#I was supposed to name a biker club

[imaginedreamwrite]

omega!reader who moves into a new apartment after she leaves her abusive alpha , that got her pregnant and beat her when she told him the news

reader has one last box to carry but it’s a heavy one. When she exits the elevator and attempts to pick up the box ; she only sees the tattooed back of a beefy alpha picking her box up and dropping it off at her apartment

She never properly sees his face , but the tattoo on his back is clear as day : (insert name Bc I can’t think of one) motorcycle club

who’s the alpha

This is giving me alpha!Steve or beefy!Bucky vibes, maybe even beefy!alpha!Stucky x reader vibes

#I was supposed to name a biker club #lol oops #the bar is called the Red Room #The Howling Commandos Motoclub #maybe? #Sinister Six?

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area

Chapter 2

It was a very weird ride. Danny felt like he was an authority on uncomfortable and strange conversations, given his bizarre family and all the experiences he'd had: but it was exquisitely uncomfortable sitting next to his bride sacrifice and making conversation.

The guy didn't offer his name. He was- honestly, he was built. Danny tried not to get caught visually measuring how absurdly broad the guy's shoulders were. He was weirdly offended that the cultists had sent him someone who was more ripped than he was.

"What's that?" The guy prompted. Jason. This guy's name was Jason. It was a little hard to keep in mind given he didn't really look like a Jason. He looked like… The Red Biker 👻😱🩸 or some shit.

Danny mentally rewound his own babbling and brightened when he realized that there was at least some interest in NASA's newest telescope. He infodumped on rote. It genuinely was an interesting topic! But he'd told 3 people about it already so it didn't take all of his attention.

At one point, Jason pinched his middle finger and used the grip to pull off his glove. Danny swallowed. He tried not to stare at the first glimpse of skin. It was not super light or super dark– a little tanner than Danny, maybe. Not that that said much when he was living like a cave creature in a dorm room, trying to get the grades to be an astronaut.

'He's human,' Danny thought. Of course he was, he'd been sent from earth, but-

He just felt like a ghost.

The confusion put his hackles up. It was weird to perceive this guy as a possible threat. But he wasn't! He was just some hot dummy who got caught by friggin Jeremy Waters. Jeremy. Come on. It didn't get much sadder than that.

But overall? He could see why the Infinite Realms had gotten mixed up enough to accept this guy. Red was definitely weird enough to be a ghost, dressed up for the combination war front/biker bar/club. He hadn't made a move to take off his ugly motorcycle helmet the whole time they'd been talking. It was kind of creepy, to be honest.

The most disturbing part was that he smelled, like, really good. He smelled like sexy death and Danny kinda wanted to roll around in it like the world's most educated cat.

It was with some relief that Danny bounded away from his semi husband, up the stairs to Clockwork. "You know who it is and why I'm here!" He hollered, hands making a megaphone shape around his mouth. "Help me! I'm too young to be a child bride."

"Technically," Clockwork said, floating pleasantly into view, "you are too old to be a child bride. As you are not a child, Danny."

He waved that off. "I'm a kid on the inside," he dismissed. "And 19 is basically a high schooler."

"As you say." Clockwork drifted away. Danny followed. "How is your university coursework?"

"It's fine." Danny shrugged. "The Gen Eds are giving me war flashbacks to Mr. Lancer, though."

"You liked him," Clockwork said.

Danny bristled. "I did not!"

He kinda had. Mr. Lancer could have been a lot worse.

That was beside the point. Danny caught up to his ghost mentor. "I can't be distracted from this," he said, aiming for stern. "There's some human out there who wants to go home. I also want him to go home. How do we make that happen ?"

"Why Danny, have you forgotten about portals?"

Danny scowled. "You know what I mean," he groused. "I want to send him home single. Unattached. Not married to me at all."

Clockwork finally stopped moving and looked directly at him. His large eyes held only a kind of curiosity. "I suppose that you could banish him. That would have the effect of ending your relationship."

Danny hesitated. He'd learned that accepting suggestions on their face could go very badly. "That seems kinda harsh," he said. "Would there be any repercussions of that?"

Clockwork hummed from the back of his throat. "Yes, it would prevent young Jason from becoming a ghost when he passes again. Excuse me, I want that shelf behind you."

Danny moved out of the way on reflex before he processed those words. "That sounds bad."

The older ghost seemed to shrug. "The Ghost king can banish ghosts, and your paramour is ghostly enough to qualify. It would solve your current dilemma."

He deliberately chose not to respond to the word 'paramour.'

"I'm actually looking for a solution that doesn't interfere with the state of his soul and afterlife," Danny said dryly. Then he blinked. "You're really gonna call him Jason?"

Clockwork reached up and withdrew a metal object from the shelf. It clicked in his hand. "Indeed."

Danny waited for another divorce suggestion. When Clockwork didn't give one, he groaned. "How do I find another solution?" He asked, tired. This was another test, wasn't it? It was a chance for him to problem solve on his own.

That netted him a beaming smile. "You should take him to the royal library."

"And look for information about ghost divorces?" Danny asked. Clockwork gave him an enigmatic smile.

He chose to believe that was a yes. Danny patted his mentor's shoulder. "Thanks!" He shouted, already turning on his heel. "I'll do that. Have a good day!"

"Goodbye, Danny."

Jason hadn't moved at all, sitting weirdly tense and tall in the passenger seat. Danny gave him a nervous smile as he jumped in.

"Did you find out anything?" Jason asked. His voice was even enough to obscure whatever it was he thought, and the helmet made the words come out kinda flat and mechanical.

Danny winced. "Yes and no," he said, trying to find cheerful. "The first solution seems kinda bad, to be honest, so let's go to the library and look for another one!"

"...Ghosts have public libraries?" Jason said.

"No," Danny said. And then he frowned. "Maybe? I don't know. I haven't seen one but I haven't been here long. We're going to Pariah's creepy old castle to look at his library." He started up the Specter Speeder and took off. "It's big. And he was a real creep, so he probably had, uh." He cleared his throat. "Paramours." His face was getting hot and red. Maybe it wasn't obvious. He tried to look unaffected. "Probably why that ritual was out there," he babbled. Wow, the minutes separating their destinations felt very long when he was digging a verbal hole. "He probably had a lot of sacrifices he accepted, maybe that's where the skeleton army came from actually."

"Skeleton army?" Jason managed to sound incredulous through the world's ugliest motorcycle helmet. "How do ghosts and skeletons both exist in proximity?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, if you don't need the physical body to exist, why would anyone retain their corpse?"

Danny laughed nervously. "Yeah, that's weird," he agreed.

'Don't ask me afterlife questions,' he mentally begged. 'I just work here. I don't know the answers.'

"Metaphysically-"

"Do you like sports?" Danny interrupted in a high voice.

Jason paused. "No. Do you?"

"...Not really," Danny admitted, thinking of getting ganged up on in dodgeball and knocked down in basketball.

They existed in what felt like a confused silence for a few minutes. Danny parked the Speeder outside of the castle and I clicked his seatbelt with a rush of relief. "We're here," he said. He threw open the top.

Jason didn't move from where he was flat against the backrest, only lifting his head. "... Should I come too?"

Danny blinked down at him and waved a hand in invitation. "Yeah, let's go. This is kinda my place now so I can invite you in."

Jason moved forward abruptly, like he'd just gotten unstuck from the seat. Something about it looked wrong to his hindbrain. But Danny dismissed it and started off at a jog. It wasn't his business if Jason was a weird little guy. (Weird big guy? It didn't sound the same, but Jason wasn't petite.)

Jason paused on the battlements. Danny looked back and tried to see it from his perspective. The architecture was jagged, pitch black, and without any of the friendly colorful touches a castle should have. "It's kind of creepy," he said apologetically. "Pariah has just the worst vibe. Rancid energy."

"...Is it smart to say that?" Jason wondered. He started walking again.

Danny shrugged. "What's he gonna do to me?" He asked rhetorically. "Get his butt kicked again?"

#red hot ghouls #dcdp #deadonmain #dp x dc

[itiswormtimebaby]

Fifth Date

Bucky and Bug’s fifth date takes an unexpected turn (alternatively: Bucky isn’t sure he’s good at dating but knows he’s good at sex so he tries to play to his strengths).

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Bug (+ Brother’s best friend Bucky, plus sized reader) CW: Thigh riding, risk of getting caught, dirty talk, hints of praise kink, past toxic relationships, mild angst, Bucky and Bug bond over their love of food (he’s not a feeder but he does keep you fed)

Bucky absentmindedly digs his thumbnail into the worn wood of the picnic table, working at a knot in its surface as he tries his best to gauge whether or not he’s upset you. At face value you seem fine, excited even, as you’d managed to snag a lavender oat milk ice-cream; that’s what held your attention now, well, the dripping cone and the excess amount of dogs being led around the food-truck-lined garden. But despite your oohing and ahhing over the creamy treat and the furry friends he couldn’t help the niggle of worry in his stomach. Fucking flowers. He forgot the fucking flowers. Every other date he’d shown up right on time, if not a little early, with fresh flowers. Today his shift at the garage had run long and he’d hardly had time to scrub his hands clean and comb his hair, let alone get flowers, before rushing to pick you up, barely on time and empty-fucking-handed. Given the time between this date and the last surely the others were already shriveled up, he was supposed to be showing you how good a boyfriend he would be and he couldn’t even- 

“-ucky? Buck?” 

He was wrangled from his thoughts by the soft call of his name and a sudden jolt of pain as his thumb caught on a sliver of wood. There was now a furrow in your brow, lips down turned as you observed him; damnit, if the flowers hadn’t messed things up this inattentiveness surely would. “Are you alright?”

Idly reaching for your fingers not wrapped around the ice cream cone he nodded his head, “Course I am. How’s that?” Instead of answering you held the treat out for him but he shook his head, “Nah, Bug, I’d rather taste it on your lips.” And despite the small burn of embarrassment it caused, you leaned across the table, indulging him as he licked into your mouth, sticky and sweet. Bucky was relieved that you seemed happier after the kiss, he was good at that, if nothing else he could keep you physically sated. There was a time he was confident in his abilities to be good at the other stuff as well, at least he thought he was, but his last serious partner made it clear that while he was a great fuck he was a shitty boyfriend, a “sorry ass loser” to be exact, it’s what he feared you would eventually see. 

“Alright Buckaroo, you are way too in your head right now, let’s go!” Bucky went to protest before realizing you weren’t calling for an early end to the date, instead you were tugging him towards the food trucks you hadn’t yet explored. “We are dividing and conquering, I’ll grab the samosas, you’ve got the vegan corn dog truck, and we’ll rally back by the loaded waffle fries. Got it?” You didn’t bother waiting for a response as you took off, forcing him to chase after you to press cash into your palm, waving off any protests as he pinned you with a stern stare; “It’s a date, Bug, I pay. Got it?” He echoed your words back to you, but unlike you he was waiting for a response, the arch of his brow leaving no room for protest; “Got it.” 

+ + + + + + + + +  + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

You were pleased to see Bucky relax into the date, despite his earlier assurance that nothing was bothering him you knew better, as if you couldn’t read his moods after thirteen-some-odd-years, no, he wasn’t fooling you for a second. You were willing to wager it had something to do with work, judging by his hurried arrival and quick apologies when he picked you up, though there was always the smallest chance it had to do with club business. Despite your brother’s prominent role you tried to steer clear of that, though you would make an exception if talking about it would help Bucky. As it were he seemed considerably cheered up, happily sharing bites of the small feast you’d managed to amass, practically moaning at each new flavor that burst across his tongue (though he made sure to remind you that you were the best thing he ever tasted as he lapped powdered sugar off two of his fingers- conveniently the same two fingers that he had up your skirt on your last date). 

Beyond stuffed you wave away his offer for more, something warm bursting in your chest as he offhandedly remarks something about keeping his lady fed, choosing to ignore the latter part wherein he adds a no edibles disclaimer. Is that what you are, his lady? It certainly seems like it the more dates you go on, though no official titles have been given. In some way or another you’ve felt like his for a long time, it was almost scary to face the reality of what you two could be. 

Bucky could tell you were mulling something over, the tip of your tongue poking through your lips a dead give away, you’d had the same tell since childhood and he knew if he reached over and peeled apart your lips you’d be lightly biting down on the pink organ. He felt the same sharp doubt as earlier re-emerge at how quiet you’d gone, but no, you’d been having a good time he was sure of it, and he could recover from his earlier faux paus. Instead he distracted himself with the image of you, the denim of your shorts riding up between the thick meat of your thighs, nearly disappearing at the apex, the button on them now pressing tighter against the ample swell of your stomach than it had earlier, a happy sign that you’d eaten well, the soft material of your crop top inching dangerously up-up-up at each little shift you made. A man of his whims Bucky reached out, softly tracing the tip of his index finger up a spidering stretch mark, from the waistband of your shorts to wear it disappeared just beyond the hem of your top, he allowed his finger to venture just underneath it, searching, almost positive you didn’t have a bra on, desperate to find out. Desperate to trace that same mark with his tongue. Fuck you were beautiful. The soft hitch of your breath had him abruptly on his feet, gathering up trash with one hand while the other reached for you; “Let’s go for a walk, Bug.” 

+ + + + + + + + +  + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

He led you to a secluded area, a seemingly forgotten bench at the end of an overgrown path, surrounded by trees and wild bushes.There was extra security in knowing that the live music had just kicked up at the other end of the park, drawing much of the crowd towards the small stage but still your heart fluttered nervously, somehow knowing Bucky’s intentions were less than pure; he wasn’t just looking for a quiet place to talk. 

Bucky sat first, guiding you to sit astride one of his thighs, back facing him. Whatever small ping of worry surfaced in your brain about being too heavy died before it could fully form, senses overrun by the rough feeling of his black denim jeans on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the cool kiss of his prosthetic hand finding purchase on the naked flesh of your waist. This is the part I’m good at, he thought, the part where I impress her, where I shine. He didn’t say anything, just began rocking his leg back and forth until your back arched, signaling he had found your sweet spot, focusing his attention on staying there. You were desperate not to make noise, biting down on your lip as Bucky’s thigh pressed the thick seam of your shorts up into you, the pressure on your clit causing pleasure to spark hot in your groin. Wrapping the hand not anchored to your waist around your throat he forced you to lean your head back against his shoulder, using the open access to run his tongue across the hyper sensitive skin, suckling, marking, claiming. It went on and on, the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s thigh as he continued his assault on your clit and throat, his own arousal at the situation apparent by the thick swell of his cock pressed into your back. 

Despite your best efforts to keep quiet Bucky could tell you were getting close, stopping just when you appeared to be on the precipice of pleasure; “Fuck, Bug, you want it?” 

Ignoring the question, or perhaps too focused on your pleasure to truly hear it, you pick up where Bucky left off, slowly gliding your denim covered cunt across his thigh. Rocking side to side to catch the seam just right. Close, so close, pleasure taught in your groin, ready to explode outward, ready to- 

Bucky let’s out a long drawn out fuck, worried for a second he’s going to bust in his jeans as your ass backs up into him, practically slamming into his cock as your previously controlled rocking motion loses rhythm and gives way to frantic humping. Bucky slips two of his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue in an effort to quiet you; “That’s it, Baby, use my thigh, fuck yourself on my thigh, good gi-” His praise is lost in the wake of your pleasure, thighs clamping impossibly tight against his own as frantic motion mellows to soft subconscious rocking. You suckle at the salty skin of his fingers, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you soft and pliable in his lap, sleepy even.

Bucky manages not to lose it in his pants, but just barely, nuzzling at the crown of your head he feels pride- yeah, he’s good at this, he can keep you around with this.

AN: For more Bucky and Bug visit THE WORM HOLE

#bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky/reader #plus sized reader #brother's best friend bucky #Bucky and bug

[rookthorne]

it's coming up to my personal favourite event of the year, Hot Bucky Summer, as run by the mods over at @buckybarnesevents!

in order to gear up for the chaos that will ensue (no doubt) from this event within my collections, I have compiled my personal top 10 Bucky collections into a poll. and here is where I will ask for your help — I would like to gather as much information as possible to determine where most of my focus will go.

to be clear, it is very likely that all of my collections will be given love and attention through this event (now that I have confidence to write smut) once I know the prompts, but I am asking who I should prioritise from my favourites. I will also disclose that there are AUs yet to be announced that will be very prominent... 🤭

to refresh memories, I have put below the cut the afforementioned collections! otherwise, the link is hyperlinked above, or easily accessed by the first link in my bio (my navigation).

thank you in advance for your help, my chaos kittens. 💗

— 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you’d become the President’s own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯

A pack of wolves looked out for one another, strengthened each other and battled to keep one another safe – it was the natural order of things, the way things worked. Being between the two most dangerous and possessive of them all meant you sat on your throne with pride; just how they wanted it.

— 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to them and their irresistible charm – their job, as firemen, was to put out fires and infernos, but you could only hope they’d let the fire they started in the depth of your soul, consume you whole.

— 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐤 

The world of body art and botany had always been beautiful to you; each pencil stroke and each flower petal amounted to a masterpiece of creation. It wasn’t until the day that a chance meeting left you reeling amongst the artful blooms of your store, you wondered if that was what heaven truly felt like.

— 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

The depths of Hell had lost an asset, all thanks to you - no God could save you from his sights, or his clutches. Being consumed by fire was one way to go, you supposed, if it came in the form of one smug, hellish bastard.

— 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Life in your small town could not have gotten any better, you had sworn. That was until you started to call a handsome, brooding lumberjack your best friend, and you developed butterflies at any mention of his name, or thought of him. Sure, it was going to be fine, you could do this. What could go wrong?

— 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

Cars were all the same to you – classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same.

Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

— 𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨

Fate had a funny way of working. There you were, in the hospital again, and there was your favourite nurse; tall, broad, devilishly handsome, and not to mention soft, kind, and caring. Your stay, and consequently your life, just got infinitely more interesting.

— 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭

A powerful alpha had locked his sights onto you; a wolf to its prey. On the contrary, you were the fox that showed its belly to a predator – a mutual respect, the only thing keeping the wolf’s fangs from piercing the delicate flesh. You knew playing with his food was something he loved to do, and you would happily be the plaything for your mate. 

— 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes poll #I need the ASSISTANCE PLS #I am an indecisive writer #Lana's rambles #Lana's polls #HBS

[ravennaortiz]

I'll Take Her

Summary: How Cori came into Happys life and changed it forever.

*As always my stories are 18+

Happy stared down the hill side where he could see the mangled metal of a car in the flashes of lighting as a storm raged overhead. The car that belonged to one of the two women who he loved the most. Falling to his knees in the oily, gritty water that was pooling on the shoulder of the road. He knew without a doubt there was no way for someone to walk out of this unscathed.

Happy wasn't sure how long he had been kneeling for when Unser knelt next to him. Under sighed as he put his hand on the bikers shoulder. "I am so sorry. I know the two of you were close. She was already gone when we arrived." stated Unser apologetically. Happy simply nodded as his tears mixed with the rain. "Can I--" started Happy as a sob choked off his words. "See her. Need to see her" he struggled to get out as he punched the ground.

Unser sighed as he knew there was no point in arguing as to why not. "You need to wait until after the coroner does the autopsy. I'll see if they can get to it tomorrow." Happy simply nodded as he turned to the other vehicle his grief transforming into deep, feral fury. "Not here. I'll allow you revenge......just not here" murmured Unser as he followed the Tacoma Killers angry gaze. Happy simply grunted before slowly getting up and going to the van that sat idling and getting in.

Tig and Chibs looked in the back when Happy got in. He simply shook his head as he fastened his seatbelt. "Sorry man" murmured Tig as he started to pull onto the highway. "Lassie will be missed" stated Chibs as he turned to look out the window frowning. "Guy was drunk. He's the only one unscathed." stated Happy. "For now at least. I'm going to make him feel pain in ways he never knew were possible" he growled lowly his mind already starting to plan revenge.

***

Two weeks after that fateful night Happy lay staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. Nothing felt good and he figured it never would again. This was the life a man like him was suppose to have he had convinced himself. A soft knock at his door had him grumbling about wanting to be alone. When he heard the creak he sighed and turned to see who would dare enter.

"Hap. You need to come out. A lady from child social services is here for you" stated Gemma her tone leaving no room for arguing. Happy frowned as he slid out of the bed and followed his Presidents Old Lady. "She has a baby" stated Gemma as she caught his eye before opening the clubhouse door to go outside. Happy covered his eyes at the harsh sunlight as he stepped out. Once his eyes adjusted they landed on an older woman who had a sweet smile on her face.

"Mr. Lowman?" she inquired as she stepped towards him with a baby carrier. Happy simply nodded as confusion set in. "I know that things have been difficult and I apologize for showing up like this out of the blue." explained the woman as she chuckled nervously. "Susie named you as Cori's guardian in the event of her passing" "She had the baby?" interrupted Happy his eyes going from the carrier to the womans face. "She did... I'm sorry I thought you knew." apologized the woman.

Happy felt his knees give out as the information hit him like a ton of bricks. His best friends daughter was still alive. He had assumed they both were gone. Why didn't Susie tell me she had given birth? So many questions swirled in his mind that he hadn't realized Gemma and the woman were still talking to him.

"What?' Happy asked as he looked at Gemma who had tears in her eyes. "I said we will help Happy. If you want to raise her. The club and I will help" repeated Gemma. "If you don't take her Mr. Lowman she will go into the system and " started the woman before Happy cut her off. "No. I'll take her." stated Happy firmly as he stood up and grabbed for the carrier.

***

"Daddy Happy has a whole new meaning now" joked Tig later that day as he sat next to Happy as he held baby Cori. "Shut up" muttered Happy his eyes never leaving Coris face even as she wrapped her tiny hand around his finger.

The End

Want more stories with Cori? Click here

Want more Happy? Click here

#sons of anarchy #ravennasmasterlist #ravennasoc #soa fanfiction #happy lowman imagines #happy lowman #happy lowman fanfic #happy lowman fanfiction

[foreverdolly]

hi!!! congratulations! i wanted to request biker!austin with the enemies to lovers trope and the quotes “i want it to hurt” and “quit being such a brat”

i love you!!

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

prompt: "I want it to hurt" and "quit being such a brat"

song: tear you apart - she wants revenge

word count: 1.8k

notes/warnings: biker!austin has my whole heart. the reader being such a brat was honestly so sexy to write. . . i edited this while i was half asleep, so hopefully i didn’t miss any errors! i love you too, angel! thank you for the request ;)

Disobeying orders just so happened to be your specialty though. 

Disobeying orders just so happened to be your specialty though. 

Your father had been a part of the very same motorcycle club that Austin’s own father had once led. You were practically raised in the clubhouse since you had been in diapers, and now that your father had retired you found it hard to stay away. You always gravitated towards men that liked to stay in trouble. The kind that drank too much booze and snorted whatever they could get their hands on. 

You rode them for all that they were worth and kicked them to the curb the second that you became their latest fix. Life was easy that way. 

But nobody knew you quite like Austin. 

But nobody knew you quite like Austin. 

Gone were the days of him following after you like a little lost puppy. Now he treated you more like a nuisance than anything. Maybe he was still butthurt about that. . . thing that happened between the two of you right before you had left on your latest adventure. 

When Austin practically spat your name, the warmth of his body directly behind you, his shadow looming over you, the other men all shut their mouths and took a collective step back. 

You had to hand it to the blonde; his father’s constant verbal abuse had turned him into one scary son of a bitch. Fear was a hard emotion to inspire in you, yet the hairs on your arms were beginning to stand on end. 

Still, you scoffed in annoyance before turning on the heels of your vintage cowboy boots, staring the man down through narrowed eyes. 

“What do you want, Butler?” You tilted your head to the side ever so slightly, a teasing grin pulling up at the corners of your mouth. 

The muscle in Austin’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, his blue eyes hard as steel now that he was staring you down. Still, you didn’t falter. You kept your shoulders relaxed, her hand lazily holding a bottle of beer by the lip of the glass. You were just there to have a good time. He was the asshole that was about to cause a scene. 

You had a way of getting under his skin. It was a talent, really. 

He reached out, locking down on your wrist with a vice like grip so that he could tug you back towards his office. You knew him well enough to understand that he had an image to uphold. Yelling at a tiny girl in front of everybody wasn’t a very good look for him, you supposed. Beer sloshed onto the ground as he continued to roughly tug you, not caring about your small hisses and groans of discomfort. He finally let you go after he slammed the door closed, the well used dart board swinging back against the wood. 

“What the hell was that for?” You gasped out, holding your arm up in front of your face. Sure enough, the skin looked a bit red from his ape-like strength. “God damn caveman. You could have just told me that you wanted to speak with me. Not break my fuckin’ wrist.”

His back was facing you, his shoulders already huffing with labored breaths. You were poking the bear and you knew it. You should stop. 

But you just loved doing it so much. 

Getting reactions out of him was one of your favorite pastimes. He just looked so cute when he was angry, what with his big blue eyes narrowed. His plump lips pulled into a deep frown. God, he was doing it now. You were just about to open your mouth, hellbent on getting him even more wound up than he already was. 

That was before he slammed his hands down onto his desk, sending papers flying off of the sides. A mug filled with pens teetered over the edge, shattering against the old wooden floor. Your jaw ticked, your lashes fluttering as you tried to assimilate the mess around you. 

“I tried being nice and you just ignored me.” He spat out, his hands still braced against the desk, his broad shoulders hunched. 

You stood there a few more seconds, trying to decide if egging him on was the best thing to do in this situation. The older he gets, the more brash and angry he is. 

You ‘tsk’, leaning back against the door as you motion towards the floors. Of course he can’t see you with his back turned, but you don’t care. “God, why are you such a baby? You’re this upset over me not paying attention to you? We’re not twelve anymore.” 

You dragged the heels of your feet as you approached his desk, bending down so that you could pick up one of the broken pieces of pottery. You turned the piece over in your hand, trying to flesh out what kind of design had been painted onto it. Austin snatched the piece out from between your fingers, and all you could do was watch as his fist clenched down and around the shard. You flinched, your eyes flickering up to his face. 

“Quit,” He spoke between clenched teeth, his fist trembling as he tightened his hold on the glass. “Acting like such a fuckin’ brat.” Blood began to drip down the sun kissed skin of his wrist and onto the floor at his feet. 

Your chest tightened, but you decided to ignore the insult. Instead you reached out, taking his hand in yours. “Let go.” You spoke, trying to pry his fingers open. He strengthened his hold, sending even more fat droplets onto the ground. 

“Aus, let go! You’re hurting yourself!” You gave his solid chest a push, making him take a step back. The glass was sent clattering to the ground as he stumbled back into the desk, the legs scrapping loudly. If anybody heard the muffled sounds of your fight from outside of the door, nobody was coming to either of your rescue. 

“I want it to hurt! What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” He finally yelled, the muscles of his biceps flexing as he gripped down onto the edge of the desk. You can’t remember a time where you had seen him this angry at you. You must have seriously struck a nerve earlier. 

“Why are you acting like this? Jesus. . . You need to calm the fuck do-” 

“You’re just gonna act like nothing happened. Like it didn’t mean anything.” 

You froze, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He was that upset over. . . over what happened two months ago? 

“It didn’t mean anything.” You told him, suddenly looking over his face more carefully. 

He laughed humorlessly, his jaw clicking as he leaned his neck back, staring up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds. He was trying to figure out how to handle this situation. 

“Bull fuckin’ shit, it didn’t mean anything. You’re a liar.” 

“Austin. . .” You were approaching the situation a little more carefully now that you knew just how emotional he was over it. He was reacting with anger, but you could see the sadness in his eyes. “It was just sex-” 

“Yeah, sex.” He straightened up to his full height, towering over you. “Between us. You and me. We’ve known each other since we were kids. What happened wasn’t just sex.” He grabbed a fist full of wavy blonde locks, giving them a few tugs in frustration when he took in your blank expression. 

“Don’t try to gaslight me into believing that I’m crazy. I was right there with you.” He was trying to reason with you. 

If you were any other girl then you would have given in right away. If you were any other girl you would have agreed with him- told him that you hadn’t stopped thinking about him ever since you left. 

But you weren’t any other girl. 

You weren’t good at expressing your emotions. Whenever you were forced to you often shut down. You could feel yourself doing that now, all while trying to figure out how to salvage whatever fucked up relationship the two of you had before sex ruined everything. For the last ten years the two of you had been like fire and ice. You two would spit insult after insult at each other, all while knowing that the two of you were a match made in hell. 

You hated his guts, all while loving the shit out of him too. 

“W-We. . .” You swallowed when he took a step closer to you, the toes of his motorcycle boots bumping against your own. “We would never work. We’d just end up killing each other.” You tried, motioning between the two of you. 

“I know that you hate feeling tied down. I do too. But I can’t get you off of my mind.” It was hard to breathe when he was looking at you like that. 

He was looking at you like he loved you. 

He was smart for not giving you enough time to answer. You were stubborn, and you were positive that you’d say the wrong thing. You were bound to mess up and say something that you truly hurt him. Something you truly didn’t mean. 

His lips were just as soft and warm against yours as you remembered. Maybe your overactive mind was playing tricks on you, but you could have sworn that you could feel his hand tremble as he reached down to cup your cheek, his lips pressing kisses down the corner of your mouth, and then down your jaw. You could feel his heavy breaths against your bare collarbones, and all at once you realized that you wouldn’t be able to stop this from happening. 

Not because you were too afraid to say anything. Not because you hated the thought of rejecting him. 

But because you wanted it. 

He was right. He was right about it all, and part of you hated him for that.

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[nexusnyx]

Dirty Dancing

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 1 — The night we first met. “Who the hell are you?” Steve Harrington x Biker!Reader; [4.1k]

SUMMARY: When Steve went to the address for investigating purposes, the last thing on his mind was stumbling upon one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen. It happens, though, and he convinces himself that meeting you was only a thing of the moment, until he encounters you outside the cinema a week later, crying. He does something about it.

No matter how much Steve would like to argue against it, Henderson was often right. Before, he would give an honest attempt—ask a question, maybe, try to come up with some sort of plan, or try to understand better what’s going on. Now? Steve just does what he's asked to if he sees it’s a matter that won’t be dropped otherwise.

The year is '87, Steve works at the new cinema downtown, there are a lot of people moving out and into Hawkins for a town that not too many months ago had an “earthquake” splitting miles of damage everywhere, and after months in relative silence and peace since Eleven killed Henry (this time once and for all), Henderson and the boys said there was a disturbance in the outskirts of town. “Certainly supernatural. I’ve run the dada and overheard Hopper’s talks with Powell. We gotta check it.”

If Henderson said Steve had to go to this place to investigate a clue… well. Steve just obeyed.

He had no expectations but was stacked in preparation. Back-up (Eddie), means of communication (walkie-talkie), a plan (meet said clue), and a name. In case all of that went downhill, there were always baseball bats in his trunk. With experience comes knowledge, and all that.

Then, Steve meets is you, and no amount of preparation and planning covered that.

According to Lucas, Henderson, and Max, their theory is that this disturbance has to be some form of Skinwalker due to the patterns in the open case, and the name is something Steve has no idea what is supposed to be until now, and frankly, is unsure if he wants to.

He stops listening and only focuses again on the part where they start talking about killing it.

Because they’re unsure of whether this walker thing takes a human form or not, they decided to keep an eye for any “suspicious” activity, and, one week after the problem made itself supernaturally evident, Eddie heard from someone in the band about a person named Bird who, according to their sources, had beat up three grown men outside of a club they frequented last Friday in a fight that left everyone with their mouths gaping.

ㅤ

“Sounds like someone who might be walking in the skin of someone else?” asked Eddie to the group.

Dustin nodded along with the vehemence and glint in his eyes of someone who had sniffed something new. “That’s a lot of strength for one person. No one has that type of skill—I mean, some do, but it’s very hard. What are the odds?” He scoffed. “Did your bandmate say anything else? Where we could find them? What’s their name, again?”

“Bird,” said Eddie. “Only thing else Cooper said was that they should visit Bird at the Broken Wings club and give them congrats. They’re there a lot, apparently.”

“Broken Wings club?” asked Lucas. “Is that the new bar that opened on the Highway? The one Hopper always goes to?”

“It is,” said Eleven. “The name is familiar.”

“Well, it sounds like you have some spying to do, Eddie, the Brave.” Dustin clapped his hands together, rubbing them on one another. Steve felt bad for Eddie because he knew that was the look of no backing away from. “You too,” added Dustin, and—oh.

He was looking at Steve.

“Me?”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Yes, you. Eddie can’t go alone. What if this Bird person is the skinwalker, Steve?” He asked with his ‘I am speaking to a child’ tone.

Steve sighed.

“Condescending tone, dude,” Eddie warned him.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. I’m on edge, and he has to be told everything—”

ㅤ

When Steve parks outside Broken Wings Club, his eyes widen at the amount of cars and movement there is at this new bar.

He whistles under his breath and as he gets out of the passenger seat, Eddie takes a look around him just like Steve. “Yeah,” nods Eddie. “Fuck—I’ve been wanting to come here for so long,” his voice gets excited and squeaky, and he slams the door behind him. In quick skips, he makes his way around the car and then throws the other jacket he carried on his lap the whole ride here in Steve’s face. “Put this one.”

Steve removes the piece from his face to get a better look. “Really?” A leather jacket. “Why do I have to put this on?”

Eddie gives him a blank look, then looks around him again, obliging Steve’s eyes to do the same.

Point made.

It’s a biker’s club.

“I didn’t know we were coming to a—biking gathering,” Steve mumbles under his breath. He shrugs the jacket on top of his shirt and hears Eddie scoffing.

“Right. ‘Cause if you did, then you’d have dressed for the occasion.” It’s obviously meant as a teasing remark, but Steve raises his eyebrows at him.

“You don’t think I can blend here?”

Eddie — the bastard — laughs out loud at him as he makes his way in direction of the entry, slapping Steve’s arm in a playful manner. “Oh, you’re funny, Steve. I like that.”

Part of him wants to take a lot of offense at that, but Steve’s mouth dries up the closer he gets to the entry. The people around all turn to look as they pass, and he feels it—the eyes on him. No one spares Eddie a second glance, but more than once person gives him a side-eye as Steve walks inside.

The bouncer, too.

She checks Eddie’s ID, gives him a paper bracelet and tells him to pass. When it’s Steve’s turn, her smoky black eyes switch between Steve’s driver’s license and his face a couple of times before she says, “Welcome to Broken Wings,” and secures the same grey paper bracelet on his arm.

Part of him wants to go back there and tell her—his ID is fake, you know. He’s only 20, but Steve’s grown past that level of pettiness.

He just keeps the comment to himself.

“Alright—this place’s pretty cool and we can’t just start asking stuff the minute we go in, so we’re gonna have to have a couple of beers and maybe listen to some music before we start mingling,” Eddie says only for his ears.

Steve nods. That was the plan, yes. “You get the first round, I get the second?”

“Sure.”

They stick to the plan.

Eddie tells Steve what he’s heard of this bar and its owner from Cooper, they try to talk in hushed tones about who around them looks good enough to spark a conversation with and, when he finds out that Eddie has no idea how to play pool, Steve laughs in delight, teasing him for a good few minutes.

“Wanna split?” asks Eddie when they finish their second beer. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“I’m gonna go smoke outside,” says Steve.

“Cool. I’ll order us a couple more beers, see if I talk to anyone, and I’ll meet you there.”

With a nod, they part their ways.

Steve’s trying to be discreet here.

After getting into so much of the supernatural shit against his wheel, the only way for him to get involved and be okay with the fact that the teens are involved without losing his mind is to be prepared. There are less chances of clocks striking, of a need for a grand plan, of things getting out of control that way.

There is a plan.

Steve opens the wood doors leading to the back and appreciates the forest view from the porch. He pulls out a smoke, sees there are a handful of people outside with him in groups, and ahead of them, there’s the structure for a bonfire. He pictures that thing lit late at night with various people surrounding it, smoking in their real leather jackets, with their cool tattoos and intimidating looks, and lights his own cigarette. He walks until he’s standing on one of the corners of the porch, and leans against the wood structure, blowing out smoke quietly.

What a fucking weird town.

“Is that a polo underneath your jacket?”

The question catches him off guard because one, that was definitely directed at him, and two, the voice is  coming straight from behind him where he thought there was only darkness. When Steve whips around, his plan is thrown out of a window.

Blown to pieces.

That’s—fucking hell.

“Hi.” Steve’s mouth is dry. That is… a very attractive person. Very—oh, god, he’s staring. “Uhm. Who are you?”

Those beautiful lips spread in a grin. “Who the hell are you?” It’s asked with a soft smile, and despite the blunt words, there’s no malice in that voice. “Because you’re not a regular. And I’ve never seen you around. I would’ve remembered.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck, and tries to gather himself with a deep breath. “I’m Steve.”

He extends a hand, and there’s a second before you take it.

“Hello, Steve,” you shake his hand, stepping away from the wall and stepping up on the porch too, your eyes going down his body and leaving a trail of heat where they pass. “That’s... definitely a polo.”

Right. Steve looks down at himself and hates to admit that Eddie’s point was a bullseye. Weren’t for his leather jacket, Steve would look very stupid right now. “It is,” he confirms. “I like ‘em,” he shrugs, looking back at you. “Did you ask because you hate polos or was it just the shock, miss…?”

The grin settles in a side-smile, and you pull out a rolled tobacco from behind your ear. “The later.” You light the tobacco up, and Steve waits for it, hoping it’ll come. When you blow out the smoke, you lean on the wood structure as well. “Y/n,” you offer. “People just call me Bird.”

Steve feels like a cartoon getting stuck on the same frame.

Fuck. Fuck, fuckfuck—okay. He takes a drag of his cigarette and tries to calm his quickening heartbeat. He’s got this. “Why?” He asks.

You lift one eyebrow. “Because… it’s my name?”

“Your name is bird?”

“Last name,” you correct, then offer, softer. “Like—Hugh Bird Brown?”

That name rings a bell.

Eddie’s voice a few minutes ago, his finger pointing at the plaque behind the bartender as he goes, “He was one of the people who moved here to help re-construct the town back then, look, his name is—fuck, I can barely read from this distance—uh—Hugh. Hugh B. Brown; Mr. Brown. He came with that new investor who wants to build a mall again, but apparently, they hate each other ‘cause they basically represent polar opposites. I mean—Hugh’s biker’s gang is apparently famous for beating up racists and child molesters—don’t know how true it is, but. Welcome to town, if you ask me!”

“Hugh B. Brown. You’re—” Steve’s eyes focus again on the here, and you’re staring up at him with calculating eyes. Steve looks at you, truly looks this time, and his mouth dries even further. You have a leather vest on top of a white sleeveless top, and it should not be as hot as it is. Fishnet gloves on your hands. Black jeans, combat boots. Yeah… nice look. Very nice.“You’re the owner’s daughter?”

That smile has gotta be a devious weapon. Holy shit. “That’s what the same last name means for us, yeah," you reply with a laugh.

Steve feels his neckline heating at that—you’re teasing him. At first he thinks he minds it very little, but then as takes a drag he remembers why the Bird was so important in the first place and fuck.

What if that smile is a killer smile?

His stomach twists a little.

“Are you liking Hawkins?” asks Steve. Please don’t be a skin walking murderer. Please.

Your upper lip quivers, and you give a weak little groan. “Dunno. It’s small.”

“Smaller than where you lived before?”

“I’ve lived in three different cities these past few years,” very open and honest, he thinks. Is that because you have nothing to hide or because you don’t care about what you say to a human? His heart feels like a rabid animal inside a cage. “They were all bigger than here, but—same old shit, I guess.”

“And what shit is that?”

“Hateful people,” your eyes are right ahead. Steve catches a spot of red between your knuckles underneath your glove, and his mind starts working harder.

It could be her. Could be her father.

“There’s definitely lots of that around.” He's silently praying you're not one of them. Fights happen for many reasons, and maybe you did have a way of beating up three people. He needs to find out.

“Are you from here?” you ask before he can form another thought.

Steve takes another drag, nodding. “Born and raised.” Unfortunately. Stuck, he thinks.

“Oh.” The sound has its own hidden words. It says 'oh, so you were here for all the tragedy' and 'damn, I'm kinda sorry for that', and Steve expects any of the questions that came from new people who arrived at Hawkins and had the opportunity to speak to someone who's from here, but then— “D’you like it?”

“Uhm—” that's... none of the questions he expected. He thinks about it for a moment, and the answer comes to him. “It’s my hometown. I hate it. I love it. I think I’ll never get out of it, even though it’s all I think about sometimes.” He’d miss it. “I’d probably end up missing it if I left.”

About the last part, he's not so sure, but you listen to all of it and then nod.

Something in your eyes says you understand him, and Steve feels terrified for a moment. Not in his instincts, but inside his ribcages. Where his heart is misbehaving. “I feel that, but…” you lean in closer for a second. “There is a lot out there to see, y'know?” With another drag, you're turning around to gaze at the forest. “A whole fucking lot,” you add with a yearning tone.

That forms a question in his head. “Are you part of the biking crew?”

You look up at him, then turn your back so that he’s faced with it—the sewn patch of Broken Wings Crew. When you turn back, Steve is nodding to himself. “Right. He’s your dad, it’d make sense. D’you like it? Being on the road?”

“I fucking love it.” The earnestness makes Steve want to get on a bike and drive away. “The road’s amazing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It reminds me that there’s an almost endless amount of stuff out there. That we’re very tiny, after all.” For someone who looks so intimidating in her cool clothes and black-painted eyes, your voice is soft even when you're offering sad philosophical thoughts.

He laughs at it. “Wow. I’m feeling very humbled. You’d like to meet a friend of mine—he likes talking about our size compared to the ‘general grand aspect of everything’.” Dustin would like to meet her, that's true, for more reasons than one, Steve thinks.

Focus on the mission, Harrington, his voice says.

His words pull laughter out of you, and Steve has trouble focusing on anything other than that. “That sounds a bit too big for me. I’d just end up in an existential crisis and I don’t think I need another one of those.”

“Not a fan of remembering how very tiny you are when compared to the grand aspect of everything?” He teases you.

When did he get it back? His ability to sound aloof and playful with a cigarette in hand when talking to someone he feels is so damn out of his league?

He had thought he lost it.

“Not really,” you smile, and he thinks, yeah, I haven't lost it. Steve knows that smile. “We’re not going anywhere, anyway. Why would I bother dreaming about stars I’m never gonna see, Steve? That’s just depressing.”

“Fair enough.” If you two are flirting, Steve can ask. He's not sure if you're flirting back, but he's definitely been leaning too close and looking a bit too hard for you not to notice he is, and you're letting it happen. He can prod a little. Now or never. “Can I ask you something?”

Through a cloud of smokes, you say. “Sure.”

“I have a friend in Corroded Coffin, and… he says,” he pauses, just for dramatics. Sound cool about this. It’s gonna be fine. “Apparently,” he takes a drag of his cigarette. “A certain ‘Bird’ gave a lesson to some people at a bar this Friday. He was gushing about it, actually. ‘s that you or did the wrong people find your pops?”

This time, your laughter is boisterous, and Steve wonders what did he miss. It's not the usual 'that was funny' laugh—more of a 'this sparks an incredible amount of joy due to something you missed here' kind of laugh.

As expected, you start with, “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you say as you stop laughing and take a deep breath. “I was just—imagining my dad at Dorothy & Toto. Man, that was funny,” you giggle. “Nah. It was me. Only my dad's closest friends call him Bird. Around here, that's me.”

In one movement, you pull up the glove for a second to show your red and bruised knuckles.

Steve swallows around a tight knot. So it was you. “Damn,” he whistles, not bothering to hide his surprise. Supernatural kick-ass or just the most interesting person alive?

He's terrified of prodding any further even though he must and will have to.

“Yeah. My dad’s pissed that I ended up at the police station not even a year after moving, but he heard what happened, so we’re good.”

Steve narrows his eyes at that and, with curiosity traveling through his bone, he leans in. “What did happen?”

You narrow yours back. “I thought your friend at Corroded Coffin had already told you,” you whisper theatrically.

“I mean—he did. But it was just a ‘this happened’ kind of talk. And, no offense at all, but how exactly was it you versus… three?”

Your smile at him this time is a little daunting. Steve feels a shiver starting at his neck. “Steve. My dad’s an ex-military guy who retired and started a motorbike gang. Trust me—I know how to knock out a few assholes who never did more than throw punches every now and then at a bar.”

He lets out a startled laugh. Relief. “You fight?”

“Hmhm.” You lean back against the wood, and Steve feels lighter. Feels like he can ask you a thousand more questions—and he wants to. “Krav maga. Muai thay.”

His eyes widen more. “So… you really did kick their asses, huh?”

“Sure did.” And what a proud smile you have over it.

“Do I have any—” his question is interrupted by a loud:

“There you are, Harrington!”

It’s Eddie. He walks until you two with inquisitive eyes, and Steve feels caught doing something wrong before he remembers that this is the person they came here to find out about, and he was doing something right by talking to you.

He introduces the two of you, ignoring with difficulty the yelling voice in his brain telling Eddie to get lost.

Just another minute with her, he thinks, that's all Steve needs. Just a few more minutes to talk. Instead, not a minute later after Eddie arrives, someone who has the bar uniform calls your name from the inside.

You’re gone before Steve can think of a reason to make you stay, and when Eddie goes, "Dude, why were you flirting in the middle of our recon mission?" with a giggle, Steve wants to say I wasn't!

All that comes out with, "So. That was Bird," and there's that,

Once the information is cleared with the group, they cross out your name from the board of informations, deem the accident as not part of their ‘unofficial investigation’ and go back to what’s important.

Steve, not so much.

See—Steve wants to be paying attention to his surroundings, and he would love to be thinking about plans, or traps, or anything else, really, but his mind is stuck. It’s on a loop, and every time he tries to escape it, he’s back at it: 

You.

For a week, the short encounter and conversation is all he thinks about.

Steve plays the whole thing from start to finish over and over again, wondering and beating himself up over what could’ve gone differently, and all the other things he should’ve.

When Robin and Eddie invite him to go to Broken Wings on Saturday, Steve escapes from them with a feeble excuse of it not being his scene and him not knowing if he’ll enjoy a whole night there, praying they don’t see in his eyes just how much of a coward he truly is.

He runs away from the thought of it—just picturing running into you again sends his heart into a frenzy, so Steve does something he hadn’t in a long time: he walks away.

It lasts until it blows.

You two live in the same town, after all, and it isn’t a metropolis.

Steve runs into you at the carnival, and his whole body responds to seeing you across from him, meters away.

There’s a second where he freezes on the spot—genuinely stops dead on his tracks, but then Eddie and Nancy nudge him along and he keeps walking before you can stop him, too.

He thinks about the red open tank-top you were wearing all night long, and goes home wanting to bite at his fist.

Never before in his life had Steve been entranced by someone he felt shy in their presence, but every time he considered looking for you and putting on his winning smile, all he saw was the YOU RULE | YOU SUCK board behind the scene.

Not because Robin killed his self-confidence or anything like that, but because Steve meant what he said in the car.

Everything felt superficial.

The mere idea of talking to you again when none of that conversation felt useless is kind of... terrifying.

So he leaves it alone.

Three days later after his comical decision of 'leaving the thoughts of Bird alone', Steve's stood up by Robin.

It's a nice night—the sky is clear, leaving room for countless dots of shining light, it's chill, but not cold, and Steve thought he would get to watch a movie with his best friend after so much talking about it.

Instead, Nancy decided it was now the time to gather the courage to ask Robin out for a date, which means that all he gets is a rushed phone call — to their working place's phone, no less, what on Earth does Robin smoke — where Robin tells him, "Please don't be mad at me," then unloads a full afternoon of information on him before ending with, "so now—we're going on a date? I think? I mean, we are. I'm calling to let you know that I can't come. And asking you pretty please do not be mad at me? You're not, right, babe?"

"Go to your date, Robin," Steve chuckles. He sends an apologetic look to Luke who's side-eyeing him to hang up the damn phone. "I'll be fine."

"You're the best bestie, Steve. Love you! Bye!"

Line dead, Steve puts down the phone and takes a look around him.

Is the night over, or should he stay?

Being alone is something he grew up used to, but avoided at all costs—whether it was surrounding himself with just anybody, throwing parties, or throwing himself into things, Steve preferred company to solitude.

Now, he embraces it.

He buys himself a pack of Skittles, walks around the cinema thinking about the irony that he’s now one of those people who have to seek leisure in the place he works, and how much he’s changed since he was in High School.

Steve gets out of the cinema through the back to bum a smoke before he walks… somewhere he isn’t sure yet, but the minute the door starts sliding to close, he hears the sniffle.

Shitshitshitshit—the door closes with a thud, and Steve winces. Too late.

There’s someone crying out here and now they’re stuck together with that knowledge.

Steve lifts his gaze slowly, hoping and praying the person is above lashing out on him for catching them in their alone time, but he stops mid-motion when his eyes catch on who it is.

Once more, stunned in his spot by the sight of you. This time it’s because—tears.

There are tears staining your cheeks, ruining the pretty black make-up you have around your eyes.

Steve suddenly wants to be able to fight feelings.

You two share a look, then your hand lifts to your lips and you take a drag off the cigarette with eyes still on him, and Steve wills his body to stand up straight.

He clears his throat and walks to you, grabbing the smoke out of his back pocket.

Once he’s lit it, Steve extends the packet of Skittles to you. “Asking if you’re okay would be kinda stupid, so. You want one?”

Those gorgeous eyes go from his face to the pack of Skittles, and there’s another sniffle before you nod. “Thanks.” You use your free hand to rub a forearm against both your cheeks, then you turn the paln up so he can drop some candy on your hand. In one motion, you shove all of them inside your mouth, and talk just like that. “Most people would ask.”

“Eh. Most people are kinda stupid,” he learned that the hard way.

It makes you laugh, and Steve holds back his grin. Good. “Can’t argue with that.”

“It’s concerning, isn’t it?” he asks in a theatrical tone. “The level of stupidity we’re working under as a society.”

With another laugh, you do the thing where you narrow your eyes at him while you smoke. Then, you ask, “Why are you always trying to send me into an existential crisis when we talk?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “I’m sorry. Really—my bad. I walk with too many smartasses.” Way too many. At least four or five too many.

“Ah. I have that problem, too. Mine are smartasses and condescending hags, so I think I win.”

“What?” He asks with a confused laugh.

“My dad’s friends. The biker gang. They’re all ‘older and wiser’ and all that shit.”

Steve nods. “Okay, yeah. You win this round.” There’s a moment of silence where you two just smoke, and he feels his heart starting the first steps of its little wild dance. His eyes get caught in the smeared make-up, and Steve feels his wicked side awaken at the sight. “You want us to go throw eggs at their car? Whoever it was that stood you up,” he clarifies. “There’s a convenience store right in this street. We could buy eggs and a six pack. Can’t guarantee it’ll make them less of a dick, but it would probably make you feel better.”

As he offers, your mouth slowly opens and your eyes widen, but with mirth. You laugh happily when he finishes it. “Your solution is to egg people’s cars? That sounds so mature, Steve.”

Just because he knows you’re teasing, Steve shrugs his shoulders. “My smartasses are a bunch of teenagers I somehow ended up friends with. ‘m not above being petty. It works.”

“It sure does. I’d know.”

The next smile is more of a shared connection.

Steve’s heart does the thing where it checks how tightly it’s located inside his chest. It wants to get out every time you smile, but he’s too entranced by your overall presence to care. “We can even throw flour on top of it,” he smirks around the filter. “Makes a goey fucking mess. Horrible to clean.”

Loud laughter comes, and Steve kind of wants to start baking a whole recipe on top of this hypothetical car just to see if he can make you smile a bit longer.

“You’re a child, oh my god.”

“Incorrect. Would a child be able to buy us a six pack? Hm?”

Still giggling, you shake your head at him and turn your body away from his, smoking with your gaze fixed on the wall ahead of you. “Would love to do that, but—wouldn’t work.”

“No?”

“No. I’d have to know where their car is, wouldn’t I?” Your whole face falls again, and Steve wants to know who was it that had the audacity of leaving you waiting. Of making someone as genuine and open as you cry on a Thursday night—he feels jittery with the need to get that look off your face, but then you follow with, “No one stood me up.”

It was barely a whisper.

“I mean—she did stand me up. Just not the way you think, probably.” You turn to him again, smoke covering your face. “I was waitin’ for my mom.”

Inside his mind, the whole picture shifts from white to black in the blink of an eye, and the pain on your face gains new light under the confession. Steve’s breathless, spechless for a moment, most of all because he knows how much this hurts, he knows the taste of the pain created by that specific person in your life, and it doesn’t hurt—it burns.

“I thought it’d be different,” you continue despite his silence. You scoff, turning away from him again. “I genuinely thought it’d be fucking different because—’cause I’m an idiot. I’m—” your voice cracks, and Steve finds his voice again.

“Hey.” He waits for your eyes to be on his so you know where his heart is when he speaks. “I know you’re not an idiot. I’m aware this is the second time we’ve ever spoken, but I’m a hundred per cent confident on that fact. And also, I know she’s the loser in this little situation here. I don’t know your mom, but your mom sounds a bit like mine and if she is, no offense, but your mother’s a dick. And you shouldn’t cry over someone who’s a dick.”

It’s crazy to see the flash of recognition in someone’s eyes.

Steve says ‘your mom sounds a bit like mine’ and it may not be physical or visible, but a wall lifts between you two. He feels it.

“It’s hard,” you say with a sad nod.

Steve takes a drag off his cigarette because right now, the taste in his mouth is worse than nicotine, and just shrugs. “It is. But they’re not worth it.” No one who treats you like shit is. “I mean—it’s why I stopped expecting things from people in the first place. They’re the ones that disappoint us the most.”

“I’d love to do that but I could swear it was impossible.”

“It’s continuous work,” says Steve. I still care sometimes. It hurts like hell, and then I convince myself to let it go. “I heard something from a friend once that kinda changed my whole life, and I cling to that, I guess.”

“What did they say?”

“They said ‘everyone’s living their lives for the first time here, so stop expecting anyone to know for sure what they’re doing at all times’ and… it made me think of stuff.”

Silence covers the air as your eyes unfocus from him, and he imagines the words dancing around your brain the same way it did for him.

Your cigarettes are almost over, and you nod before stubbing yours under your boot. “Smart,” you offer. “Is that you’re so chill about being stood up?”

Steve laughs, albeit awkwardly. “Uh—yes, and no? I was stood up, but also ‘not like that’. Robin didn’t come ‘cause she has a date so here I am.”

This time your face contors in confusion. “Short haired girl? Talks a thousand miles an hour? That Robin?”

“You know her!” he exclaims happily.

“Your girlfriend stood you up ‘cause she has a date?”

“What?! No. Robin’s not my girlfriend,” he frowns.

“No? The one who walks with her arms linked in yours and calls you ‘babe’ is not your girlfriend?” you ask with a knowing smile.

“Nope. We’re just—” he stops, actually taking in your words, then smiles to the side. “Wait. How d’you know what she calls me?”

You look away from him with a roll of your eyes, but Steve’s paying attention to how the top of your cheeks are a little peachy now. “The hair and the loud laughing make you two kinda hard to miss.”

“Oh.” Steve knows that to be true, but his past self is cackling inside of him because he’s been a player, once in his life. He knows how to recognize someone checking to see if who they’re talking to has a partner or not just fine. “Well—that’s just Robin for you. Loud laughs and many words. And also, very much not my girlfriend. On a date, remember? We’re best friends. No girlfriends for Steve,” but one for Robin, he adds mentally with a grin.

You smile back. “Hope her date goes great.”

“Oh, I know it will.” It’s fated. Steve stubs his cigarette too, then gets the tickets out of his other back pocket. “Me, on the other hand, need another person to watch Dirty Dancing with me. You’d happen to know someone who’s around the cinema and wouldn’t mind keeping me company for the next couple of hours?”

Your eyes go to the ticket, and Steve is sure he’s not making up the change in posture. You rub one hand on your bicep, then say, “Dirty Dancing? Really?”

“It’s supposed to be great,” he wiggles the tickets in front of you.

“Would lil’ old me suffice?” you offer slowly, smiling shyly.

Steve widens his smile as a response. “Wanna go to the restroom first? I’ll go buys us a Coke.”

“I’ll get us more Skittles, too,” you add.

“Perfect.”

When he opens he opens the door to let you in and goes to buy the drinks, Steve can’t help but muse and smile at how his evening went from stood on to watching Dirty Dancing with Bird. It’s kind of… perfect

Then you come back from the restroom and joins him at the candy counter, and Steve sees you’ve fixed your make-up. You tease him with an, “If the movie sucks you owe me a couple of hours, Steve,” and he can only laugh as a response. That’s also perfect.

During the first five minutes of the movie, Steve feels the familiar, yet unfamiliar anxiety of being next to someone your body and mind are aware of. He sits next to you, but lets the armrest free so you can use, then starts off by offering you the candy and asking if you’ve heard anything about it.

Talking to you is easy.

Looking away from your lips as he does so, not that much. Paying attention to the words and trying to figure out what’s that smell he gets from your leather jacket are incompatible tasks, so Steve wills his mind to focus on the words. It’s okay that he likes your tasty, flowery scent underneath the smell of smoke.

It’s okay that he keeps stealing glances to the side as the movie progresses, because Steve feels when you do it, as well.

The air is slowly permeated with that tingle under your skin that hums all the time. This is a date. This is a date, it says.

Steve feels how hot his cheek is during the scene where the actors start getting so close they share the same breath, and his lips and mouth dry up. It’s unnerving to sit next to someone whose body heat you can feel, and know it’s only a mirror of what’s happening to you.

He’d forgotten what this feels like.

Scratch that—Steve’s had it similar, but it had never been this… electrifying.

At one point, he leans in to whisper, “Isn’t he too old for her?”

To which you answer with. “I’m… pretty sure he’s supposed to be, like, three years older or something?” you shrug, shoulder inching closer to his.

And that’s where you both stay.

Biceps touching one another, sharing Skittles and talking in hushed whispers when something funny comes up.

Time flies by as it does when things are good, and sooner than he’d like, Steve’s walking you out.

In slow, deliberate steps. Taking his time with each movement, because fuck it, he wants to stay here. Sharing time with you, even if it’ll make the minutes feel like a blink or an exchange of looks feel like minutes.

He relaxes when he sees you gathering their trash, item by item. Smiles.

“Do you like these type of movies or was this your best friend’s idea before she ditched you for that hot date?” you ask him.

Shoving both hands inside his pocket so he doesn’t do something dumb like putting an arm around your shoulder, Steve answers. “Nah. I like them. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but—my idea,” he shrugs.

You start walking after him in measured steps. “Secrets go with me to my grave. Don’t worry.”

“Really? You’re a good secret keeper?”

“Excellent.” You’ve been smiling since the middle of the movie, and Steve wonders if your cheeks hurt like his do. “Even when people cross me over—what they’ve told me dies with me.”

“That’s pretty awesome. What if… they weren’t shitty to you, but you just discovered that they’re shitty?” he muses.

You think about it for only a second. The scoff is vicious, “Fuck them, then. Hi, news anchor?” You pretend your free hand is a celphone and bring it to your ear. “Can I expose a bitch?”

Steve bursts out laughing while you make a score with all the trash, and you two keep walking out of the theater. “Fair, fair.” He makes sure he’s walking right by your side. The glances he steals are better now—he catches your eyes on him already most of the time. “I’m a good secret keeper, too. Now, at least. Not so sure about before.”

“Hmm. Were you bad before, Harrington?”

Ignore how hot you feel. No one’s made him blush this easy, but your tone—he forces a laugh. “I was a bit of a douchebag.”

“Outch. Really?”

He smiles at your disbelief. “Really. ‘m happy you sound surprised.”

“Oh, I’m very surprised. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“‘m flattered,” he puts a hand over his heart, then runs it through his hair. “Took a few hits to the head, but. Got there, I think,” he laughs at himself.

“It’s what it seems.” You two step outside the cinema, and Steve watches you stop. “I think no one can be really judged for who they are before they’re eighteen—not seriously. We’re all literally beginning to learn who we are. Feels silly to think someone would figure out how to be decent at every aspect by the time they’re fifteen, right?”

He thinks about it, and—yes. You’re right. “Very right.” He’s nodding along when he sees you pulling out your pack.

“D’you mind?” you ask, to which he shakes his head.

“No, not at all.” He gets his own, loving the opportunity for another couple of minutes. He looks around the parking lot then, in search for what he imagines is your ride. “Where’s the bike?” He asks. “I’m trying to picture what you drive—dunno if I wanna go for red tinted or black. How big it is.” Placing the cigarette between his lips he turns back to you. “You drive a bike, right?”

You blow out the smoke to the side and smiles at him. “Yup.” Then, there’s a shake of your head. “It’s not here, though.”

“You walked?” he frowns.

Another shake. “Dad dropped me off. My younger brother’s borrowed Pegasus to go to a conversation in the middle of fucking nowhere. He’s back only on Sunday.”

Steve tries not to smile too hard at the new information. “What a nice older sister. You let him borrow stuff,” he coos. “Literally every sibling I know lives off of banter and blackmails.”

Good god, Steve fucking adores the way you laugh. “Oh—there’re plenty of that. Trust me. I borrowed my bike because he’s been less of a little shit lately and I was feeling generous. It’s gonna come back to bite him in the ass,” you finish with a devious smile.

Steve pretends to be disappointed, tsk tsk. “Not a single good heart out there anymore.”

“Single child, I assume,” you point at him. He winces, and you laugh again, turning his frown into a smile. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s our love language.”

“Siblings’ love language is i’ll blackmail you at every chance I have?”

“That, and I wouldnt get you a glass of water even if I was literally in the kitchen, but I’ll kill anyone who even looks at you funny.”

“That’s—” he laughs. “Okay. You’re right—I don’t get it. I’ve seen it happen, and it just baffles me.” He takes a drag, then lets his eyes stay on you. “Now—I’m contradicting myself here by offering this ‘cause I just said there are no good hearts out there anymore, but I can’t let you walk or take a bus home, so—can I drive you home?”

Steve watches as you blow the smoke away from his face again, looking at him like you’re reading his mind. “I’d just call my dad,” you say in a soft-spoken tone. “Perks of being the boss is that you get to leave work whenever you want.”

Being coy with you—inneficient, Steve notes. He breathes in through his nose, and tries again. “You could. Lemme rephrase it, though—I’d like to drive you home.” 

He bites on his tongue to not add ‘feel free to say no’. Gentleman words and true to his heart, but Steve doesn’t want you to say no.

Your smile falters, but the happiness only travels north to your look. “I’d like that.”

He hears violins, and his smile is back. “Cool. Good.” His cheeks hurt. “So,” Steve takes a drag so the nicotine will do something at keeping his body at bay. “That scene where he lifts her up. What did you think?”

When you giggle, Steve wants to sigh. His body may be kept behaved, but his heart is its own thing in your presence. “Okay, I know it was cheesy, and I knew we knew it was gonna happen, but…” your shoulders come up as if you’re trying to hide yourself. “It was kind of iconic. Don’t you think?”

Steve has to agree.

He talks about the bits he liked — and he remembers — while you two finish your cigarettes, and you tell him the bits you thought were unnecessary.

It’s been a while since his fun had been ‘discussing entertainment’ and it feels so normal and easy.

Steve loves every second of it.

He guides you to his car when you two are done and the conversation’s shifted between Dirty Dancing to favorite movies of all times, and Steve will have that tingle in his cheek muscles tomorrow because he almost dies laughing at discovering your list of must watch.

“You are so weird!” He teases you, slapping his wheel. “What the hell.”

“They’re fun!” you argue.

“Those are extremely creepy movies, Bird. They are. And I only know that ‘cause I worked at a video store—I have no clue how you can watch that stuff.”

“You’re scared of them, Steve?” you tease back.

“I am!” He admits. “I’m terrified. What the hell goes on inside your mind—holy shit.”

“A lot,” you laugh darkly. “Oh, darling.”

“Okay, that was an evil witch laugh, and should I just leave you here on the road?” He is not turned on by your mean cackle, or the way you said ‘darling’. Steve feels his face betraying his delusional thoughts.

“You’re funny. Let me say this,” you start, then go on a rant about horror pictures and psychological thrillers that… actually give him something to think about.

Double fuck.

Is Steve ever gonna stop wanting to hear the things that come out of your mouth?

He’s led by your directions all the way until your house, and finds out it’s a few blocks away from his. He keeps that information to himself, for now.

When he parks outside, there are no lights on and he feels the sweat clamming his palms. “Well. You’ve given me something to think about,” he tells you. “Something disturbing, but… interesting.” He takes a deep breath, thinking do it, do it, just do it, and, “Thanks for the company, Bird.”

He opens his own door right after that, walks (skips) to the passanger side, and opens your door, feeling the heat crawl all the way up to his ears.

You exit the car with a similar look on your face—eyes blinking in surprise, and swalloing visibly.

Steve thinks to himself: she can fight off three people with those two hands.

He closes the door behind you, and keeps his body in front of yours, blocking your way.

By logic, you could remove him from your path in—Steve can only imagine how many ways. Many. He trembles, and sees your eyes fixed on his neck and ears.

“Do I owe you those two hours?”

His tone is almost private.

You lean your back against his car, and Steve can only exhale. Your eyes finally focus on his. “Nah.” You lick your lips. “Movie was good.”

“Just the movie?” He dares.

Winning smile. Steve wants to smile, too, but fuck, he wants to kiss you a lot more. “Company was quite good, too.”

“Quite good,” he echoes, inching closer. “Damn. I’ve really lost my touch, huh?”

You tilt your head at him, and take a second to reply. “Haven’t taken many people to see sexy movies with hot people dancing in a while?”

Steve shakes his head, laughing. He’s only inches away now, and he stops there. “Nope. Stopped trying after a while.”

“Hmm. Were you trying tonight?”

“Not well enough, apparently.” I’ll try harder next time. Steve’s eyes fall on your lips, and he can see your chest expanding with the breath you take. “Do I get a second chance?”

“Depends,” you answer in the same heartbeat.

“On what?”

“On how you kiss me.”

Steve’s stunned—on how you kiss me.

He’s never been challenged to perform with greatness before, but he takes that as one. He measures every movement. The way his hand goes up to your neck, slowly enveloping it until he has a good grip. He licks his lip at the sight of yours, a move you mimic subconsciously. He’s so close that his eyes close, and when Steve presses his mouth on yours, he feels your hands going around his waist until they’re holding his back and pulling him close.

When your lips move, he thinks—that’s why. No one who kisses like you do would want a second chance unless they could keep it up.

Steve gives as good as he gets, and is rewarded by your nails clawing at his back.

He likes the way you gasp when he swirls his tongue on yours, and it gets even better when he starts guiding the speed of the kiss with his hand on your nape and the other on your face. You like it—enjoy being guided, and pressed firmly against the car.

The little noises you make that Steve keeps guarded under seven keys somewhere in his mind tell him so.

He kisses you until you’ve sucked all the oxygen left in his lungs, then he pulls back to get a look.

Steve sighs when he opens his eyes.

You look better than he imagined.

He swallows thickly, and runs his nose against your cheek. “Okay,” you whisper. “Uhm—second chance. Granted.”

Steve laughs.

He’s gonna take you on the best damn date you’ve ever had. He has no idea how, but he will. Or he’s gonna crash trying.

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[summerofsnowflakes]

“You're enjoying this, aren't you? You like when I'm jealous?”

Paring: Biker!Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader / a tiny bit of Biker!Jake Jensen x Reader (because why not!)

Word Count: 900

Warnings: Mentions of smut, rough behaviour, swearing, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness.

A/N: I mean how could I not come up with a little drabble off this ask!! Thank you Ali for this wonderful prompt!!

Masterlist

Ari’s eyes grew darker throughout the course of the night, while he watched you throw yourself over the club’s newest member Jake. You were using Jake and that fact that he was green to your own advantage, driving Ari to the brink of insanity. 

You knew he wouldn’t batter a greenie in the first couple of weeks. Sure he could raise his voice if Jake stepped out of line, but throwing fists would only scare him off,  and in truth Jake was a valuable asset. 

However, watching you drape your legs over Jake’s like you usually do with him, made him want to damn all of his own rules. 

It was pure torture watching you not-so-innocently dance you fingers up and down his biceps. The way you threw your head backwards at every joke he made, offering him your best flirty laugh.

He had to look away, he willed himself to look away, but it was impossible, you were mesmerising. 

He so desperately wanted to throw you over his shoulder and take you upstairs to his bed and ensure that Jake knew who you belonged to. But he held himself back, he wasn’t in the mood for a scene and he could tell by the darkness laced into your flirty grin you were definitely in the mood to cause one.  

He watched as Jake gingerly muttered something to you, his cheeks flushed as headed off in the direction of the bathroom. 

Momentary relief washed over Ari now that you were alone, but it didn’t last. You whipped your head in direction, offering him a knowing smirk as you stood up and made your way over to him, swaying your hips hypnotically, only breaking his stare when sat down beside him, back resting against the bar. 

He remained silent, slowly sipping his whiskey through gritted teeth. His silence almost unsettled you, you knew that was his end game. He wanted to make you unsure of yourself, to make you apologise for having the same fun he was having. 

He wasn’t getting that. 

You cocked your head to the side, giggling menacingly at his stoic stature. “What’s wrong, Sugar?” 

“You know what.” He grunted, knocking back the remnants of his drink and slamming it against the bar. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You shot back, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“Cut the shit, sweetheart. It ain’t cute.” 

“Whatever.” You muttered, growing bored of his attitude. He wasn’t going to give up with his sour mood and you weren’t going to let him drag you down with him.  

You pushed yourself off the chair, strutting off in the direction of the ladies’ room, you felt his presence hot on your tail. He wasn’t giving up on that easily. 

Ari cornered you, caging you between his body and the sticky walls that you were all too acquainted with. His calloused fingertips grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Making me jealous?’ He breathed, his hot breath fanned over your cheeks. The scent of whiskey lingered in the small gap between you, threatening to intoxicate your senses.  

“Well how else is a girl supposed to get your attention?” The corners of your lips turned up coyly, you fluttered your  eyelashes at him innocently.

“You’ve always got my attention, sweetheart.” His hand trailed down from your chin to rest at the base of your neck. 

“You might want to make that a little clearer to Angela then.” 

Ari chuckled darkly, “ahh so it’s not just me that’s being a jealous little birdy tonight.” 

“Screw you.” You snarled, placing your hand on his chest you pushed his weight away from you, but he was solid as rock. He didn’t move an inch.

“You did that last night and this morning.” He shot back arrogantly, a shit eating grin teasing his pink lips. You rolled your eyes, looking over his shoulder at the blank wall as you searched for your own comeback. 

When you remained silent, Ari knew he had the upper hand, so he continued toying with you. “He can't handle you, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t know what to do, how to make you scream. 

His hand trailed down your body slowly, fingertips grazing over your breasts and along your waist. “He can’t do the things I do to you. We both know that if you leave with him tomorrow, you’ll be back in my bed tomorrow begging me to finish what he couldn’t.” 

He leant in close, lips grazing every so slightly against your neck. His stubble tickling your supple skin as a shiver rippled through your body. 

“But… I’ll take you upstair right now and fuck you until you can’t remember his name, until you’re a whimpering mess. All you have to do is say the magic words.” He muttered, his hot breath heavy in your ear. Fingers toying with the hem of your skirt begging to climb higher up your thighs. 

You knew what he wanted, an apology and no matter how good he could make you feel, you were too stubborn to give in. 

He wasn’t winning this game. 

“Not tonight, Sugar.” You slipped out of his grasp,“I’ve got my sights set on someone else.” 

You turned on your heels, strutting back down the hallway. As you reached the corner you turned back once offering him a winning smile and playful wink. “Have fun with Angela though, I heard from Nick that she has a very toothy head game.” 

#ari levinson #ari levinson x you #ari levinson imagine #red sea diving resort #ari levinson drabble #Biker!Ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #biker au #tay answers #Ali 🌹 #beautiful mutuals #summerofsnowflakesfic #Jake Jensen #jake jensen x reader #Chris Evans #Chris Evans character

[dramaticvhs]

twenty sterek fics with 30k+ words ~

I don't read as much sterek as I'd like to, but here are 20 longer fics I enjoyed really well! as always, read the tags! some of these are fics I come back to regularly, and some are ones I've only read once or twice but they left an impact. hope you enjoy! feel free to reblog with or comment more fics you love, I'm always looking for a new read :)

1. Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

(underage, explicit, 61k)

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property.

Humans are supposed to be extinct.

But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

2. Sex Therapy by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) (locked to a03)

(no archive warnings apply, Teen and Up, 81k)

Stiles wanders into a club named Eclipse, looking for a one night stand to help him get over his breakup, only to realize that he has no idea what he's doing. Luckily for him, Derek is happy to be his Yoda.

The only problem comes when neither of them are able to keep it to just one night.

3. Move A Mountain by ZainClaw

(creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit, 69k)

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

4. stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall

(creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit, 65k)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

5. His Only Defence by LunaCanisLupus_22

(graphic descriptions of violence, rape/noncon, explicit, 78k)

Stiles had just accidentally challenged an alpha.

Oh God, and Scott had just stood by and let him do it. He was the worst best friend ever. Stiles was going to kill him. Except, oh right, the alpha was going to kill him first. Like beyond dead, ripped into tiny little pieces dead. So far dead that his dad would not be able to identify him, dead.

6. The Quickest Way to a Man’s Heart (is Through His Bottomless Pit) by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit, 54k)

Pulling open his apartment door, he let out an involuntary shout when something was quite literally thrust into his chest hard enough to have him almost tip backwards. He managed to right himself while keeping hold of what had been shoved at him and looked up in time to see his neighbour striding back towards his apartment.

“You’re going to fucking kill yourself.”

His door slammed.

Stiles blinked at the other man’s door, utterly confused, and looked down at what he was holding.

It was a plastic bag, full of what felt like tupperware, which made no sense to Stiles because when had his neighbour broken into his house to steal his tupperware?

(SNYE - January 11th - Neighbours)

7. Northern Blues by kaistrex (weishen)

(no archive warnings apply, explicit, 40k)

When Stiles steps into the room that the Hale house has conjured for him to stay in, the first thing he sees is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second is a door in the right-hand wall.

Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross).

He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears.

“Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway.

8. Of Werewolves and Dolphins by Ilovesocks_24

(no archive warnings apply, Teen and Up, 53k)

Stiles, come on! It’ll be fun,” Scott said. “You can’t deny that seven days in the Caribbean on a cruise ship full of hot, single werewolves won’t be a good time.”

“Maybe for you,” Stiles said. “Because you’re tan and have a six pack. No one is going to talk to me at all. Also, fun fact: I’m not even a werewolf.”

“You don’t have to be a werewolf to come,” Scott said. “You just have to be twenty-one so you can drink. Or so hot guys can buy you drinks,” he added, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“No, thanks,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Go on without me, just send postcards with all the hot guys you meet.”

“They’re stopping in Cozumel,” Scott said. “It says here that you can swim with dolphins.”

“Did you say we could swim with dolphins?” Stiles asked, curiously. “Like the ones that do tricks at Seaworld?”

“That’s what swimming is,” Scott said, eyes gleaming.

“When do we leave?” Stiles asked.

Or the one where Scott convinces Stiles to go on a werewolf singles cruise. Stiles is really only going for the dolphins. Until he meets Derek.

9. Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex

(no archive warnings apply, explicit, 57k)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face.

Werewolf.

Stiles does the only thing he can.

“DAD!”

The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale.

-

When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

10. Ruin Me (Take Me Down) by xLostDreamsx

(underage, explicit, 50k)

Driving his teachers and his Dad crazy with his incessant trouble making, Stiles reluctantly accepts young college student Derek Hale as his ‘babysitter’, his Dad misguidedly believing he will be a positive role model to help guide him back to the straight and narrow.

Unfortunately for the Sheriff, he isn’t quite aware that Derek isn’t quite as up-standing as he appears and at the hands of his smart, young, manipulative son with a head full of ideas, his rather weak moral codes soon crumble.

Or put simply, Derek gives in to Stiles and things get hot and heavy pretty fast.

11. I've Got it Bad, Got it Bad, Got it Bad by RedRidingStiles

(underage, mature, 47k)

“Woah are those real?” Stiles found himself saying as he reached out and squeezed the man’s (it was a man and not a brick wall Stiles’ brain supplies) bicep which was bulging under the guy’s shirt. Stiles hasn’t even looked at the man’s face too preoccupied gasping at the tone muscles in front of him.

“Something tells me you’re the infamous Stiles.”

“Stiles, yes that’s my name, well it’s not really my name that’s too hard for anyone to pronounce so it’s just Stiles. Or you know, some colorful names the lower IQs of this place like to make up. But Stiles, you can call me Stiles.” Stiles rambles on, watching the man try to suppress a grin and failing. He has a gorgeous smile that made his bunny teeth present and his eyes crinkle and Stiles thinks he might be a little bit in love.

“Nice to meet you Stiles, why don’t you take a seat.” The man, Stiles doesn’t even know his name and he’s already starting to plan their wedding, says with a nod to the already full classroom. Stiles hasn’t even heard the bell ring. Huh.

“But I didn’t get your name,” Stiles replies.

“Mr. Hale, I’m your new English teacher.”

Fuck.

12. Lap Magnet by Prairie_Grass

(underage, explicit, 30k)

Wherein an ill-advised floral arrangement leads to a whole new definition of obliviousness, accidental mate-bonds, and far more sex and tropes than one fic really needs.

or

Five times Derek and Stiles didn’t notice how close they were (literally) and then a whole bunch of times when they did...

13. Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(no archive warnings apply, Teen and Up, 35k)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

14. Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(no archive warnings apply, Teen and Up, 81k)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Not too close, he bites.”

Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

“He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

“Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

15. To Each Their Own by SylvieW

(creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit, 32k)

Stiles agrees to become the owner of a werewolf with some very special needs. Derek has been abused for so long he’s nearly feral. Stiles has to find a way to gain his trust before Derek’s heat, or he could be put down.

16. Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(no archive warnings apply, Teen and Up, 68k)

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

17. (Fuck you they said) As they threw their threads from their wedding bed by dearericbittle

(no archive warnings apply, mature, 96k)

First Son Stiles Stilinski just accidentally caused an international incident. And apparently the only way to save human-werewolf relations is to marry him off to Prince Derek of Triskele. Stiles is going to need all of his acting skills to make the marriage look real, because the Prince is kind of a fucking asshole.

18. Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

(graphic descriptions of violence, explicit, 109k)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar.

Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

19. The Not So Beauty to Your Not So Beast by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Mature, 64k)

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski?”

All eyes instantly turned to Stiles and he felt his stomach drop. They’d taken his dad. They’d actually taken his dad and were here to tell him so.

“Yeah?” he asked in a small voice, feeling ready to be sick.

The second he spoke, two of the four regular guards moved through the rows, the lead guard speaking.

“By order of his Grace Peter Hale, you have been selected to begin your employ under the royal house of Hale.”

Wait.

What?

(SNYE - January 19th - Royalty AU)

20. Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

(creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit, 30k)

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

aaaand that's all for now! again, if you have sterek fics you love don't hesitate to let me know about them! my ask box should be open if you'd rather rec anonymously :) I'm in the process of making "my favorite 15k word or less teen wolf fics" and "my favorite smutty fics" so stay tuned for that. hope you enjoy!!

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fanfic #sterek fics #sterek fic recs #teen wolf fic

[the-whispers-of-death]

sarabi x biker!reader? 👀

Sarabi was driving along with his motorcycle, every inch of him covered as always. He was wearing an all-leather outfit, his face covered by his helmet with his visor down. He could feel the wind whipping through his clothes as he drove down the streets, adrenaline and thrill pumping through his veins.

Just as he stopped at a red light, he looked over and saw you. Your bike looked cool and so did your outfit, so he simply nodded in respect in your direction.

But you took that as a challenge, because how couldn't you? Sarabi was so much larger and taller, anyone who looked at him wanted to prove their worth by trying to best him.

So you started revving your engine while waiting for the light to turn green, egging him on to engage in a race.

It seemed to work because he revved back, determined to do this race with you. When the light turned green, Sarabi took off speeding down the streets with you not too far behind him.

The increase in speed sent even more adrenaline through him, but he didn't mind. He almost never drove like this, so it had been a while. He felt like he was on top of the world.

You revved your engine loudly when you started catching up to him and you whooped loudly when you sped past him. You reached behind you to give him a little wave.

Sarabi huffed, speeding up. He wasn't going to be left behind in the dust.

The race continued, you two weaving in and out of lanes, taking turns passing the each other. You two were both skilled at going fast, that was for certain.

The race came to an end when you pulled up into the plaza where your motorcycle clubhouse was located. You won the race, having passed Sarabi a while back.

Sarabi turned into the plaza with you, parking right beside you. "You're good," he murmured, his gruff voice being slightly muffled from the helmet.

You kicked the kickstand of your motorcycle down so you could dismount, taking off your helmet.

"I know. Thanks for the race," you replied, sighing now that your feet were on the ground. You gestured to the clubhouse in front of you. "You in this motorcycle club? I've never seen you before."

"Nah," Sarabi said, shaking his head as he glanced at the motorcycle clubhouse. "I'm not in any motorcycle clubs."

You snorted at that, but you supposed he seemed like someone who had a small group of friends. "Well that's a shame, riding's always better when you're doing it with a group." You smirked and grabbed out a card with the motorcycle club's name and information on it, handing it to him after writing your phone number on it. "Maybe you can join us, if you ever change your mind. We're always looking for new members and you seem like the type of man to fit in with us."

Sarabi took the card, looking at it. "I'll think about it," he answered, pocketing the card after a few seconds of looking at it.

"Right well, I gotta go inside." You stepped onto the side walk. "You have a good day now."

Sarabi nodded in response, watching you turn and head inside the clubhouse.

He didn't have time to join a motorcycle club, or at least that's what he always told himself. Granted, he also told himself he was going to stay in a loveless marriage and here he was, divorced.

Perhaps he should make more friends.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

#tyler's asks #tyler's inbox #tyler answers asks #answering asks #asks #shadow company #shadow company oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #shadow company oc: sarabi #call of duty oc: sarabi #cod oc: sarabi #cod oc x reader #cod oc x male reader #oc x reader #oc x male reader #male oc x reader #male oc x male reader #sarabi x reader #sarabi x male reader #call of duty #cod #cod modern warefare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #biker!reader #:)

[the-hinky-panda]

I’ve been really quiet lately and I’m sorry about that! I’ve been sick for three weeks and finally made it into the doctor’s to find out I’ve most likely had and am starting to recover from strep throat and now have a sinus and ear infection. But I have been writing and having some fun with @bullet-prooflove​ as I venture into the Mayan MC universe. So to prove that I have in fact been writing, here’s a sneak peek of what was supposed to be a one shot and well...now it’s not. 

Monsoons are incredibly beautiful and very dangerous. 

Everything starts when you see the small Audi hydroplane across three lanes of traffic and clip the back of a motorcycle, sending the bike and its rider sliding across the pavement. You’re out of your car and sprinting towards the prone biker before your brain catches up with your body. There’s another driver that has stopped and you turn towards them. 

“Call 911! Biker ejected on the roadway!” 

The driver nods and immediately gets on their phone. By the time the paramedics make their way through south San Diego traffic, you have the rider’s suspected broken leg splinted and his head and neck stabilized. He drifts out of consciousness but you manage to get his name. Angel Reyes. And promise to not let the paramedics cut his kutte off him. Unfortunately, that means when they load him into the ambulance, you are left standing in the middle of the highway, holding his leather Mayan vest in your hands. 

You know what hospital they’re taking him to so you go back to your car, sit in the traffic pile up from the accident and end up walking into the ER almost three hours later. Finding his friends is easy as there is a small gathering of men wearing similar kuttes with matching Mayan patches emblazoned on them. You return the vest to a man that introduces himself as EZ, Angel’s brother. Despite the tension of worry in the group, they all express their gratitude to you and your fast-thinking skills. You end sitting next to them as they wait for the doctor, between a tank of a man named Gilly and a thin, almost jittery man who introduces himself as Coco. 

The news is good: a severe bone bruise on his femur and minor whiplash. There were some minor fractures in his wrist but that is the worst of it. Thankful that the day ends on a positive note, you shake hands with the club members and head out to your car. Coco offers to walk you out to the parking garage, a show of thanks for your care and time. 

“So, how’d you know how to do all that?” he asks you when you get into the elevator. 

“I’m an ER nurse up in La Jolla. I also volunteer at a free clinic in Palm City near the Mexico border.” 

“You sound busy.” 

That’s an understatement. You had been valedictorian of your high school class, went on to Med School and your residency, dedicating yourself to your studies and career. What little spare time you had was spent at church with your family or volunteering at clinics, homeless shelters, or community events. “I am busy, yeah. You could say that.” 

He gives you a crooked grin when you reach your car. “Too busy for a little bit of fun?” 

You have no idea what he’s implying. Your religious upbringing and subsequent sheltering causes you to think the worst. “What kind of fun?” 

“There’s a community barbeque next weekend in Santo Padre. It’s not that far from Palm City. Would be nice to have Angel’s guardian angel be the guest of honor.” 

Guardian angel. Guest of honor. You laugh in mild embarrassment. “I don’t know if I would go that far but I do like barbecues.” 

He pulls out his phone. “You give me your number, I’ll give you the details.” 

It’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever done. But “fun” is something that you’ve never made time for and perhaps it’s time to change that. 

You give him your phone number. 

#update on Hinky #Mayans mc fic #johnny coco cruz #angel reyes #johnny coco cruz x reader #angel reyes x reader

[valyalyon]

2 Red Highway

Chapter 2 of RH just follows Rosalia as she interacts with LJ's gang, with a smut scene half way through. Hope everyone enjoys the scene <3 Previous Post | Next Post SEA Master List OR #LYONSEA DIVIDERS

Rosalia was similar to Lazarus in that they were both transient beings. They didn’t stick around anywhere for too long...

CW: mentions of gang interactions, descriptions of unprotected sex with MC on birth control, explicit language. dub con. MDNI. 1.9k words

...That was something that Rosalia always had a hard time reasoning with. She was always ready to leave places behind, but had kept a few close friends always in the know on her life.

Rosalia: leaving this new place behind, girls. Met somebody.

Celeste: you haven’t even been there a year. Is he hot, though?

Naomi: send cute pictures if you take any, please!

Rosalia never had a lot of things, so in her bag she only packed her favorite stuffed animal, some clothes, some panties, her toiletries in their own little bag. She grabbed her phone charger, her favorite house slippers, some socks, and some hair clips.

Lazarus was sitting on the porch of the house, smoking a cigarette.

She checked over all the items in her bag one last time, and when confident she wasn’t leaving anything important, she walked out of the house.

“That’s all you’re bringing?” Lazarus asked, putting his cigarette out on the porch railing.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t actually own any of the furniture in there… you know all these houses are already furnished for people to just move in and out,” Rosalia adjusted the bag on her arm, before Lazarus grabbed it off her shoulder and put it over his. “You don’t have to…”

“Come on, Rosie, we’re going to go meet up with my gang,” Lazarus spoke, ushering Rosalia down the steps of the porch and towards the motorcycle waiting on the curb.

“Lazarus… can we formally introduce ourselves again? My full name is Rosalia Diaz,” she held her hand out to him for him to shake.

He looked at her hand before he took it, “Lazarus James, Miss Diaz.”

He pulled her into a kiss, and then lifted her onto the motorcycle, helping her into a black helmet he had for her, “definitely not your color, I’ll let you get your own later, okay? But, this is going to be your temporary one.”

“You act like I’m a brat,” Rosalia protested, crossing her arms as she looked up at Lazarus.

“Yes,” Lazarus nodded, pointing at her current body language, “Anyway… my point about the helmet stands. But, it’s on properly now, I’m going to put the screen down.”

“Thank you, LJ,” Rosalia waited for him to hop on, and then wrapped her arms around his waist.

There was a very natural understanding between Rosalia and Lazarus. Rosalia wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to be — she didn’t understand all the rules or ideas behind being a Highway Girl — but, she knew she wanted to spend time with him.

Lazarus drove her along the Red Highway to another town, so similar to the one they had just come from. They pulled up to a strip club and there were about 25 men and 10 girls. Lazarus introduced Rosalia to everybody as “Rosie”.

“Rosie has agreed to be my girl, so all of you need to keep away from her. Don’t want anybody hitting on her,” Lazarus spoke and commanded attention when he did, everyone’s eyes glued to him.

Rosalia watched him, and then started saying hello to everyone. The group of bikers entered one of the strip clubs, and Lazarus slipped away with two other men.

The two men were Finnegan “Fox” and Daniel “Dog”, and their girls were named Fiona “Fifi” and Daisy “Duck”.

Rosalia was left alone with Fifi and Duck, and was trying to figure out if Daisy got the nickname just because of her name, “will I get my own nickname?”

“Yeah, the guys will probably decide later tonight,” Daisy smiled.

Daisy had stringy, uncared for blonde hair. Her eyes were a dark gray brown color, but she wore a tight fitted dress in light blue.

Fiona wore deep green knee-length dress, and had dark red hair that was wavy and knotted in some spots.

Rosalia often thought that maybe their names were tools for the men to keep them under control.

Whenever Rosalia called any of the girls by their real names, there always came a lot disgust and some disagreement from them. They didn’t like to hear their names.

“At some point, you’ll understand… Your name will remind you of a life you knew, but a life you will not get back if you leave here,” Fifi told Rosalia.

Here, I would like to insert a poem from future Rosalia:

The best part was she was right, I never got to go back, but, at The time, I thought there was Nothing to return to, so I was Ready to lose it all.

…

Lazarus had decided on her nickname being “Angel”. The name he enjoyed calling her so frequently was appropriated by the gang to speak to her in public, but Lazarus was content knowing her real name.

And, boy, did he use it.

When they left the gang that night, retiring into a little motel room in one of the many nameless towns, they started to have sex immediately.

Rosalia was getting fucked roughly on the edge of the bed, with Lazarus’ deep voice growling in her ear as he thrusted, “you’re so fucking tight, girl…”

“I… I can’t help it,” Rosalia moaned, clinging onto Lazarus desperately. She found him so sexy. Everything about him.

His beard, his dark hair, his dark eyes, his tall, muscular frame. His dark aesthetic, his lifestyle of running. She related to him, she wanted to be near him, she wanted to learn from him and grow at his side.

She knew she was putting a lot of faith into a criminal, into a man that was probably very capable of lying to her but… he had made a promise and Rosalia wanted so badly to believe that he was a man of his word.

She moved her hips along his cock, meeting every thrust, and then he pulled out and away suddenly, “I want to fuck you against that wall while you’re standing.”

“Yes, sir,” Rosalia said as she got off the bed.

Her long black hair was a mess from the last few minutes of wild sex, and her green eyes were full of desire. Her breasts were perky and excited, swelling from the feeling of being groped and sucked on.

He picked her up once she got to the wall, and started fucking her, bouncing her up and down along his cock. He would slide all ten inches in, then take them out and go back in. Every time he had Rosalia progressively louder.

Their chemistry was unmatched, with her body squeezing his cock just right, and their kisses never ending. They were obsessed with one another, horny and desperate for the other’s attention.

“Fuck, Rosalia,” Lazarus groaned, feeling the warmth, the pulsating home of his precious Angel, “you’re such a good girl, you know that, don’t you?”

Rosalia nodded her head, her moans intensifying with every thrust from Lazarus, “you’re massive, Lazarus…”

“But you do so good, Rosie… my Angel, you take it like a champ. Don’t slow down those hips,” Lazarus finally pressed Rosalia up against the wall, and spread her cheeks.

He spit on his cock and started slowly entering her, “I want to fill you up with my cum.”

“That sounds so risky,” Rosalia’s face was pressed up against the wall, her mouth open in a gasp, “I’m on birth control but…”

“Then it’s okay, isn’t it?” Lazarus asked, pumping his cock in a rhythm in and out of her, “look at the way you take me already. I want you…”

“You’re an old man and you want to cum inside my young pussy… you don’t see anything wrong with that?” Rosalia asked, her pretty, green eyes sparkling and staring up with a pout.

“No, the way I see it you were made for me,” Lazarus increased the speed of his thrusts, holding onto her hips with a tight grip, “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t. I just have a feeling you’ll really enjoy it once you’ve felt it.”

“One time… but only once. I don’t want it to be a habit,” Rosalia agreed, looking over her shoulder at the dark eyed man tearing her pussy apart.

He had such a hunger in those eyes, and once he was given her permission, he really doubled down. His thrusts got deeper, fuller, his cock throbbing with every movement.

She felt it all, trembling and crying out his name, “LJ… LJ… be careful with me…”

“I can’t,” Lazarus breathed hotly, pulling her face to be able to kiss her on the mouth, “I can’t… look at you, Rosalia. No matter what I do, everything’s going to hurt you. You’re tiny, cute and easily hurt.”

“Jerk,” Rosalia moaned, her hips still moving to meet every thrust of his.

“Don’t talk back to me, my Angel, I don’t want to hurt you even more,” he set his boundaries in the sand…

But Rosalia stepped over the line.

“I will talk back, you’re a fucking jerk…” she repeated in between choked moans.

Lazarus finished fucking her on the wall and then threw her back on the bed, getting on top of her and immediately continuing to fuck her.

Her pussy, with no breaks from his aggressive, large cock, was trembling in pain. Her cum was leaking out of her, and just as she was about to cum again, she felt Lazarus contracting inside of her.

And then, his massive cock shot his full load into her.

Rosalia was awestruck. The hot, creamy nut filled her tummy and warmed it immediately. Her mind was shocked at how amazing that moment had felt.

Lazarus groaned quietly as he came, kissing her on the mouth and then moving to kiss her neck and then her breasts.

As he finished cumming, he slowly pulled his cock out and made sure to pump a little more as he did, “I wanna make sure you get all of it,” he said.

Rosalia was holding her legs in the air as his cock finished popping out, and she glanced at him and then quickly down at her pussy.

The pretty pink lips were held open by her fingers, as she watched her vagina begin to squeeze out the warm cum.

Rosalia inserted her fingers and pushed the semen back in, swirling it around as she moaned.

Lazarus let out a breath, stood and cleaned himself, and then came back to her, “You better close those legs and stop swirling the cum around.”

“Why? Does it bother you?” Rosalia asked, eyebrows raised, staring at him as she poked the bear.

“Not at all, if anything it encourages me. And you said you didn’t want this to be a habit, so… you better calm down before I put another load into you,” LJ’s voice was harsh.

As Rosalia stared at him, she knew she should fear him. She couldn’t help but want to keep the fight going, though…

“You wouldn’t even try to put another load in me…” Rosalia muttered, looking up into his dark eyes.

Lazarus lifted his eyebrows, and nodded his head, “you’re begging for it… I get it, I get it. Flip over, I want to fuck you doggy.”

#smut #size difference #size k!nk #dark romance #dub con #creative writing #lyonsea #bluestlyon #original story #booklr #writeblr #literature

[mlwritersguild]

The Ballad of You and Me, by @gaussiansphere

Based on a prompt submitted by @their-destinys-writer: Kagaminette Biker AU, Marinette is the Biker.

AO3; 1960s AU, Rock Band AU, Bikers AU, Implied/Referenced Murder

Summary:

After meeting a mysterious woman at one of her band's gigs, Kagami can't make herself look away from what follows.

Fear is obsession is desire is love.

---

Kagami gave the bartender a quick nod and took a breath, slamming her drink back as quickly as possible before breathing out. The music of the club was suffocating—amplified guitar and bass echoing off the walls as the band on stage finished up their set. She motioned for another drink and slipped a small tip under her empty glass, before destroying the second shot as quickly as the first. Shaking her head slightly to clear the worst of the feeling, she opened her eyes to see Luka shaking his in disapproval.

"It's not even ten minutes until we're on, could you really not have waited just a bit longer to destroy your liver?"

"I never perform sober, it's bad form not to bring your best to a performance like this, and I do my best work when I've had the chance to relax..."

Luka was unimpressed, "You really think I'm buying that you can only sing when you're wasted?”

"First, I am not wasted, I am simply tipsy—the difference between the two is significant. Second, it helps me loosen up, which I have only accomplished now, no thanks to you."

He finally turned back with a sigh, "Whatever, as long as you're ready when we come on and the show gets done, I can't stop you. Just try and make this one your last one before the show, please?"

Kagami shrugged, "I'll do my best."

Kagami signaled the bartender for one last shot, which she downed with extreme prejudice before following Luka through the crowd, which even now was filling the whole room. The room wobbled slightly as she went forward, the mass of people pressing in on all sides.

The band on the stage started to wind down their set, as Kagami looked back to the bar, where a rough looking crowd of men was clustering on one side, their leather vests covered in patches. She nudged Luka and tilted her head towards them, “Look at those guys over there, staring down the girl across the bar.” She indicated a darked haired girl wearing a long, brightly-colored shawl “What do you make of them?”

He shrugged, “Eh, it’s bikers, what’s the big deal?” he paused, looking back between the girl and the gang, “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, here’s what I say: Not. Our. Problem. It’s all well and good to help a girl out, but not if that means brawling a dozen Hells Angels to get to her.”

Kagami turned up her nose, “I figured you’d say that. I suppose I’ll just have to ask Fel-” “No,” Luka interrupted, “You are not going to ask Felix for help, no matter how bad this seems. The last thing we need is to get kicked out and handed over to the cops after whatever he does.”

As if on command, their bassist appeared behind them, “I heard my name. I don’t suppose you happen to be talking about those fellows over there…” Kagami picked up on where he was going, “Yes, we actually were. I was wondering if you would be amenable to-” Luka slapped her on the back, interrupting her and sending her stumbling forward.

“We’re good, thanks.” He interjected. Felix shrugged, “If you’re sure, I suppose there’s nothing I can do.” He waited for Luka to momentarily turn to the stage, before he shot Kagami a wink and a sharp smirk. Luka turned back, seemingly sensing the silent message and shot Felix a disapproving look.

As they reached the edge of the stage, Adrien was already tuning his guitar on the sidelines, shooting them a quick smile before going back to his work. Nino, beside him, was anxiously tapping out a quiet rhythm on his drum sticks. 

“Look alive ladies,” Felix sauntered up the stairs, grabbing his bass off its stand and sliding its strap over his shoulders, “it’s game time.” Kagami and Luka followed, and as he went ahead, she slipped a small flask from her back pocket and downed it in one go, shaking off the liquor and smiling, “You heard the man, let’s show them what we’ve got.”

As the band took their places up on stage, Kagami looked out through the haze and bright lights to the bar on the far side of the club. The bikers were still there it seems, still seeming to gravitate around the poor woman, but without making much ground in the interim. Meanwhile, the girl at the bar turned from the bikers to her, locking her in place with her deep blue stare, even as the rest of the band began without her.

Closing her eyes, Kagami stepped up to the microphone stand.

---

Drink in hand and her band beside her, Kagami was back at the bar. Luka and Felix were at either side, Luka slowly sipping a gin and tonic while their bassist drank his ‘Cuba libre.’

Luka gestured to Felix’s drink with his own. “You know you can just ask the bartender for a rum and coke, right? It’s the same thing and it doesn’t make you look like a tool when you order it.”

Felix shook his head, “That’s a classic mistake, but just that—the rum and coke are just two simple ingredients shaken together. The Cuba Libre, on the other hand, is a far more sophisticated choice—it has lime. ”

Luka raised his voice in objection as Kagami looked on with half-hidden amusement, before her eyes drifted back to where the blue-eyed girl had been sitting. She had stepped out a few minutes before, still trailed by the bikers, who themselves had barely moved since the band had finished their set—always looming in the shadows, never striking.

She finished her drink and excused herself to her bandmates, who were now all embroiled in the cocktail debate—Adrien and Nino stepping in behind Luka and Felix respectively. She extricated herself from their rapidly closing circle, instead traveling to the door and taking a tentative step outside into the cool evening air.

There, leaning against the club’s brick wall, was the girl from before, smoking a cigarette as she looked out into the night. The streetlights dimly lit the parking lot ahead, where the bikers were clustered as before, staring the two down from afar.

The blue-eyed girl caught Kagami’s eye and smiled, beckoning her over and offering a cigarette. Kagami nodded and accepted it, letting her light it from her own embers.

“You were pretty good up there. It’s always nice to see new acts come up from time to time.”

“Thanks. Are you a regular?”

“Of a sort. Let’s just say I have a vested interest in the success of this club.” she extended her hand, “Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Kagami, likewise.” she paused, before lowering her voice and leaning in, “Look, I don’t mean to alarm you, but there are some men that I think have been following you. Just wanted to let you know if you hadn’t noticed. If you want help, my friends and I can try and do what we can.”

Marinette chuckled lightly, “You shouldn’t worry about them. They usually don’t cause any trouble unless ordered.”

Kagami raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Making Marinette smile, “Just trust me, if you don’t give them any trouble they won’t give you any. It was nice meeting you, Kagami.” She pulled the shawl off to reveal a leather vest, and fished through its pockets to produce an old receipt, before scribbling something on it.

She slipped it into Kagami’s hand, “I hope this isn’t the last time we meet either,” before turning to walk out to the bikers in the lot, her vest proudly emblazoned:

HELLS ANGELS

CALIFORNIA

---

Luka played a few experimental chords on his guitar, before pausing and playing them again with a slight tweak.

Across from him, Felix was tapping a pen on his notepad impatiently, “I think we should write something about the war, something faster than usual.”

Luka looked up at him and pointedly played another chord sequence, tweaked slightly again but in the same rhythm as before. 

Between them, Kagami was sitting at the head of the table, buried in newspapers and ignoring their latest spat. Sensing the two pairs of eyes boring down on her, she looked up, gathered her newspapers, and left the room, carting them up to her bedroom, where she spread them back out over her bed. She had pulled every issue of the paper from the last two years that mentioned the Hells Angels, and she was combing through them all.

Most seemed to be minor crime reports or local coverage, but every now and then an article would pop up with something more significant. A year ago, their clubhouse in Anaheim burned to the ground. Three months later, half the leadership of the chapter were found dead in a booth at their favorite bar, poisoned. The obituaries of the second half were scattered through the pages since—all supposedly accidental or self-inflicted.

One picture in particular caught her eye—a dark haired woman with piercing eyes peering from the margins of a photograph of a club scene. Kagami felt her pulse speed, and she pulled the picture closer. It was almost covered by the crowd, but she could just barely make out the leather vest on Marinette’s chest.

Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the note Marinette had given her—7:00pm, next Saturday night, and the name of a local club. 

---

Kagami puffed nervously on her cigarette, looking all around for Marinette to show herself. The Blue Toucan was doing plenty of business that night, as a steady stream of people passed her, coming and going. She caught Felix’s eye as she looked around—he shot her a devilish grin, patted the revolver hanging loosely under his jacket, and winked.

Sometimes she wondered why she agrees to bring him along to things like these. He always claims it's just in case, but from time to time she wonders if he’s just looking for a reason to scrap. It was nice, though, to have a friendly face in the distant crowd. When she mentioned that she was headed to a biker bar that night, Luka had given her such an incredulous look that she was surprised his eyes didn’t tumble out right then. 

Kagami had positioned herself just to the left of the entrance, where two burly men in leather were keeping the rowdier folks outside. There, she could look over the whole parking lot at once. It was only belatedly that she realized, as a long nail tapped her on the shoulder, that her date for the night wouldn’t necessarily be coming from outside. She nervously turned to Marinette, who offered her hand and gave a dazzling smile.

“You look good tonight—I’m glad you could make it.” As Kagami took it, Marinette nodded to the men at the door and pulled her inside.

The Blue Toucan looked like it had once been a tiki bar, but that past was long-covered by the current ownership and membership. Bike parts covered the east wall, some slightly charred, others bent out of shape, and more seemingly fine, while the opposite wall, sitting above the bar, was decorated with a mural depicting a stylized pyramid of skulls.

Marinette led Kagami there, where she ordered them both drinks—whiskey and vodka neat. Kagami nodded in appreciation as they watched the bartender make their drinks. “You’re a… fascinating woman, Marinette.”

She smirked a little, “Yeah? What makes you say so?”

“It’s unheard of for a woman to be admitted to the Angels, and yet you’re here.” Marinette nodded, raising an eyebrow, as Kagami continued, “It seems that they’ve had a very chaotic time recently, which might influence such things, no?”

“Perhaps it would. I certainly couldn’t tell you. Things have been peaceful since I’ve arrived.” The bartender came with both their drinks, and Marinette raised hers in a small toast. 

“Cheers, Kagami—I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Her heart thundering in her chest, Kagami raised her vodka and clinked it against Marinette’s before she downed half. Marinette took a sip of hers, and then another, as Kagami shook off the vodka’s burn. Taking a larger swig, Marinette rose and walked over to the jukebox in the bar, fiddling with a few of the buttons before returning and taking another drink. Feeling fainter than she looked, Kagami downed the rest of her vodka and looked her in the eye.

“Why’d you do it? Was this really worth it?”

Marinette chuckled, “Probably not to you. This life, like everything around it, is built on respect and efficiency. I did what needed to be done to be respected enough to do efficient business. No one respected me then—they do now.”

“It’s better to rule by fear than by love—the Prince, no?”

“But the wise ruler knows it is best to possess both. Tell me, Kagami, would you like to dance?”

As they rose, the jukebox clicked to a slower song, and Marinette took her hand in hers, placing the other arm on her shoulder. They turned slowly, bobbing in pace with the song as they navigated through the steps of the waltz. Kagami looked into her partner’s blue eyes—enchanting, haunting, and hungry—and felt her heart thundering.

Marinette led them in the dance, their feet gliding across the floor. As they turned, Kagami found herself standing below the pyramid of skulls. She leaned in and Marinette’s lips met hers.

They tasted like salt and iron. When she pulled back, a small trail of red ran from the corner of her mouth.

Kagami feared and loved her.

#ml writers guild #december event 2022 #gaussiansphere #miraculous writers guild #mwg #miraculous ladybug #kagaminette #marigami #kagami tsurugi #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fanfiction #mlb fic #mlb fanfic #ml fanfic #miraculous #ml fandom #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fandom #ml writer #miraculous writer #miraculous ladybug writer #ml writing #mwg events #ml fics #the miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #luka couffaine #felix graham de vanily

[colemonroe]

TASK 6.– character development sheet

Character Chart Character’s full name: Cole Michael Monroe Reason or meaning of name: While the name Cole didn’t have much significance to his mother, Michael most certainly did. Diana chose Michael as her son’s middle name as a tribute to her older brother and the man who would eventually become the first father figure Cole ever had. Birth date: April 14, 1985 Zodiac: Aries

Physical appearance Age: Thirty-seven Height: 6′1″ Body build: Athletic, toned Eye color: Blue Glasses or contacts: Not yet Hair color: Dirty blond Hairstyle: Almost always slicked back Voice: Slow, southern drawl characteristic of east Tennessee Overall attractiveness: Pretty fucking hot, I suppose?? Usual fashion of dress: Leather and denim. He’s almost always in a pair of worn out jeans, a simple t-shirt or flannel button down with his SOS cut overtop. For shoes…it’s always his beat up black cowboy boots. Jewelry or accessories: There’s a necklace he always wears that has a bullet that his uncle brought back from the Vietnam War and had engraved with “SOS,” for the Sons of Silence. On that same chain is a ring his mother used to wear before her passing. It’s a simple, silver band that bears the initials, “DEM,” Diana Elaine Monroe. It’s a way to keep both Diana and Michael close to him and he never takes it off. He also wears a collection of rings, most of which were gifted to him over the years. Most notable is the compass ring given to him by his sponsor when he patched into SOS to always remind him of truth north. Personality Good personality traits: Charismatic, determined, passionate, intuitive, protective Bad personality traits: Impulsive, aggressive, impatient, reckless Mood character is most often in: Contemplative Sense of humor: Light and inappropriate Character’s greatest joy in life: Being a Son Character’s greatest fear: His lifestyle bleeding over onto the people he loves Character is most at ease when: He’s on the open road or in the fighting ring. Most ill at ease when: In the middle of the unknown. Priorities: the Sons of Silence, his relationships, the autoshop, righting as many wrongs as he can. Life philosophy: The respect you give is the respect you’ll get. Character’s soft spot: Children Is this soft spot obvious to others?: Yes; about a year into his presidency, he enlisted the Sons in a worldwide biker foundation solely dedicated to battling and preventing violence against children. Greatest strength: His resilience  Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His rage Biggest regret: Not knowing how/being able to help his mother with her battle with addiction Biggest accomplishment: Being voted President of the Sons Character’s darkest secret: He murdered his father, Jeffrey Decker. Does anyone else know?: Yes…but only a select few for now. Goals Drives and motivations: Protecting those he cares about, furthering the aims of the club, endlessly pursuing a better version of himself Immediate goals: Find and crush the threat that’s shaking up the town Long term goals: Buy a plot of land, build a house, start a family, lock down more legitimate business ventures for the club Past Hometown: Knoxville, Tennessee Type of childhood: Chaotic, highly unstable. Diana often blew whatever money they had on drugs, and so Cole often had to physically brawl for money just so he could eat. First memory: Strangers always traipsing in and out of the small home he shared with his mother in Knoxville– now that he’s older, Cole knows that they were dealers, and possible lovers as well. Most important childhood memory: Unfortunately, it isn’t a positive one. When he was fifteen years old, he found his mother dead from a drug overdose. Her death catapulted Cole’s move to Tonopah– a move that ultimately reshaped the entire trajectory of his life. Dream job: Astronaut Present Current location: An airstream in Webster Village Currently living with: No one Pets: None Religion: Atheist Occupation: Mechanic Finances: Though his salary at the shop isn’t that impressive, he’s comfortable and quite the simple man— he doesn’t require much. Most of his cut from the MC’s gun running money is donated to Bikers Against Child Abuse. Family Mother: Diana Monroe Relationship with her: Cole’s relationship with his mother was incredibly complicated. It’s no secret that Diana was a negligent mother, and yet Cole adored her completely. He never lost hope that she’d one day overcome her demons and wished more than anything that he could have helped her– he just hopes that she’s finally at peace now, and it’s a thought that eats away at him often. Father: Jeffrey Decker Relationship with him: Up until November 2022, Cole had no idea who his father was– not even the slightest clue. He found out when his aunt gave him a lockbox that Diana had prepared for him. Inside, there were very revealing, very damning letters, and a paternity test linking him to Jeffrey Decker. About a month later, he confronted Jeff and after a brief, heated exchange, Cole killed him. Siblings: Shepherd Decker ( @shepdecker ) & Sawyer Decker ( @sawyerdecker​ ) Relationship with them: Cole found out he was half-brother to the Deckers whenever he found out about Jeff, but he’s known both Shepherd and Sawyer for years. He’s never had much of a relationship with either of them– with Shep being a cop and Cole being an outlaw, there’s never been much room for personal growth…although Cole is hoping to change that line. As for Sawyer, they’d probably said only thirty words to each other in the past– another thing Cole is hoping to change. Favorites Color: Blue Music: Country and classic rock Food: Low country boil Form of entertainment: Cole loves clubhouse parties and going to boxing matches. Mode of transportation: His 2010 Harley-Davidson Fatboy Lo Most prized possession: A toss-up between the necklace described earlier and the patch on his cut that bears the road name, “Indiana,” that was given to him by one of the kids protected through BACA. Habits Hobbies: Boxing, bare-knuckle fighting, cooking, fixing things, playing pool Smokes: Like a chimney. Marlboro Reds. Drinks: Yes— prefers Tennessee whiskey, no ice. Other drugs: Marijuana on occasion, everything else is off limits. Extremely skilled at: Fighting, hustling pool, poker, marksmanship Extremely unskilled at: Waiting, public speaking Nervous tics: He’s a chainsmoker whenever he’s nervous, also tends to pace like a motherfucker. Mannerisms: Typically calm, cool, and collected in his interactions (until he’s pushed), tends to make gestures with his head more often than his hands. Cole tends to communicate best through physical touch, not spoken word. Traits Optimist or pessimist?: Neither…Cole’s typically a realist. Introvert or extrovert?: Extrovert, to a degree. Daredevil or cautious?: Daredevil Logical or emotional?: Both?? Depends on the situation. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: Methodical and neat Prefers working or relaxing?: Working Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Confident Animal lover?: Very much so Self-perception How he/she feels about himself/herself: Cole is quite firm in his beliefs and is usually rather confident, but he can also be his own worst enemy. Sometimes, it’s very hard for him to face himself in the mirror, but he usually tries to keep that struggle to himself. One word the character would use to describe self: Resilient What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?: His intuition What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?: His impulsivity How does the character think others perceive him/her: He doesn’t care, to be honest. What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: The way he leaps before he looks. Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: Cole’s typically wary of someone until he gets to know them, but he really tries not to judge a book by its cover because he hates when people do that shit to him. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others?: Depends on who he’s around. He won’t ever hide his opinion, but is definitely selective with his emotions. Person character most hates: Paul Slinger (former SOS president) Best friend(s): Nate Donovan ( @nathanial-donovan ), Joel Brooks ( @joel-brooks ), Riley MacNally, Taliah Tezel, Mayra Rojas Love interest(s): Cassie Donovan ( @ccassie ) Person character goes to for advice: Joel Brooks Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Sons of Silence and friends of the club. Person character feels shy or awkward around: No one, really Person character openly admires: Taliah Tezel Person character secretly admires: Alexander Morales ( @runningincirclesx ), Gabriel Knox

#tfhq.task006 #( inspo. ) #( development. ) #yes i know this is super late #love me anyway

[p0stmortem]

What ARE your thoughts on cat woman?

Hmm... where to begin, ill start off saying ive only scratched the surface with my batman media so bare with me lol

Big novel under the cut, enjoy

Catwoman/Selina has alway made me mad even when I knew nothing about her. I think we all know that for the most part shes simply an eye candy piece that sticks to batmans side every once n a while.

Her designs have always been impractical gimp suits that air seal to her body and her story changes to whatever fits best next to bruce. Sometimes shes a sex worker of color dealing with poverty and corruption, sometimes shes... a white night club owner apart of the highest social ladder but only because the writer wanted scenes where Selina clings onto bruces arm for dear life. What the fuck ever right? Not even going to get into the casual racism of such a writing decision.

Personally, for me Catwoman has always been a character who is queer, a minority, and impoverished. In the face of super villians like the joker, twoface, penguin, and the mob families, Catwoman is just a person. She doesn't have the money to carry herself out of shit, she doesn't have second chances, she is literally just a person and thats what makes her interesting to me as a character in the batman universe. If shes caught, shes not going to Arkham asylum shes just going to prison.

Going back to design, her classic sleak leather suits and high heels have alwayyysss pissed me off. Shes supposed to be a stealthly theif and a seasoned fighter. Batman 2022 had the right direction by turning her usual tight suit into biker gear and a cut beanie but I was fucking wicked when I saw her fingerless gloves and lovely stiletto nails. Selina cant afford to get caught and you give her an outfit where she can leave fingerprints? absolutely devastating.

Going forward, I asked myself what I would do if I were to write Ms Kyle myself and heres what ive cooked up:

Regarding how this seperate persona is born, I really dont think Selina is looking for big press. She doesn't want to have a flashy name given to her. Sometimes shes written to demade Gothams attention but thats something I can't imagine coming from someone who is mainly doing this shit to survive ykno? Piggy backing off of this: it makes sense for her to cover her identity thoroughly... this means there is no "Catwoman" but maybe at most a "Cat burglar" or "Catman".

An impoverished woman of color will know first hand that the best defense is not letting anyone know you're an impoverished woman of color. I think Selina goes through the trouble to dress as masculine as possible, espcially when the police, Batman, and Gotham have eyes on her. A secret persona wherein Selina presents as a man? Is that a metaphor on the horizon? I think so!

Basically 2022 riddlers big ass coats belong to her now. Show some skin white boy!

#anonymous #thanks for asking. word blasts you.

[our-flag-means-death-ao3feed]

On my honor, I will do my best

by HighlyExplosiveContent

"Oh! You're from the Octopuses scouts? I’m Stede Bonnet, of the Woodpecker club!" The man named Stede shoves his open hand out to Izzy, who looks at him like he just shat in it.

Ed steps forward. "Yup. The Octopuses.  That’s us," he says smoothly, ignoring Izzy’s displeased growl.

Stede grins, wide and brilliant. "I uh, don’t suppose you're here for the… The hike? Actually I’m supposed to be meeting with my colleague, but he hasn’t shown up yet and I fear he might be quite delayed."

---

Stede Bonnet is on his very first overnight hike as a scout leader when he happens upon four leather clad bikers seated right in his camping spot. Ed is bored and looking for something to catch his interest. Lucky him that this something shows up in the middle of the woods.

Words: 8094, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, Alma Bonnet, Louis Bonnet, Israel Hands, "Calico" Jack Rackham

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet

Additional Tags: camp leader Stede, Biker gang Ed, ed goes undercover, Humor, incorrect scout procedures, Nature, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death, nothing too graphic, Flirting, Ed is very capable but maybe not in a scout way, incorrect gang dynamics

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/41624397

#Our flag means death #ofmd