#motorcycle au

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steddie motorcycle gang au

Eddie rides big, rumbling, twin engine Harleys with the Hellfire gang. They wear leather, eat at seedy bars, and spend their evenings listening to live bands.

Steve rides sleek, fast, Ducati rockets with The Kings. They wear stylish racing jackets that match their bikes, eat at bars on the waterfront, and spend their nights dancing at clubs.

Hellfire and The Kings have run into each other a few times. Other than the stray glare or sneer, they tend to stay out of each other's way. The groups keep to their own territories.

That all changes when Tommy, second for The Kings, catches Eddie and Steve in a heap of tangled limbs, sweat slick and panting into each other's mouths in a cramped bar bathroom. A betrayal not just to the gang, but to him. Being a second's supposed to mean something.

Later, Eddie's posted up in the corner booth of The Tavern, anxiously checking his phone. It's almost one in the morning, and he never heard from Steve when he rushed out after Tommy.

It's three am when he decides he can't wait anymore.

He's only ever been to Loch nightclub after closing, when Steve sneaks him in through the back as Tommy walks out the front. It was always a rush, hearing him shout his goodbye while Eddie already had his hands wrapped around Steve's cock.

Eddie sneaks through that same back door, alone, to find Steve beaten and bloodied on the bar floor. Unmoving, ripped clothing, broken glass scattered around him like a halo and a broken beer bottle rolled a few feet away.

There's condensation when he holds the glass up to his sweetheart's mouth.

Tucked underneath Steve's bruised forehead is a blood smeared note. Tommy's handwriting declaring The King is Dead. Burn in Hellfire.

It's only then Eddie notices the sting of heavy smoke in his eyes and throat. He spots a chain and padlock on the front door, and can only hope the back's still open. The building cracks as flames lick the walls.

So many times before, Eddie's wrapped his baby up in his arms. But not like this, never like this. A dead weight, soot stained and tear streaked.

Alive. Barely.

Three weeks later, it's the first war in almost fifty years. Steve climbs onto his new, matte black Ducati with pin stripe flames on the back fender, outfitted in Eddie's old worn leather jacket already littered with patches. However, one new patch across the back catches everyone's eye.

King of Hell.

Atop his new chariot, they ride to war, with Steve at his side where he's always belonged.

[journen]

Commission for the lovely @slinkygail! :) She wanted clone wars armour mullet Obi, leaning back against a motor bike!

Thank you for the commission my friend!!

[psuedostar]

Drawing Ed in my lone-rider au fills my heart with joy<3

[rorschachiris]

LOOK WHERE YOURE GOING FOR FUCKS SAKE

AND WHERE ARE YOUR HELMETS??

[alt-toast]

Motorcycle geto…save me, motorcycle geto…

[arson-avian]

human biker!Bowser x mechanic!Luigi,

bowser rides pretty recklessly and gets to know luigi through the shop he works at. Mario works front of the shop and detests Bowser anytime he walks into the store.

[slyvester101]

Tucker is the kind of guy to buy a motorcycle solely to pick up chicks (or dudes. He's not picky).

But then he gets really into motorcycling and dubs his bike his baby and while chicks and chucks still ask him for rides, he's actually a little hesitant because it's his BABY he's letting them ride.

And then he meets Wash and he's like: Damn, you wanna go for a ride, baby?

Wash: Like, on your bike?

Tucker: Yeah, sure. That too.

Wash is also a motorcyclist who used to race, but there was a big accident during one of them (no one died, thankfully, but many people were unable to bike again) and so now he only rides casually. He's much better at doing tricks on his bike than Tucker and when he's feeling brave, he'll do something very over the top to impress him.

It works.

He and Tucker go on rides together all the time and they are a pretty sick couple going down the highway with Tucker's bright aqua and Wash's black with yellow side lights.

[gravity-what]

After months of work it’s officially done!! A mini-motorcycle AU comic based on @aspureasamelody ‘s wonderful story “every zoo is a petting zoo if you’re not a coward” !!

It may have taken me a while but I had a lot of fun working on this, doing the character designs, and trying to get everything to look like a 1990’s manga! (Shout out to Dragon ball especially!)

Bonus note: that toy tiger is absolutely stolen by Chase as they were sneaking out of the zoo XD

Enjoy!

[popodoki]

Hey, teacher! Part 8 (Catwin motorcycle au)

Thomas to the rescue x

"My God… is that your friend, Edwin?" Esther sneers, horrified.   

"Oh yes," he acts casual. Like this isn't completely bizarre. "It appears he was able to make it after all." Edwin politely excuses himself, pointedly doesn't walk away at full speed like a man escaping a death sentence.   

By the time he reaches Thomas on the street, at least 7 children have gathered around the shiny novelty of his bike, some of them are actually touching it. One child is gripping the handle bars and making 'vroom' noises. Thomas stands by, looking amused, answering their overlapping questions as best he can. When he notices Edwin, he smiles broadly, winking mischievously.   

Edwin comes to a stop, lifts one eyebrow at him.  

"I've come to rescue you, ghostie." Thomas announces, like its an obvious answer to a question Edwin didn’t pose. "This is real shit, isn't it? There isn't even any music. What kinda picnic is this?" Some of the children giggle at the curse word. "Also, babe, you’ve been here less than an hour and already you look fuckin' miserable." Edwin visibly deflates. He had been under the impression that he'd done a faily good job of hiding it. "Don't curse in front of the children." Is all he can think of. Right after, the realization that Thomas just called him babe comes barrelling through, and that is now all he can think of. 

"Well, come on then." Thomas throws his leg over, sits back on the motorcycle, pats the seat behind him.   

Edwin stares. 

Thomas stares back. 

Edwin’s mouth opens but it takes a second try to form the "What." 

"Come on, we're going home. There’s wine in the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure I saw a real nice vintage record player in the living room." 

"Thomas, I." Edwin shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. "I can't just leave. And definitely not on that." 

"Course you can leave. Come on, say goodbye to- oops, here she comes." Thomas, vagrant that he is, can't even bother to hide the absolute glee spreading over his face. 

Heart in his throat, Edwin whirls around, sees Esther breezing towards them, a look of murder in her eyes. He braces himself, then deflates like a punctured balloon animal, with a slight wheeze he can’t quite smother behind a hand, when Thomas beats him to the punch, loudly. "Good afternoon! I remember you, tittering about yesterday, yeah? Never quite got your name, mine’s Thomas, Thomas King.”   

"Charmed." Esther clips out, curt, glancing at Thomas’ outstretched hand with disdain. 

"Pleasure's all mine, ma'am." Thomas quips, smoothly pulling his hand back, turning the motion into a tip of a hat that's not there, leans forward. "Say, you had a good look at her yesterday, I got her all cleaned up just earlier,” Thomas pats the bike’s seat, smiles wide, on the edge of too much so, "can I interest you in a ride around the block?" He pats the seat again, tilting his head just a bit to the side, towards her, making sure that Esther catches the challenge, the confidence in the invitation. 

Esther almost reels, recoiling with disgust. "That's a very emphatic NO from me, Mr. King. Edwin, dear boy, do come back when you're,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing in the vague direction of where Thomas is practically preening, perched on his shining bike, arms crossed, “done, with all this." Her message is clear. Get rid of him.  She stalks away, every muscle in her body so tense, Edwin is surprised she can walk at all. When he turns back to Thomas, he sees him offer a cheeky fingerwave at her retreating back. 

When Edwin gives in to the urge to swat his arm, Thomas laughs and laughs, giggles like a child that's just pulled off a particularly dirty prank, looks just as faux-ashamed only when he fully refocuses on Edwin, and his wide-eyed stare at him. "You do realize, I'll pay for that later?" Edwin whispers from behind his clenched teeth. 

"Ghostie. What's she gonna do? Come on, now's your chance. Hop on." He scoots forward, making room. 

"I told you, I can't. I, I just-" 

"Edwin." Thomas looks him right in the eye, expression serious. "Don't worry. It's just a picnic. It'll go on without you. Who cares about what Esther says anyway? Who cares about the people who would care about what an absolute witch like Esther says?"   

The sound of his name coming out of Thomas's mouth is what calms him. Yet at the same time, his heart rate triples, he feels a surge of adrenaline. "I won't fall off?" He eyes the thin strip of seat behind the other man. It doesn't look at all secure. "Not if you hold on." Thomas starts the engine with a wink, and the nearby hovering cloud of children all exclaim in wonder at the noise, laughing, covering their ears. Some of their parents look decidedly displeased. Edwin takes a deep breath, wipes his sweaty palms on his overcoat, forces himself to throw a leg over the motorcycle, tucking up close to Thomas, an arm around his torso. "Sorry." he apologizes over the din of the engine, though he's not sure for what exactly. For touching him? 

"S'alright, babe. Hold on, we're going to be making a quick exit. The wicked witch is decidedly not happy." Thomas pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, the motorcycle jerks forward, scaring Edwin half to death. He reflexively clings harder, pretending he didn't make a high-pitched yelp out of fear. He doesn't dare look back, to see people's reactions as the motorcycle roars away. He doesn't even want to entertain the thought of how Esther Finch is going to handle him running off without saying goodbye.   

They've gone through two corners, when Edwin realizes he's still clinging to Thomas, perhaps a little too hard. He tries to loosen his grip, he really does, but every time the motorcycle makes the slightest motion underneath his legs, he's worried that their equilibrium will be shattered and he'll go spiraling to the pavement. Also, it's an easy excuse to hold him without any guilt. This was Thomas's idea, after all. Edwin is blameless for clinging. He presses the side of his face against the leather-clad back in front of him. The smell of leather is divine, and he can feel Thomas's ribcage expanding with each breath. It's nice. It's very nice. Edwin almost wishes he lived further away. 

Thomas pulls to a stop, neatly, in the middle of the driveway. He cuts the engine, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "See? World didn't end." Edwin releases his squid-like grip on that leather jacket, rather unsteadily dismounts the bike, trying to calm his quaking knees. "Actually, there were a few turns back there that almost proved you wrong." A bucket is placed against the garage door, probably used by Thomas when he cleaned his bike. Thomas laughs good naturedly when Edwin gives it a calculating stare, just for effect. Edwin can’t help but smile, a touch wry, marvelling just a bit inside, how easy he now falls into this, this kind of banter, teasing, with someone he didn’t even know 3 days ago.  

He looks at the bike once more, and it occurs to him, again, that he has just ditched Esther at the church picnic, in front of essentially the entire town. Not only that, but he did it clinging to the back of a man on a motorcycle. Edwin needs a good, big glass of wine, and he needs it now. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Alright, let's have a drink, before I spend any more time thinking about what I've just done." 

Thomas slaps him on the shoulder with a smile, letting his hand drift to the small of Edwin’s back, and leads them both inside the house. 

[incinerated-vestiges]

guys I swear I’m cooking smth up

[partyanimal167]

Nice Rides- Kidd x F!Reader

And we're back! My bike is giving me shit right now which reminded me of this little fic that I haven't continued yet. I'll take Pearl (my bike) to shop later this week, so for now, we're going to pretend everything is perfect lol.

I need to write more Kid. He's so fun and spicy.

CW: black fem reader in mind, modern au, fluff, bubbly reader, light instances of misogyny, motorcycle stuff

Kid stood still with arms crossed and a deep scowl planted on his face. He wasn't sure what his role was in all of this, but he was fine with watching from a distance as people approached you and chatted away.

You cleaned up your bike for the show. It was glossy white with purple lights accenting the body. Your cat helmet chilled on the seat, and you talked eagerly with your hands--heart cutouts on your riding gloves visibe and the reason for your odd tan lines.

Kid didn't bother bringing in his old chopper for the event. He had a decent enough car parked elsewhere; he just tagged along quietly. Kid grumbled to himself mostly as old men pointed from far seeming to crack jokes and not take you seriously.

It pissed him off.

"Oh, there's a vendor I wanna go peek at real quick. I'll be back Kid!" you waved off before going to the tent area.

Kid grunted in response and looked around the grassy field--unsure of what to do with himself. He was surprised that you actually hit him up about the show. When he arrived, you just finished polishing off your ride and beamed at the mechanic before giving him a big hug.

Kid appeared calm as you rambled on about different Japanese models that you only saw in magazines before and how you wanted to find some accessories for your lanyard. However, Kid's mental gears were rolling. He had to remember that you were new to the area, so it was probably some form of comfort seeing him even though Kid wouldn't consider himself good company.

He only spoke to you a little, and the people he did know were interested in meeting you and how long you had been riding. Thankfully, not so many people were arrogant to think that you didn't know your stuff; enthusiasts go to these types of events. But that didn't mean there wasn't trouble.

Kid glared around as he popped his gum and honed in on you slowly making your way back with a little gift bag in hand. Two old geezers had stopped you, and you looked just as bright and sweet talking to them.

"That's a cute little moped you got there, sweetie. Did your daddy get it all fixed up like that? Make it a pretend bike?" one of the men jeered. You stiffened at the comment and decided to turn and walk away.

But an arm reached out with ill-intentions.

"Hey! I-,"

"I suggest you old farts fuck off and leave the girl alone. You can't even imagine handling a ride like hers." Kid barked out--easily getting in between the men and yourself.

The two spit on the ground and flipped off the man. "Whatever punk. You probably like riding your girlfriend's sissy ride. Do you have to ask for permission to touch it?" they laughed.

Kid started fuming. "I'll fucking-," he paused after feeling your hand on his arms. You gave him a gentle look--seeming to say how it wasn't worth it. Kid slouched his arms and let out a breath. "Fuck away from us your bastards."

You walked back to your ride with Kid stomping behind you.

"You're too nice. I don't know why people can't just be normal about you having a motorcycle." Kid grumbled as he plopped in an outdoor chair. You leaned onto your ride and just gave him a smile. (Ba-dump) Kid paused before turning his face away from you. "Anyway, go run around and see what's here. I'll watch your beaut."

You pouted and huffed. "But Kid, I want us to walk around together."

A blush started to creep. "But what- what if some punk touches your bike? Or those bastards fuck with it?"

You giggled and tried pulling Kid up from his seat. "If someone messes with her, then I give you one-hundred percent permission to beat them up. Plus, we'll take her to your shop so you can charge them crazy too. 'Kay?"

"Fine." Kid kissed his teeth as he stood, but you just wrapped your arm around his. You were all bright colors and smiles to his garage gloom and glares.

"Yay! So our date continues!" you cheered before beginning to head off.

Kid's feet followed, but his mind was elsewhere again. So it is a date.

~~~

Maybe I am gonna buy another motorcycle...

[screamingshark]

So Arcadianpeach on twitter has a really neat MotoAU going on and I’m in love with his Knives so I drew him as a little treat for myself

Go check out Dagger/Arcadianpeach and his amazing art!

[thatlittlesausage]

I can never write smut seriously, this is the funniest thing I've ever written and if no one appreciates it I'm gonna be FURIOUS

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45825634

[rorschachiris]

more of this sokkla motorcycle au

[alt-toast]

Motorcycle Geto 🤫

WHY IS THE QUALITY GETTING BUTCHERED

[jackalopes-pen]

Vroom Vroom.

TW: Description of violence, swearing, taking the lord’s name in vain, gay people

Summary: South Park Racing AU, but I focus way too much on one idiot.

Characters: Craig Tucker, Tweak Tweek, Tolkien Black, Clyde Donovan

Word Count: 988

A/N: Brain rot. Just brain rot. Let me write damn it, I have nothing to do.

Craig wouldn’t particularly call himself a ‘street racer’, although if you care about textbook definitions then he is. He just performs for rich idiots who like to bet on poor idiots on shitty motorcycles. Legally, they call that ‘street racing’ and Clyde likes to get on his nerves about it. Craig could almost bet that Clyde had a literal stick shoved so far up his ass that it’s causing his lactose intolerance. 

“Craig, you’re racing tonight, right?” Tolkien said from across the lunch tale, catching his attention. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s duos tonight so me and Tweak are racing.” Craig responded simply. This was his first time in the major circuit so he had to do the duo race to get registered for solo races. If it was his choice, he’d jump straight to a solo race but unfortunately this season is down to team races. 

“Cool, I’ll be watching… like always.” Tolkien smirked. He only supported Craig in this because it meant he got money. If it was a net loss, Tolkien would do anything to pull Craig out.

“You’re both so fucking stupid.” Clyde groaned, “I heard the major circuit is where people get hurt cause the modification rules are non-existent.”

“Yeah? I heard cheese tastes good, but you wouldn’t know, would you?” Craig snapped back.

“Jesus- alright.” Clyde held up his hands and kept eating his lunch.

Craig decided to just keep eating his shitty cafeteria food and give little more than a side glance at Clyde. After all, that idiot had no idea how much money Craig was making and how many Red Racer dvds he was accumulating. He almost had the full movie set, except for Red Racer Vs. Blue Racer: The Ultimate Race. It was a TV movie so it’s hard to find any copies. One day, though, he’ll have them all. All the Red Racer he could ask for. 

“CRAIG!” Tweak’s shaky voice broke through Craig’s fantasy.

“Yeah?” Craig said, annoyed.

“Dude- did you see the line-up? We’re so boned!” Tweak’s constantly shaking hands kept Craig from reading Tweak’s phone screen. It just looked like a jittering box of light.

“Honey- calm down. Lemme see.” Craig took the phone from Tweak’s hand and looked over the list. It wasn’t exactly names, because if any of them got ratted to the police it was over. Instead, what he saw was a list of persona names to hide identities. 

Among the list was “The Junker”, who had a decent reputation as a sure-shot, a clean 54 races won. Although his motorcycle is liable to explode. He also saw some edgelord named “Hook Horror” who currently had a 39 win streak, and a massive hook attached to his motorcycle to grab and destroy. The only other real problem he saw was some idiots named “toolshed” and “human kite”. No fucking way that Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski were racers. 

“We’re gonna explode, ribs ripped out, lost by miles!” Tweak was pacing back and forth and shaking. He clearly already thought the absolute worst possibility and was imagining painful deaths. 

“We’re fine. These guys are edgelords.” Craig rolled his eyes and handed Tweak his phone back. It doesn’t matter if they have exploding engines or weird weapons, they have speed. Who gives a fuck about the rest?

__ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

The night of the race, Craig was making sure everything looked right on his motorcycle. He was that reckless, to not check his stuff and make sure he wouldn’t die tonight.

“Look honey, it’s fine. See, that guy is nervous.” Craig pointed to a different stall with a duo. One of them was freakishly tall and was quietly comforting the shorter one. They couldn’t tell what was being said, but they looked really gay. 

“uRG- WHAT IF IT’S AN ACT?!” Tweak seemed so utterly terrified. He seemed like he was certain he would die tonight.

“It’s probably not. Look over there, that fat fuck will probaby come dead last.’ Craig pointed out a box with one guy who looked like the most money he’d seen was five bucks and the other who looked like he treated eating as an olympic sport.

“It could be padding so he can get back up!” tweak said, still pacing.

“Fuck! I forgot my socket wrench. Gimme a minute.” Craig got up and looked around. He noticed that the gay fucks from earlier had one lying around. He casually got up and walked over to them to ask for it. He could vaguely hear what they were saying.

“You’re fine, love. We practiced a thousand times.” The tall one said.

“I- I dunno… why couldn’t Salem make it?” said the shorter one.

“Salem is betting tonight.”

“Oh yeah… forgot Salem is rich like that.”

“Making fun of racer names, are we Nevermore?”

“You got your name from the D&D Monster Manual, you can’t talk.”

“... touché.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Craig said, “Can I borrow your socket wrench?” He pointed to it on the black toolbox decorated in band stickers. 

“Hm? Sure- just give it back at some point.” The taller one said, nonchalant. “Who.. are you?” 

“Blue Racer.. Like the tv series Red Racer. Do you watch Red Racer?” Craig said, his autism showing a bit.

“Oh.. the newbie. Good luck.” The tall man handed over the wrench and kind of shrugged him off.

“Oh yeah, who are you?”

“The Hook Horror… this is Nevermore, my partner.” by the person’s tone it was hard to discern what variety of partner. Although, Craig could take a guess.

“Oh… cool. See you on the line.” Craig walked off to fix his bike and leave the gay idiots alone. Although their voices did sound kind of familiar. Maybe they went to the same High School or something.

Actually, now that he’s really looking around, all these idiots seem to be idiots from his high school. This just got so much easier.