"Hi, Bucky," she mumbles to him as his fist—fingers still clutching the neck of the bottle—moves to her waist, along the side, up to the expanse of her back over her cherry red, tight blouses, through the space between her arms and arching back. He tugs her into him, making her stumble over her feet—legs like Bambi's, just like her eyes, button nose, and pretty, sweet lips—and fall into his chest. Her fingers unfurl from behind her back to swing in front and grip at his pecs, steadying herself there.

He smiles down at her, fond, "Hi, Bunny."

They're pulled from their little bubble when a hand shoves into Bucky's broad shoulder.

"C'mon, Dude, y'brought her over here to help us, not eye-fuck 'er in front of everyone," his pool partner, Sam, groans exasperatedly, though her throws Y/N a sly wink over Bucky's shoulder. She smiles, and shakes her head at his pointless antics.

Bucky sets his drink, harder than necessary, on the ledge of the pool table. Starts to turn, with this ridged, irate look in his eye that has Y/N bringing her hands up to keep his shifting shoulders facing her, not keen to wipe blood from his knuckles.

"He's teasin'," she whispers to him, right hand sliding up the thick of his neck, to his ticked jaw to cradle, thumb soothing over his chiseled cheek. He barely flits his gaze to her's before he's trying to spin out of her hold again—iron-clad, surprisingly, for someone so Bambi-like.

"He's fuckin'—"

"Teasin'," she says again, firmer this time. She brings his eyes back to her's, "What'd you need me for?" Bucky looks at her with that same indignant spark, merely dulled, and his shoulders sag with defeat.

"What was it y'was tellin' me 'bout the other day, the law of— 'f inflection?"

Y/N snorts, smile curling at the edges of her lips, but she can't help the flutter in her heart at his words. He'd been listening, remebered even—incorrectly, but, it's the thought that counts—what she was talking about when she'd been prattling on and on, mindlessly, about her latest physics assignment.

"The Law of Reflection?" She mutters up to him. He nods cartoonishly, and her smile widens. She reaches for his pool cue, "May I?"

He offers her the cue and then lifts his hands in surrender, smirk hinting at his mouth. "S'all yours, Bunny."

She takes the cue and turns on her heel to face the pool table, unfazed by the many eyes surrounding her, watching the game between Sam and Bucky, and Steve and Tony unfold.

"The Law of Reflection states that when light reflects off a smooth surface, the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence," she assesses the position of each pool ball still sat on the table. "Stripes?" she mutters to her biker, getting a rumbling grunt in response. She nods, and bends to lean against the table, lining the cue up with a ball. "In other words, if you hit the ball into the ledge at a 60 degree angle—" she shuts one eyelid, focuses on the projection in her mind, mumbles just loud enough for those around her to hear, "—it should bounce back off at the same angle," and gives the ball a sure nudge. It rolls into the side of the pool table at said 60 degree angle, and bounces off the exact same way, opposite direction, directly into the middle left pocket. She smiles to herself, and stands to her full height, "Simple."

It was most certainly not simple, if the confounded looks gracing the faces of every biker listening to her mini lesson is anything to go off of. She only cares about one biker, though, and turns to face him immediately after finishing her presentation.

"Y'get it?" she chirps, going where Bucky guides her as he wraps his arm back around her waist, pulling the pool cue from her hand.

"Yeah, Bun, I got it," he smiles at her, pressing a kiss into her temple. He doesn't get it, but he knows if he drags her over here next week to do it all again, she'd explain it with that same pretty smile on her face. "Smart girl, is that what them fancy college courses been teachin' you?"

She smiles sheepishly, nods.

He drops his head down to her height, lips to the shell of her ear. "Tryna make me look stupid n'front 'f my boys?"

The deepness of the infliction of his tone—something reserved for her, dark and in need a satiating, raw and searching for a place to reside, a cave of refuge, a hole—heightens her senses and makes them all fuzzy in the same moment.

Her lashes flutter, eyelids suddenly heavy.

"N— No, Bucky! Never."

"Hmm," he hums, dismissive. The hand pressed to the small of her back slips lower, down to the swell of her plush ass, gripping, squeezing. "You'll jus' have't make it up t'me later, won't you, Bunny?" He knocks his knuckle under her chin, pool cue shifted as far from her face as possible, to make her look at him.

She nods, eyes flitting down to his soft lips. "Yes, Sir."

He pats her bottom twice, "Good girl, now go back there to y'girl's, Bunny, and sit pretty f'me."

——

On her knees, hands folded behind her back, with his cock shoved down her throat, is how she makes it up to him.

"Tell me, Bunny," he grunts, fingers dug into her scalp, dragging her mouth along his tongue, spit-slicked lips sucking, spit-soaked tongue petting, laving against the girth of his shaft, stretching the corners of her mouth, straining.

"Hmph hmm," she noises, eyes wet and lashes clumpy. He yanks her off with a stinging tug to her hair. Webs of drool cling from her mouth to the length of his cock as she pants, hiccoughs short breaths and claws into the flesh of her forearms. "Don' 'member, Sir," she whines, reaching to slip his cock back between her lips. He keeps her off by his grip in her hair, smirks all mean like when the tears bordering her lash line leak down to her rosy cheeks.

"Don' remember?" he croons, pressing a thumb past her parted lips. "C'mon, Bunny, think f'me—what happened to my smart girl?" She whimpers, melting into his hold, allowing him to move her—control her, like a puppeteer, fingers tangled in strings, steering their toy.

"Can't!" She cries after a brief moment of thought.

"Yes, you can," he groans, pulling her sweet, crying face into his cock, hips canting up to smear her pouting lips over the swollen, ruddy tip. "Tell me, Bun, tell me what y'been learnin' in all those fancy classes a'yours."

Her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, tongue unfurling from her mouth, lapping at his hard cock. He moves a hand down to smack her cheek, not soft but not hard, just enough to bring her back.

"Fuckin' tell me, Bunny."

"Don' know!" she whines, lips downturned in a frown. "S'too hard, Sir, I don' know, can'— I can't—"

"Shh, shh shh," Bucky hushes her, reaffirming his grip in her scalp with one hand and fitting his other one to the curve of her jaw, bringing her back down on his cock, tip forced between her blubbering lips. He watches as the thick length of him disappears inside her soft, hot little mouth, groans long and low and deep as he sinks into her throat, head tossed back and Adam's apple bobbing as her button nose nuzzles into the sparse trail of hair at his navel. "Dumb Bunny," he mumbles sweetly as his head rolls forward, eyes fluttering to his smart, cockdrunk girl on her knees for him. "Little, useless thing, only good f'takin' m'cock in all y'tight holes, yeah?"

She gurgles something incoherent against him—mouth drooling, leaking over him, pooling at his full balls—that has his hips stuttering, cock forced farther (if that's even possible) down her throat while he moans from the vibrations of it, rocking through him, from the tip of his cock to the tips of his toes.

"Shit!" he curses, chest starting to shake with a soft laugh. "S'a good girl; forget y'fancy homework but y'always r'member how't suck m'cock, don'chu Baby?"

She nods from under his oppressing grasp on her hair.

He snorts, "Yeah, my dumb fuckin' bunny."

——

a/n: bang! bang! slumber party continues!! hope u like :))

not edited/proofread!!

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Rewatching season 1 of Fantasy High and how did I forget about Fig's Dad essentially making an edging warlock pact with the tap-dancing biker?

[oh-my-damn]

Can I borrow one of your glitter pens ☺️

Yes of course you can honey !!

Do you like green?

Let's go with green!

Sneak peek of Enigma under the cut (brothersbestfriend!biker!ari x innocent!reader)

You find Ari in the garage, hunched over while working on his bike. Your fingers grip the sleeves of your shirt nervously, your steps tentative as you walk closer.

"Ari?" You ask timidly, taking small steps until you're right beside him.

"Mmh?" Ari hums, keeping his eyes on the Harley in front of him. His large hand grips a tool to tighten a bolt, his shoulder length hair covering his eyes as he focuses on the task at hand.

"Can I ask you something?"

Ari hums again, his eyes not lifting to look at you as he replies, "Go ahead, pixie. What's up?"

You hesitate for a moment, shifting on your feet as the nerves swirl through you. You glance around the garage, double checking that no one else is here, before you whisper, "It's uh.. It's about.. Sex.."

That catches his attention.

Ari's hand freezes before he looks up, cerulean eyes meeting your own. His brows furrow in a question, his broad back straightening so he can look down at you. You crane your neck to meet his eyes, eyes staying wide as saucers.

"What?"

"It's uh," you stammer, looking away to gather your thoughts, "It's about.. Sex. I have a question about sex."

Ari lets out a huffed breath, one large hand running through his chestnut locks to brush them out of his face. You look back to meet his intense gaze, your teeth digging into your bottom lip nervously.

"What about sex, pixie?"

Your heartrate picks up, beating nervously against your ribcage as you do your best to meet his intimidating stare.

"I wanted to.. Uhm, I wanted to ask you a few things about.. Like, uh, what's it like? What-how does it work?"

[rist-ix]

Ladies and gentlefolks, tonight we are watching the one, the only, the incredible

✨✨Museum Episode!✨✨

9pm european central time, be there to watch Valtor's live slug reaction to Bloom's enchantix

[boanerges20]

Can You Dig It!?

[spacevixenmusic]

Source: Biker Mice From Mars [1993]

[backfliips]

Man this is the first birthday I've sat alone in my room and sobbed on

[violafoxvintage]

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Aright now y’all hear me out…

[introspectionera]

Hanna convinced me to go up to her moms for a 4th of July party by telling me there’s 3 dogs there and I can choose what dog sleeps with me lol

[annasinterests]

okay idk how i've missed this tidbit of information from watching tlou part I playthrough SO many times but joel saying that for one of tommy's birthdays they rented two harleys and rode across the country together???? how am i just know finding/hearing this detail for the first time?!

all i can picture is them in leather jackets, dark jeans and dusty brown boots in one of the many bars they probably stopped at along the way to have a beer or three. both of them being a little flirty with women here and there, moreso tommy rather than reserved joel™️, but he doesn't have to say or do much to showcase his charm.

leaned up against the bar, hand in pocket while the other wraps around a cold brown bottle, and a slight tilt of the head with a little smile? yeah, that's joel.

tommy, on the other hand, is much more forward. he's trying to say and do all the right things at a chance to even get a number, which, sometimes, worked. he'd even plyfully rub it in joel's face afterwards, mainly to prove a point to himself that he too could get the ladies despite his older brother was an absolute magnet.

on the long stretches of road, where not another car or building would be seen for miles, it felt like only the two of them existed.

just two brothers and their harleys. what more could they need?

[bitter69uk]

The Reform candidate for the Mid-Bedfordshire by-election yesterday looks like he’s about to headbutt you outside a pub while his goth “biker mama” watches. (Labour won – phew!). Is it wrong that I do love his powder blue suit? (I would wear it with a ruffled shirt).

[vintageleathersblog]

[schiellestentere]

к слову "рок" часто применяют обозначение "несчастная, тяжелая судьба", но когда дело касается рок-музыки, то этот термин сразу может пойти далеко и надолго, хотя бы просто потому что это совсем не про грусть. рок-это то, что заставляет быстрее биться твое сердце под звук дикого ритма гитар, играющих на очередной тусовке. когда это бешеное движение не останавливается ни на минуту, да и не должно. это когда ты пьян, и причина даже не в вине.это когда все девушки для тебя одинаково красивы, и тебе хочется перецеловать их всех до единой. это когда драка затевается только ради веселья, а музыка, обволакивает все твое нутро будто океан. это когда ты встречаешь единомышленников, и вместе с ними можешь быть тем, кем заблагорассудится, не заботясь о последствиях, потому что вы все равны и всем плевать. и когда ты действительно ощущаешь себя по-настоящему свободным.

даже когда весь этот праздник жизни заканчивается с появлением первых лучей солнца, а вам пора расходиться, каждый по своим делам, ты даже не устаешь-наоборот, ты будешь желать, чтобы это приключение повторилось снова. жаждать энергии ради энергии. сумасшествия ради сумасшествия. свободы ради свободы. и, как по мне, это единственное, что должно носить гордое название " рок"...

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☠️🔥🥂

[coquettecowboy]