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teenidlegirl · 5 months

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꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝓝𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝓓𝐎𝐎𝐑 .ᐟ

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ biker!miguel 𝓍 fem!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ a charming guy with a bike moves next door. you two embark in an interesting connection which becomes something much more.

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ modern!au, neighbors to lovers, fluff, sprinkle of angst, tension, swearing, pet names, smut, references of sex, implied short reader, hispanic/latina!reader 【 mdni 】

( ꯭♡︎ ) ˖ ࣪ . love note ˒˒ this idea randomly popped in my head while listening to “outside” by calvin harris.

the u-hual truck and several boxes on the curb. a new neighbor moving in, specifically next door to you. that house has been empty for some time and seeing it finally being occupied was a sight. looking through the blinds, you couldn’t see the new neighbors but only the two move-in guys. there seems to be a bike barked in the driveway, a black duacti to be exact.

oh now that is intriguing.

your new neighbor is a motorcycle rider. the bike is quite beautiful. your dad would be hella jealous since he adores ducatis. since there is a bike, where is the owner? scanning the area for the possible owner, a man dressed in all black with motorcycle jacket approached the u-haul truck to grab a big box that seems way too heavy to carry. but it seems the guy is a gym fanatic due to his bulky structure.

holy shit.

the dude is handsome as fuck.

dark chocolate locks along with some very visible strong cheekbones even from this distance. not only is he bulky as hell but also extremely freakishly tall. goddamn the man is probably over 6 feet. the move-in guys are only up to his collarbone and they are pretty tall themselves. this dude is a giant most likely.

this man is your new neighbor?

well fucking hell.

lifting your finger off from the blinds, you step away from your window to resume your day. although, it would be difficult to concentrate on anything since your mind is infiltrated with images of your new neighbor. you’ve never even met the guy and yet he’s all you could think about. get your shit together.

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you were returning home from work. pulling up into your driveway, you spot your new neighbor in his garage cleaning his bike. slowly getting out of your car, you sneak at glance at him without being suspicious. well, you’re wearing your black cateye sunglasses so nobody could tell if you’re looking directly at them or not. grabbing your purse and locking the car, you decide to introduce yourself.

fuck it, why not.

walking up his driveway to the garage, your ears were filled with music. the speaker be blasting linkin park. good music taste he has, definitely noted. he seems to not acknowledge your upcoming arrival since he’s too concentrated on cleaning his bike with a rag. now he must’ve acknowledge your presence as the corners of his lips curl up into a little smirk.

“ducati. badass.” you comment, stopping only a few feet from him so you don’t invade his space.

he let out an appreciative hum. “panigale v2.” his eyes never tear from the bike as he continues cleaning it with the black rag.

your eyebrows slightly raise in surprise. “my dad would be jealous. he used to own one but had to sell it to buy a car.” you cross your arms over your chest, obscuring him through your sunglasses.

“poor guy but understandable.” he wipes down the last bit of the bike before putting the rag away in a bucket next to him. “so which neighbor are you?” he never looks up at you as he starts scrubbing the front tire with a small black scrubby.

“next door to the left.” you tilt your head a bit to the side, digging your hands into the back pockets of your denim jeans.

“oh so you’re the one with the loud dog.” the guy couldn’t resist a smirk, sensing your light glare.

“not my fault he misses me.” you shrugged.

a low chuckle escapes his lips. “maybe you should be home more often.”

you look at him dumbfounded by his joke but you play along since it’s fun. “if only work was that easy. plus, he’s a husky, they’re criers.” that earns you another chuckle from him.

“what’s his name?”

“shane.”

you watch one of his thick eyebrows quirk upwards. “that’s an interesting name for a dog but it’s cool, quite unique.” after scrubbing the last bit of the tire, he drops the scrubby into the buckle, stands up from the little stool and turns to face you.

goddamn — he’s even taller than you thought. you have to crane your neck all the way up just to look at him. and dear lord this man is just pure muscle. the black shirt he’s wearing looks so tight on him that it acts more like a compression shirt. those broad shoulders stick out heavily, so mouthwatery. and that motherfucking waist, damn it’s so slutty that it’s a crime to have it that pinched. a damn greek god.

him on the other hand, traces your figure with his eyes. shit those denim jeans hug your thighs so perfectly, a little too tight to be honest which makes his chest warm. although, he was taken aback by your sunglasses, concealing your face that he desperately wants to see.

cleaning his hands with a clean rag, he walks up to you reaching out a hand to shake. “i’m miguel.”

you push your sunglasses on top of your head before taking his hand and gently shake it. “[y/n].” a little smile gracing your glossy lips with a head tilt.

miguel’s pupils dilate drastically from your face reveal. wow — you are very attractive, beautiful in fact. those gorgeous irises staring into his own and glossy lips that taunt him.

his pretty neighbor.

and he, your handsome neighbor.

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“fuck!” you slap the stirring wheel. the car isn’t working. just fucking great, now you’re gonna be late for work and your boss is gonna murder you.

well this is a shitty fucking day. first you slipped coffee over your cute white blouse, now your car is broken. a lot groan of frustration escapes your lips as you rest your forehead on the wheel.

your frustration didn’t go unnoticed by a set of brown eyes from next door. miguel was preparing to leave for the gym until he saw you shouting inside your car. he couldn’t help but smile in amusement watching you getting pissed off. the sounds of the failing engine answered his question. he watches you get out of your car and slam the door, a few curses in between spanish and english escaping your lips. resting his helmet on the bike, miguel slowly walks over with arms folded across his chest.

“dead engine?” he asks, head titled a bit.

a sigh of frustration escapes you, rubbing the temples of your forehead with one hand while the other rests on your hip. “yeah so now i’m gonna be late for work. chingado…” you rest your lower back against the car, not meeting his gaze.

“i can give you a ride.” miguel suggested, his eyes analyzing your expression and body language.

you shook your head. “no it’s fine. i’ll just take an uber.” you pull out your phone from your back pocket to open up the app but a large hand snatches your phone. “hey! what the fuck man—“

“you don’t need an uber. i’ll take you, end of discussion.” miguel turns around and walks back to his bike, your phone in his hand.

“dude—“ you groan, rolling your eyes. well, you don’t have any other option since he took your phone. letting out another sigh, you follow him to his garage. “can i at least have my phone back? i promise i won’t take an uber.” you cross your arms with ahead tilt.

he stares at you for a moment to see if you were lying or not. then, he hands back your phone which you take very swiftly and put in back in your pocket, making him smirk. miguel walks over to a shelf with a collection of helmets and grabs a red one. he walks back to you and hands you the helmet.

“you ever ridden one?” he asks as he puts on his gloves then his helmet.

“just once with my cousin but that was years ago.” you move your hair out of your face and put on the helmet. it’s quite big on you, considering it’s his so of course it’s big. luckily it has straps for adjustment. now it fits a little better, still loose but better.

he only responds with a low hum.

walking up to the bike, a moment of realization hits you. it’s a big bike, well, all motorcycles are big. maybe it’s because your small and short as fuck.

how the fuck are you gonna get on that thing?

“need some help?” his baritone makes you snap out of thought as if he knew.

“well…” you didn’t even get finish your sentence when you felt his hands on your waist and suddenly lift you up to place you on the bike, making you gasp as you instinctively hold onto his biceps as support. your reaction earns a low chuckle from him.

“you could’ve warned me, cabrón.” you shoot him a glare as you swing one leg over the bike so now you’re straddling it, shifting a little to be comfortable.

those brown irises land directly on your thighs. they got thicker and plumper when you sat down. his mouth instantly watered at the sight. thankfully for his helmet, you couldn’t see his stupid expression. without answering back, he gets on the bike. miguel lowers the shield of his helmet then grips onto the handlebars, clenching those gloved hands.

“scoot a bit closer.” he said, head turned to the side where he sees your from the corner of his eye.

you look dumbfounded at his request. is this dude serious? since you don’t obey, miguel reached behind and grabs under your thighs, pulling you closer until your chest is against his back. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the sudden motion. not gonna lie, your stomach did a summersault. now your face slightly flushed. you lower the shield of the helmet to hide it. at first you were hesitant to touch him but you have no other choice. very slowly, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his broad back. miguel can sense your hesitation, making him smirk underneath his helmet. gripping the handlebars once again, he turns his head to the side.

“hold on tight, chula.” he said so mischievously before turning on the engine and slowly start driving out of the garage then onto the road.

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so your growing friendship with your neighbor was interesting. is it even friendship? to be honest, it’s unclear what you two have. maybe an acquaintance since you’re simply neighbors. however, it feels more than just that. a strange bond between you two. but things got a little heated when you popped by while he was cleaning his bike, for the millionth time.

it was a hot day so you decided to wear a yellow summer dress. walking over to his opened garage, music blasts in your ears but you don’t mind. you’re a big music lover yourself. it’s the weeknd this time. this dude got great music taste. two of your favorite artists, linkin park and the weeknd. two things you have in common, definitely noted.

your pupils dilate drastically at the sigh of your neighbor. he wears a black wife beater that reveals his muscles so perfectly. holy fuck — he is built. each outline of his muscles is visible to the eye. but what makes your knees weak is those fucking gray sweatpants that hang below his waist.

fuck — he definitely chose that outfit on purpose.

snapping out of those horny ass thoughts, you approach him with crossed arms. “how many times do you clean that damn bike?”

miguel snorts, a little smirk gracing those plump lips of his. “gotta keep it perfect.” he uses a navy blue rag to wipe the front of the bike, sitting on a tiny stool.

“alright, mr perfectionist.” sarcasm at its peak but doesn’t affect him, only making him chuckle.

“at least i don’t have bird shit.” he teases.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “i haven’t had the chance to get a car wash. work has been up my ass lately.” you want to slap off that growing stupid smirk on his face so badly. ugh this motherfucker.

“i could clean it for you, chiquita. all you have to do is ask. but of course, there’ll be a price.” a mischievous smirk illustrating his face as he glances at you. his eyes widen a bit at your dress. how pretty you look in it, yellow definitely suits you.

“ugh as if i would ever pay you, no thank you.” so sassy but he likes that.

he gets from the tiny stool. “just saying, chiquita.” miguel walks over to the counter to grab some stuff.

you roll your eyes once again before walking over to his bike. it’s a really gorgeous bike, so polished and clean. you’ve only seen the classic red ducati so seeing a black is a surprise but a cool surprise.

you decide to sit down the edge of the seat, your feet dangling since you’re so short. the cold metal hitting against your skin of your exposed legs, making you shiver a little at the cold sensation.

turning around, a small smile crept onto his face when he sees you sitting on the bike. walking back, miguel grabs the little stool and placed it down in front of the back tire. he sits back down, right next to your left leg as he begins scrubbing the tire.

while he continues cleaning, you glance around his garage. bunch of car supplies and cleaning equipment. not much decor other than the shelves of plastic black boxes. you realize the entire garage glows under warm lighting. it’s golden hour. turning to face the driveway, you’re greeted with the bright vibrant sun shining down on you. luckily you have your sunglasses so you put them over your eyes. you relish the delicious warmth of the sun, leaning back a little on the bike.

a refreshing breeze passes by, making your hair flow gracefully in the air. but your hair isn’t the only thing affected by the wind. the skirt portion of your dress flows. as miguel’s eyes tear away from the spot he was cleaning, he noticed your dress flowing in the wind a little too freely as it flows upwards revealing your pastel yellow panties underneath. his eyes widen at the sight as he felt his face grow hot, hints of pink staining his cheeks. miguel quickly looks away when you look back, painting a neutral face as if he didn’t just see your panties.

“bitch ass wind.” you murmured in annoyance, flattening down your dress, fully unaware of the peeping tom next to you. glancing down at miguel, you noticed the slight hint of pink on his face, making you quirk an brow. “what’s up with you?”

while trying to remain normal despite the image of your panties infiltrating his mind, he brushed it off so casually. “the sun, it’s too much.”

you stare at him for a moment then decide to let it slide with a hum. it’s true, standing under the sunlight for a while makes you feel hot. one time you went to the beach, even with sunscreen yet you still got burnt. you understand him.

after some time, miguel finishes and puts the cleaning supplies back on the shelves. when he turns around and walks back, you’re still sitting on the bike as if it were yours. the sight makes him smirk.

“comfortable much?” he stands beside you, bulky arms crossed over his chest.

“surprisingly, yeah it is.” you glance down at your seat then back up at him. you’re taken back by how close he was, literally right next to you. he towers you so easily, even when you stand. your eyes instantly land on his arms, his muscles flexing. goddamn he’s so built it’s insane. thank god for your sunglasses but for some reason he can tell you’re staring by the smug look on his devilish handsome face.

you then decide to hop off the bike and walk back to your house without looking back. “later, guapo.” the skirt of your dress sways along with your hips, making miguel feel hot and bothered at the sight.

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since that day, miguel hasn’t been the same. those repeated images of your panties infiltrated his mind a like damn plague. no matter what he was doing or where he was at, those images haunted him to the point of insanity. don’t even ask what he does at night because it very obvious. jacking off in his bed, moaning and whimpering like a little bitch. bro was so horny that he felt embarrassed and ashamed for thinking about his neighbor like that.

curse the fucking wind that day.

like you said, “bitch ass wind.”

oh and don’t even start with his weird ass behavior afterwards. miguel started avoiding you like a virus. bro was so down bad for you that he couldn’t even stay in the same room with you. he tried to be like his normal self but low-key he was going insane. not only because of the pantie flash but really because miguel likes you. the sassy, sexy diva energy radiating from you he adores a lot. he couldn’t get you out of his mind. all miguel thought about is you.

you, on the other hand, were confused by the sudden silent treatment. whenever you would visit his place, the garage was always closed. you’d knock or ring the doorbell but no answer. when you did see him, miguel was already drifting off on his bike. not gonna lie, you were a bit butthurt by the sudden distance. did you do or said something wrong? did you make him feel uncomfortable? millions of negative thoughts ran through your mind, wondering the cause for miguel's distance.

after some time, you demanded some answers.

his garage was open for the first time in two weeks. although, miguel isn’t nowhere to be found. his bike is parked so it means he’s home, probably dealing with something inside. while waiting for him, you wander around the garage looking at his stuff.

returning from his room, miguel stops in his tracks the moment he sees you. oh fuck — the woman who’s been plaguing his mind for two weeks stands in his garage only for one reason; and that reason scares him. he nervously glups as he watches you turn around. shit — you’re wearing the damn yellow dress again; the dress that accidentally flashed you.

“hey. what the hell is up with you? you’ve been avoiding me like some fucking plague. did i do something wrong?” you walk towards him, brows furrowed in a concern manner.

ah shit — he knew this would happen.

“no. i’ve just been busy with work.” miguel walks past you, heading towards one of the shelves of supplies. he can feel his heart beating fast, feeling anxious, and his palms growing clammy.

you follow him with a disbelief look on your face. “clearly i did something wrong because we haven’t talked or hung out in two weeks.”

shit shit shit.

now his heart is racing fucking wild. how the hell is he supposed to tell you? he can’t even look at you in the eye, too embarrassed and ashamed.

okay now you’re worried, or confused, or both to be honest. his strange behavior is now getting on your nerves. you notice his clenched fists at his sides, repeatedly opening and closing. you walk around him so you could stand beside him, almost in front.

“dude — what’s going on?” you sound genuinely concerned, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

just as your lips part open to say something, only a gasp spills from your lips as miguel grabs you by the waist and pushes you back against the ledge of the counter. his chest close contact with your face, both of your bodies pressed together leaving no space, sandwiching you between him and the counter. your hot and heavy breaths fill the air between you. very slowly, you nervously look up at the man who towers over you. both of his hands rest on your waist with a firm grip, gently grouping the dip of it. pure lust in those beautiful brown irises of his.

‘oh fuck me’, you thought to yourself.

your body tenses as he leans down towards your ear. “do you have any idea what you do to me? these past two weeks has been torture for me. all i could think about was you and those cute yellow panties you wore with that exact same dress you’re wearing right now.” he ends it with a squeeze to your waist.

oh fuck — his husky voice sends shivers down to your core, making your face flushed. he was thinking about you this entire time? now that’s a mindfuck. your heart skips a beat at his seductive confession. your chest heaves, breathing heavily.

does it make things worse the fact you’re wearing those exact panties right now?

“all i wanna do is ravish you. run my hands over your gorgeous body. bury my face in between those delicious thighs and make you cry from pleasure. scream my name until you can’t remember anything.” his hands slowly run up and down your sides, making you shiver at the sensation.

you can’t help but whimper at his words. god is this really happening? your handsome neighbor, who’ve you been secretly crushing on, wants you. fuck — you can feel your clit pulsating in anticipation.

“mig-miguel…” you softly moan.

“por favor, hermosita. let me have you, worship you.” miguel couldn’t help but start kissing your neck, right on the sweat spot which makes you whimper.

your arms slowly trail up his body until you wrap them around his thick neck, gripping the ends of his hair, making him pull back to look at you.

“worship me, miguelito.” lust laced in your tone.

his eyes darken, pupils dilating at your words. fuck the nickname hits him hard, sending jolts of pleasure down to his dick. he feels himself growing tight in his pants, a bulge forming. without hesitation, miguel smashes his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. god both of you have been waiting for this moment. you guys are practically eating each other’s faces. his tongue sneaks in, licking your lips for access which you gladly accept. a shared moan echoes in the air between you as you explore each other’s mouths. you dig your fingers into his dark chocolate locks while his hands roam your body, groping your curves.

without warning, miguel lifts you up by the waist and plants you on the counter. a soft gasp spills from you when you felt the raging bulge in his pants against your clothed core. while indulging in your heated makeout session, you feel a large hand slowly trailing up your legs towards your inner thighs. your breath hitches when you feel his fingers brushing against your panties, lightly rubbing your clothed core. another hand gently groping one breast. muffled soft moans spill from yours which eggs miguel on. he can’t take it anymore. grabbing underneath your thighs, he lifts you up and carries you out of garage and into his house. he shuts the garage door with a remote on his way inside.

as much as he wanted to take you on the floor of his garage, miguel wanted your first time together in a more comfortable setting.

and holy fuck — you’ve never orgasmed so many times in your life. he pull one after another from you, leaving you breathless and fucked out. also, probably the biggest dick you’ve ever taken. bro filled you up to the motherfucking brim, you’re on the pill so it’s fine but still risky (condoms are better).

and the aftercare, oh my god miguel is the sweetest man. such a gentleman, being sweet and caring towards you. made sure you were okay, getting anything you needed. gentle touches to make sure he doesn’t overwhelm you, whispering praises.

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ever since that night, you started dating.

y’all were fucking almost everyday.

one time, you rode him on his bike. yeah you read that. his garage was filled with your moans, echoing in those four walls. you holding onto his shoulders for dear life while riding the shit outta him. that was a fantasy come true for miguel, fucking you on his bike. oh he was a happy, horny camper. of course the garage door was closed so no one could see you two horny fucks. although, miguel wouldn’t mind people seeing you getting fucked so good by him, to make other men jealous and boost his ego.

the next time was on the floor of his garage. as much as you disliked the cold hard feeling of the floor, you were too cock drunk to care. another one of miguel’s fantasies coming true.

then it was in each other’s bedrooms, mostly miguel’s because he loved having you in his bed. one night after coming from your highs, both of you a panting and sweating mess, you stare up at the ceiling. miguel turns to look down at you, his eyes analyzing your expression.

“what are you thinking?” he was still a bit breathless, caressing your cheek with one hand.

your eyes remain glued to the ceiling. “i think we should just move in together at this point. it’s kinda stupid we’re together yet live in separate houses.”

a smile graces his lips at your confession. “then move in conmigo.” his smile grew wilder when he watched you turn quickly to look at him.

“my house is nicer, plus i have a pool and you don’t.” you shoot him an unimpressed look.

a low chuckle escapes his plump lips which makes your heart flutter. “vale vale, you win. demonio.” miguel continues caressing your cheek, relishing your soft skin against his palm. he nuzzles in your neck, planting butterfly kisses on your warm skin while his hands gently grope your curves.

you let out a satisfied hum as you run your fingers delicately through his dark chocolate locks. the both of you relax in bed, embracing each other.

you love your next door neighbor biker boyfriend.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖ ࣪ ༘ @loser-alert @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @eatalyy @primroselovessupernatural @ghost-lantern @gaygerthelame

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓞𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 .ᐟ #biker!miguel #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #oneshot

444 notes · View notes

cobaltperun · 1 day

Note

Can I request the motorcycle scene!? I need it!!😩🙏🏻

Biker Girl

Cairo Sweet x Female (GP!) Reader (Request) (Smut - minors do not interact)

Basically Genius 11.5

Story Masterlist

Word count: 1.5k

You were in your garage, checking to see if you had everything with you. Cairo said she wanted to go for a ride and that she’d meet you at your house, which was a bit unusual, but you figured she wanted to stretch her legs a bit, and it wasn’t that long of a walk to get from her house to your own.

You finished putting your elbow guards and made sure you were comfortable before taking your helmet.

The doors of your garage opened and Cairo came in just as you were about to put your helmet on, you turned to look at her, the wide grin on your face turning into confused frown. “Baby, I know you like seducing me, but you know I won’t let you ride it unless you’re properly dressed,” you still swallowed the lump in your throat. Those denim shorts were going to be the death of you, and her blouse hugged her figure perfectly.

Cairo smiled seductively and caressed your cheek as she straddled you. “You misunderstood, I want a different kind of ride,” she whispered right in your ear and your eyes widened and in any other situation you would have winced at the sound of your helmet falling onto the floor.

“Oh, that,” you remembered what she said she wanted to do, and well, Winnie still reminded you of it occasionally, just to mess with Cairo.

Her thumb brushed against your lips and her gaze softened. “I know it’s sudden, we don’t have to do anything,” she assured you, but instead of answering, you pulled her closer, your hands grabbing her ass as you kissed her deeply.

She moaned as your tongue slipped into her mouth and began grinding against you as her hands slipped under your jacket. She didn’t want to strip you off anything, she wanted you like this, because damn, you looked so hot right now.

“Well, I did say I’ll grant your every wish,” you muttered turning the engine on.

Cairo felt her heart beating rapidly, she’s wanted this ever since she first thought of having sex with you. She hastily stripped off her blouse and bra and stood up, turning away from you and in a tantalizingly slow way, while lightly swaying her hips took her shorts and panties off. “So,” she looked back at you over her shoulders and noticed you were clenching your fists. “Are you going to make me cum all over your motorcycle?” she challenged you as she once again straddled you. The vibrations of your motorcycle sent shivers down her spine, but it was nothing to the pure eroticism of the situation she was in. Completely naked, bare on your lap while you had all of your clothes on. Fuck, she needed you inside her.

You nodded, recognizing the desperation in her eyes as a signal to be quick. You twisted your body a bit, moving until you could push your hand between the two of you and insert a finger into her pussy. “So wet and I barely touched you,” you teased her.

“I came before I left my house,” she confessed, though it felt much better when you were the one making her cum. You huffed, moving until her ass was touching the fuel tank while you supported her weight with your arms.

“You want it? Take it out,” you had to make sure not to lean all of her weight on the tank, so you couldn’t exactly use your hands for anything other than holding Cairo up. She unzipped your jeans while kissing your neck and you shuddered when you felt her fingers on your cock. She took it out of your pants, removing them just enough for you to be comfortable and stroked it, moaning into your ear as your head pressed against her clit.

“Are you going to wreck my tight pussy? Hmm? Cum deep inside me, fill me up and then fuck me again?” she dragged her tongue to your ear and bit lightly and you didn’t need to see her face to know she was smirking at how hard you were getting. You leaned your forehead against her shoulder, breathing in her intoxicating scent. “You know how much I love when you fill me up, when your cum drips down my thighs instead of being wasted in a condom,” she’s been taking pills since you got together.

“Fuck, keep talking,” you grunted as she rocked her hips against yours, making sure your cock was slick and wet for her.

“Yeah, you love that, don’t you?” she guided your cock to her entrance, and you pushed it inside. “When I tell you to,” she let out a guttural moan in the middle of the sentence as you pushed the last two inches inside her. “cum deep inside me. When I cry out your name, when your cock turns me into a mess and all I can beg for is you.”

You started thrusting and Cairo grabbed onto your jacket as her legs wrapped around your hips. She whimpered and you felt her hard nipples through the fabric of your shirt, you felt her body heating up as you dug your fingers into her soft flesh. “I do. I should grab a condom anyway, you know,” she pressed harder against you, whining at the very idea of condom being between your cock and her pussy. “Just to hear you begging, crying for me to take it off,” you gave into her begging almost immediately, but damn, it was glorious while it lasted.

“Please don’t,” she cried, what little dominance was in her giving way to her needs. “I need you raw, it feels so good when you fuck me like this!” she hugged you tight, her moans the melody that could never be replicated as you kept thrusting into her wet pussy. “It feels like you’re holding out on me when you fuck me with a condom on,” she was confessed and you pulled her in for a kiss, and though it took some effort you moved your hand to her cheek to caress her gently.

“I know, I’m just teasing you,” you assured her, fucking her like that for a bit more before you had to pull out. “Turn around, keep your hands on the handles,” you breathed out, and if you weren’t so turned on you would be amused by how quickly Cairo complied.

With the engine purring beneath her, and the vibrations being much closer to her clit now Cairo’s breathing became more rapid as her empty pussy pulsed awaiting your cock. “We’re so doing this again,” she told you as you penetrated her again, harder and rougher than before, seeing as she was more than stretched enough by now.

“You sure?” you moved your hand beneath her and rubbed her clit, all the while pushing her harder against the motorcycle and she felt her orgasm quickly approaching.

“I’m close!” she moaned and then you revved the motorcycle up and the powerful machine shook beneath the two of you, pushing her over the edge with a cry so loud she was willing to bet someone heard her.

“That’s it, moan for me,” you slowed down, knowing how sensitive she got after an orgasm and instead focused more on slowly kissing the back of her neck, her shoulders and back. “Just a bit more and I’ll fill you up,” you promised, turning the engine off and the thought of you filling her up with cum made her pussy clench harder around your cock.

“Please,” she whispered, looking back and meeting your eyes, and she was sure the lust she saw in your eyes was present in her eyes as well.

“Cairo,” you moaned her name, and she felt your cum spilling deep inside her, pushing her body into another, albeit much smaller, orgasm and she would have dropped all her weight onto your motorcycle if you didn’t hold her body up. “I’ve got you,” you whispered in her ear softly and she slumped into your arms as you lifted her up and carried her through the garage all the way to your bedroom. “You were amazing,” you kissed the side of her head as she snuggled up to you the moment you lowered her onto your bed.

“Mhm, you too,” she felt her body calming down, the bliss of her pleasure slowly fading away and being replaced by the pure happiness she felt wrapped up in your arms. “We’re definitely doing that again,” she sighed, feeling sleepy as you massaged her gently. She purred, running her fingers through your hair, just how you liked it.

“Absolutely,” you agreed, sighing contently. “I love you,” you whispered, kissing her softly.

“I love you too, my madness,” she said it so easily, much easier than she ever thought she could say it. But this was you, her best friend, the love of her life, and she felt no fear showing and telling you how much she loved you.

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy @lifeforsimp13

@puta1 @minnyyminny

#cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #bottom cairo sweet #top reader #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader #gp! reader

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prettieinpink · 10 months

Text

Wardrobe Essentials Guide !!

This is only a guide- you don’t need everything I list. This is just to help people build their dream wardrobe sensibly without over or under consuming or to recognize what they may want/need.

Solid colour does not mean there can be no pattern on your clothes!! It just means avoid shapes, text, pictures etc on your clothes!!

Before purchasing ANYTHING ask yourself these 3 questions!!

How can I style this?

Is there an opportunity cost?

Will I still be able to wear it in 3+ years, even if my style changes?

TOPS

2 solid colour long sleeve tops

2 solid colour short sleeve tops

2 solid colour tank top

2 solid colour cami top

2 underneath ‘layers’ tops

1 athletic wear top

1 white button up ( make it as plain as possible)

2+ graphic tee of your choice ( for funsies )

1 cute bodysuit of your choice

1+ knitwear solid colour top

3+ statement piece tops of ur liking

BOTTOMS

1 good pair of jeans you like

2 leggings solid colour!!!

2 sweatpants

2 track shorts

2 basic long pants solid colour ( for going out more formally/extra)

2 biker shorts solid colour

1 cargos pants solid colour

1 denim shorts

2 mini skirts ( or longer )

1 midi/maxi skirt

1 pencil black skirt ( formal events )

1 athletic wear bottoms

3+ statement pieces of your liking

DRESSES / FULL BODY

1 black mini dress (trust me)

1 solid colour maxi dress

1 solid colour mini dress

1 solid colour jumpsuit (short or long)

1 solid colour 2 piece outfit

1+ statement pieces of your liking

OUTERWEAR

1 white cardigan ( can be cropped)

1 black cardigan ( can be cropped)

2 solid colour zip up jackets

2 solid colour sweaters

1 solid colour puffer jacket

1 solid colour blazer

1+ statement piece of your liking

SLEEP/LOUNGEWEAR

1 cute pair of summer pjs

1 cute pair of winter pjs

2 sleeping tops

2 sleeping bottoms

1 satin OR cotton robe

2 cute loungewear sets

UNDERWEAR & BRAS

2 your skin colour t-shirt bras

2 solid colour sport bras

1 black t-shirt bra

1 white t-shirt bra

2+ your skin colour bikini underwear

2+ your skin colour slip underwear

2+ solid colour hipster underwear

2+ solid colour classic underwear

1+ maxi underwear

OTHER AKA OPTIONAL

1 cute swimwear set

1 cute activewear set

SHOES

1 plain white sneakers ( can be chunky)

1+ white sneakers with statement colours

1 cute pair of ugg boots

1 nude pair of heels of your choice

1 white pair of heels of your choice

1 black pair of heels of your choice

1 white OR black boots

1 black, nude OR white pair of loafers

1 pair of solid colour sandals OR FLATS

2+ statement pieces of your choice

BAGS

1 black shoulder OR crossbody

1 white shoulder OR crossbody

1 brown shoulder OR crossbody

1 solid colour tote bag ( not the shopping ones)

1 solid colour clutch

1 solid colour backpack

JEWELLERY ( ALL ARE EITHER SLIVER OR GOLD YOU CAN CHOOSE )

small OR big hoops

5 cute studs

5 dangling earrings

2 necklaces

4 rings

4 bracelets

1 good quality watch

APPAREL ACCESSORIES

2+ black belts

2+ solid colour scarves

1+ solid colour gloves

1+ solid colour beanies

2+ solid colour hats of ur liking

2+ apparel chains

2+ solid colour sunglasses

Andddd thats it lovelies!!! Reminder to spend and consume responsibly, don’t shop fast fashion please!! Clothes suck and its so bad for the environment. Is there anything that you think I should add to this list, or anything to remove and why? Also if you don’t know why something is on this list, ask me pls!!!!

Should I make an skincare or make up bag essentials guide next ???

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danibee33 · 6 months

Text

Halfway through a 14 hour road trip, and so, obviously, I’m plagued with thoughts of Biker!Ghost🩶

(inspired by a video I saw recently. **very gently edited)

____

• thinking of riding on the back of his motorcycle, which it took a bit of convincing on his part at first, but as soon as you got that first rush- you were hooked.

•just like he was hooked to the feel of your arms around him. he loved being able to reach a hand back to rest on your knee or thigh, and the way you cling to him a little tighter when he takes a corner faster than usual (which he totally doesn’t do on purpose)

•but on this particular ride, after a night out together, the lingering buzz of your drink made you bold- so when he relaxes, placing his hand in it’s usual spot, his warmth radiating even through your jeans and the black leather of his glove, you let your own hand wander with a devious grin you’re glad he can’t see.

•your fingers spread out over his thigh, making a soft, back and forth motion- the sensation causes his to clench around your knee.

•slowly, you readjust to lean in a bit closer, quickly finding the spot that makes his whole body tense suddenly.

•you palm at his cock through his jeans slowly, cautiously, that same grin still plastered on your face when you feel him try to adjust his position on the seat- a low hum rumbling through his chest.

•as you continue your teasing, his grip on your knee turns nearly painful as he gets harder and harder with each agonizing stroke you give him.

•he was already planning every single way he could ruin you the moment he got back to his flat.

•you could map out the perfect outline of his length now, straining against the dark denim and twitching at your touch- and you couldn’t feel it, but there’s just the smallest wet spot in his boxers stained with his precum.

•but suddenly, you pull away- wrong move.

•Ghost moves fast, reaching back blindly to wrap a big hand around your wrist, “No, no-“ he laughs, you can feel it vibrate through him, his voice growling through the helmet, “put it back, love. Don’t get shy now.”

•he does it for you, pulling you forward to place your palm right against the bulge of his cock again just as he turns his head.

•having lifted his visor, you could now see the dark gleam of his eyes glinting under the city lights, “You’ll pay for this later, baby.” He coos, giving you a sly wink before sliding the tinted visor in place again.

•Ghost gets you back to the flat in, very legal, record time, and let’s just say you do pay for your cheeky little stunt. All night long.

_____

#call of duty #simon riley #biker!ghost #i need to be sedated #SOMEONE PUT ME DOWN #preferably Simon Riley #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #simon ghost x reader #bee writes #simon riley x reader

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Ring of Fire

a biker Steve au

Part 1 || I went down, and the flames went higher

18+ONLY || afab!Reader, eventual smut, alcohol consumption, allusions to dirty deeds, smoking, allusions to sex with someone other than reader (not cheating), allusions to violence/fighting, bloody knuckles, eventual breaking & entering, biker!Eddie, biker!Hopper, reader and Steve are in their early 30's. Please read warning for each part.

masterlist playlist

Summary || You haven't set eyes on Steve Harrington since the 8th grade, but you have no problem recognizing him almost 20 years later when he steps back into your life. A lot has changed in Hawkeye, the town you grew up in, but a lot has stayed the same.

word count: 5k

A/N || This is my version of Hawkins, a town called Hawkeye, and it is a desert town surrounded by tumbleweeds, agriculture, and junkyards. Even though Steve is a biker and a mechanic, I try to maintain his "essence". I plan for this to be a shorter series, like 3 or 4 parts, but those are always famous last words from this lyin', cheatin' mouth. This is a niche fic, and for the ten people who will appreciate it, I love you.

The bell on the door dinged to let you know you had a customer, but you didn’t look up right away, you were too busy trying to figure out why your till was a few bucks short for the day. Donna would not be happy. Heavy foot falls made it to the counter and then the person in question cleared his throat.

“Ten on pump 2 and a pack of reds, please,” the voice was deep and scratchy, like he was recovering from a sore throat.

You closed the cash register and glanced up for the first time.

The sight made you inhale a sharp breath and hold it. The man had on a thick motorcycle jacket zipped up halfway over a white tee, atop blue jeans that were a dark denim wash, faded over time, with a tattered hole in one knee. There were tattoos scattered over his flesh, peeking from his collar, and down his hands. Letters on his knuckles spelled something that you couldn't quite make out, and he had a luscious mop of maple syrup hair on his head that looked like it had once been gelled into place but lost the fight hours ago. He raked a big hand through it slowly, pausing halfway through the movement, and tucked his chin to pin you with an anticipatory stare.

The last person you every expected to see again was Steve Harrington.

He pushed his wayfarer sunglasses up to reveal hazel eyes that were just as sad as they were electric. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his top lip, he repeated himself. “Pump 2?”

You gave a flustered wave of your hand. “Yes, of course,” turning to pull a soft pack from the wall behind you. “Matches?”

He shook his head, and then, “just a sec,” before sauntering over to the aisle on the other side of the potato chips.

Tossing a back of Magnum condoms on the counter next to his smokes, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and said a polite, “those too, please.” The wallet was as worn as his jeans and connected by a chain to one of his belt loops.

The cash register made loud click-clack noises as you punched in the numbers and gave him the total. You weren’t expecting to see the wad of bills that fanned, but then he handed you what you needed.

“You new here?” He asked as you passed him his change, rolling a piece of bright green gum from the inside of his cheek to start chewing it again.

You stumbled over the question. “New to this store or Hawkeye?”

A smirk lifted up one side of his mouth. “Both, I guess?”

He was well aware that you were new to the corner gas n’ sip because he’d been a regular customer for years, and he definitely would have remembered you.

Definitely.

Yet, something about you felt very familiar.

“I grew up here,” your delivery was dry.

Steve tilted his head back to assess you down the bridge of his nose and frowned like he didn’t believe you. You noticed that his hands were rough and stained with evidence that he did some vocation of hard labor for a living.

You decided to humor him with a clue. “I left Hawkeye right before my freshman year. My hair was different back then, and my mom drove a big, white Buick LeSabre—-”

With an unblinking stare, he blurted your name, repeating it a few times in disbelief as the memory seized him.

There you were, the one who’d haunted his middle school dreams. The first notable crush he ever had, standing a few feet in front of him

“Shitttt,” he continued, scooping his purchases up in one hand, huffing out a breath. He searched your face, and you watched the light in his eyes intensify. “You were a year older than me, right? I remember you were always so bossy on the playground.”

You sealed your lips over a chuckle. “Well, someone had to keep you and Eddie from dismantling the playground equipment to sell to the salvage yard.”

Steve chomped down on his lip in a smile, his hip finding the edge of the counter, trying to get closer to you. “Copper,” he corrected with a one-eyed squint. “We wanted to dismantle the lampposts. Copper wiring could earn a pretty penny back then.”

“You’re still good with your hands I see,” gesturing to his calloused digits, the moons of his cuticles stained from motor oil, knuckles slashed with white scarring.

He flexed his right hand into a fist and then opened it again, deliberate and slow, watching you as he did so. “I do alright.”

He was leaning over the counter at that point, elbow resting next to the cash register, hip jutting out behind him, holding his mouth as if he were about to say something—-

“...and then, do you know what Ned said to me? Nothing, that’s what. Three days and I barely get two words out of him. Before you go, there are two crates that need to be put away in the back—-”

56 year old Donna, your boss, approached the front desk from the back room, buzzing with conversation. She stopped short when she saw Steve there, and tucked some silver, permed hair behind her ear.

“Oh, hey Steven,” she greeted.

“Donna,” he gave a twitch of a smile, standing to full height again, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. “I was just catching up with an old friend.”

Donna had on bright pink lipstick and heart-shaped, baby blue clip-on earrings. “You know Steve?”

“You could say that,” you stared at him as you said it. “I’ve tried to put it behind me.“

Steve ran his tongue over the ridge of his teeth at that, and you could see that the left incisor was gold.

Donna crowded in behind you, trying to get to the styrofoam container with her food inside that was on a stool just below the rack of caffeine pills. It was leftover burger and fries from the diner across the street and the smell had been making your mouth water.

“How’s Eddie?” Donna asked, and it was obvious she was talking to Steve. “Haven’t seen him drop by here in a while.”

Steve pulled his sunglasses out of his nest of hair and slid them back down to his nose before giving you one final look. You backed up against the cigarette display to watch him go.

“He’s been busy,” Steve gnawed his gum, addressing your boss. “Business at the garage has picked up since the only other mechanic in town split. I work there part time when I’m not—” he swallowed back whatever he was initially about to say. “---when I’m not doing other things.”

Donna shoved the corner of her sesame seed bun burger in her mouth, chewed it and kept talking. “I saw Robin yesterday. Her and Ratchet back together?”

In the past few days of your employment, you were learning that Donna was a pillar of gossip in the community, and she wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.

Steve scratched the stubble on his chin, possibly contemplating how much he should share. “I think they have an understanding,” he chimed diplomatically, stealing another glance in your direction.

“Say hi to Wayne for me,” Donna added as Steve pushed his way out the mostly glass door. He waved over his shoulder in response, nodding that he would.

You shimmied further along behind the counter, pretending to organize the pens, so that you could follow where Steve was going, see what he was driving.

To your surprise, he pumped gas into a hulking, coal black motorcycle with ape-hanger handlebars and blue ghost flames on the tank. You were staring with your mouth slightly agape when Donna’s voice broke your concentration.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, cheek of food again. “That boy is adorable, but he’s bad news.”

“Why?” The question was out of your mouth before you were cognitively aware of it.

She thumbed ketchup from the corner of her mouth. “You ever heard of the Coffin Kings?”

Your gaze flicked to the side, catching Steve as he kicked a leg over to straddle the bike. “I don’t think—it doesn’t ring a bell.”

You were lying; of course you’d heard of the Coffin Kings. How could you forget the horde of long-haired bikers who cruised through town when you were a kid, a few of them stopping by to pick Eddie and Steve up from school on occasion. Eddie’s uncle Wayne was one of the original members, and most of the teachers kept their manners around the boys for that reason alone. Sure, Steve got detention for carving his initials into one of the school desks, but little did you know that it was only because he knew you would be in there too.

Steve revved the bike to life until it was growling, idling in place with his back to you while he strapped his bare bones helmet on.

“How do you know him?” Donna asked, not afraid to be pushy.

“Well, I—” you thought about the specifics of that question. “I don’t know him at all anymore, really. We were just kids. It’s been a long time.”

“You want my advice?” Donna wiped her mouth with a tissue from a nearby Kleenex box.

You didn’t, but you knew you couldn’t stop her from giving it to you.

“If you’re looking for a bad boy type, his friend Eddie is a much better catch. Runs his own business, works hard, stays out of trouble. Steve? Well, let’s say Stevie is just—-”

You turned to her as Steve hit the main road and shot into the distance. “He’s what?”

You waited while she rolled her lips together, wetting them thoughtfully, turning her gaze to the ceiling.

“He’s a nice kid, but he’s trouble,” she sighed. “He’s not the type you’d want to get serious with, if you know what I mean.”

Coincidentally, you did know what that meant. You were a bit of a connoisseur when it came to trouble; not only could you sniff it out, but it flocked to you like seagulls on a parking lot french fry.

But what Donna didn’t know was that you were no angel.

You scoffed at her suggestion. “I’m not looking for a relationship any time soon. I plan to stay single for a while.”

Donna dumped the rest of her dinner in the trash under the cash register. “In that case, you and Steve have more in common than I thought.”

—-----

Steve had the rest of the evening off, he should’ve gone straight home to have a beer in his boxers in front of the TV and try to pass out early. He’d been slinging wrenches at Munson’s Garage that day, a double shift to help Eddie out, and his hand was throbbing so hard he had to take it off the throttle and shake it out.

But also, who was he kidding? He hadn’t slept more than a few hours that whole week. He needed a distraction, he needed people, he needed to forget his gut-wrenching loneliness for a while.

He revved the throttle, shooting himself faster along the empty highway, passing nothing but flat alfalfa fields and the odd farmhouse every mile or so. The low, desert hills rolled like sleeping giants on the horizon as dusk descended.

The Blue Light Tavern was housed in a brick building built in the 40’s, located between the truck stop and the Rosebud Motel, about a mile or so from the center of town. The only way anyone passing by would even know it was a tavern was due to the neon Pabst and Jameson signs in the two tiny front windows. There were already two motorcycles out front when Steve pulled up, and he found a spot at the end.

The bartender that night was Angie, and she greeted him by name when he strolled in. He asked for a beer, picked some songs on the jukebox, and started a game of pool with a fellow MC member, cigarettes bobbing from their lips as they played.

That's when you walked in.

He took a drink from his pint glass, pausing it there, watching you scan the room before making your way quietly to one of the stools at the far end of the bar, on the corner, closest to the door, as if you might have to make a run for it. You were in the same clothes you’d had on at the gas n’ sip, but now you wore a zip-up black hoodie, hugging it around your ribs as if you were cold.

The guy Steve was playing pool with was known as Big Jim around Hawkeye. Head of hair slicked back with generous sideburns down to his jaw, and a white scar making a thin indentation from the corner of his mouth to his ear. He wore a long sleeve red and black flannel under his Coffin Kings kutte with the name Hopper patched on one side.

Hopper said something to Steve and he appeared to ignore him, but finally blinked a few times. “What did you say?”

Hopper held his pool cue across his lap as he sat on one of the tall swivel chairs against the wall, long legs braced wide. “It’s your move, Romeo,” he drawled, plucking his smoke from the ashtray to take a drag. .

Steve suddenly got very confused, frowning when he turned to his friend. How could Hop know he was interested in you?

Hop gestured to the green felt under the Budweiser chandelier with his chin, exhaling, framing his lips to make an “O” with the smoke. “Your turn, pipsqueak.”

“Right,” Steve huffed, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall.

—--------

You waited outside, staring up at the Pabst neon that was missing the “b”, trying to work up the nerve to go in. The Blue Light Tavern had been around so long, you remembered it from the rare occasions when your dad met up with his buddies, back when it was called The Hideaway. Before the accident, back when you were a kid and considered Hawkeye your home.

You were officially a resident once more, but you weren’t sure if you’d feel at home anywhere ever. You weren’t sure if you’d ever feel safe again. You weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

When you finally opened the door, smoke billowed out, and the low-lit, grimey ambiance felt like a familiar friend. You weren’t in the mood to drink, necessarily, you just didn’t want to sit at your apartment alone. There weren’t many public places open in Hawkeye after 9, so you’d just been walking around aimlessly for the past hour. Your tiny rental above the Gas n’ Sip was empty but for a mattress, two kitchen chairs, and five or six boxes you still needed to unpack. It all felt too dismal and overwhelming to tackle after your first full day at your new job.

“What’ll it be darlin’?” The brunette bartender asked, using a white rag to wipe down the bar in front of you. There was ice melting in a tumbler, a few used toothpicks, and a sticky ring on the woodgrain. She scooped it all out of the way and then stared at you with a hand on her ample hips.

You were flustered and said the first thing that came to mind. “Can you make a gin and tonic?”

“I think I can handle that,” she winked, moving out of the way to grab a glass. You could hear the billiard balls clacking together over the music of Bringin' on the Heartache by Def Leppard , but there was a jukebox and a length of partition in the way, so you couldn’t see who was at the table. Including you, there were only a handful of customers that night; one surly man with a long gray beard at the bar, a couple at a table looking up at the mounted Zenith TV on the wall playing a muted episode of the Twilight Zone, and another two were throwing darts at a well worn target.

Angie placed a white cocktail napkin before setting your drink down. “Someone bought you this,” she had tiny veins of red around the cracks of her bare lips, as if she’d been wearing lipstick earlier.

“Someone?” Disbelief came first, and then it made you paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to get hit on by—-

“It was him,” Angie gestured down the end of the bar to where Steve caught your eye and bucked his chin at you.

The universe really did have a sense of humor.

—-----

A few minutes later, once he finished his game and let Hopper win just to move things along, he sauntered over to put his booted foot up on the bottom rung of the stool next to you. His white tee had a V-neck, exposing a tuft of chest hair. “Are you following me?”

You swished your drink with a red stir stick, and then sucked it clean. “I won’t let this freebie go to my head, Harrington. I bet you buy drinks for all the new women in town.”

He gripped a fresh cigarette between pursed lips and lit the end, looking up at you from under his furrowed, James Dean brow. “Yeah, but you’re not new.”

“Shhh it’s a secret,” you snipped two fingers in the air like a pair of scissors and he grinned at that, offering his pack of reds for you to take one. One of his ears was pierced, and a small silver hoop curved there.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t,” you answered flatly, leaning over so that he could light the end for you with his plastic blue Bic, inhaling so that your cheeks hollowed.

“You want to read my palm again?”

“Again?” You exhaled smoke to the side.

Steve straddled the stool and got comfortable with his elbows on the bar. “You read my palm once when we were kids,” he straightened his arm, locking his elbow, so that his palm was open in front of you. “I think you said my love life would be troubled, but I’d live a long life. And then you made some crack about how I’d let the right one get away.”

You huffed a laugh and chomped onto your bottom lip to keep from smiling too big, staring at his strong fingers as they wiggled in front of you, veins popping strong in his forearm.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Tilting your head to the side, you took another sip of your drink, cringing a little at the strength of the alcohol; it was a glass of gin with a splash of tonic. But maybe Angie’s heavy hand was a blessing that night.

The gold in his tooth flashed like lightning in a storm. “I remember everything,” his voice was soft and deep, and you had to look away before he turned you into a brainless, lovesick zombie from his vampiric-strength powers of persuasion.

Clearing your throat, you squirmed a bit under the weight of his stare. “My palmistry days are behind me. I’m out of practice.”

He slid his hand back, but slowly, hoping you might want to touch it or grab it or—-

“But I am curious—”

Fingers flexed flat again as an invitation.

“---what does it say on your knuckles?”

“Oh these?” He made two fists and twisted them to read it himself as if he wasn’t sure, and then put both palms flat and slid them back in your direction, fingers splayed.

Murmuring aloud as you spelled it out, you realized that the right knuckles spelled LOVE and the left ones said PAIN in thick, capital lettering.

“My turn,” he pulled back his shoulders, taking another drag, squinting, before resting his cigarette butt back in the ashtray.

“Your turn for what?”

“Questions. What is that key around your neck for?”

You slapped a hand over the metal piece dangling from a chain, not realizing it had escaped the confines of your shirt collar, fingering it thoughtfully as you thought about what type of story you should make up.

You could tell him the truth, but you weren’t sure you were emotionally equipped to answer any further questions. You made a fist around the key and started massaging it with your thumb, when another hulking biker with a thick mustache cupped a meaty hand onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Bones just paged, we gotta meet them at the junkyard,” the big man shifted his kind, blue eyes to you, blinking with a nod of his head to acknowledge your presence, and offer his silent apologies all at once.

Steve stood without argument, clearly duty bound, but his attention remained on you. He motioned Hopper ahead, and then he idled there, internally stumbling over his words.

“Any chance you’ll be here again tomorrow night?” He flicked the spark on his lighter a few times as he spoke out of nervous habit.

You tucked the metal key into your shirt. “I work the late shift at the gas station tomorrow.”

His mood seemed to lift slightly at knowing where you would be.

“Taz,” Hopper hummed from the door where he braced it open with his broad back, offering a blast of fresh air to the nicotine saturated walls. Taz was Steve’s nickname in the club, but that was just one more thing you had yet to learn about him. He adjusted the collar of his leather jacket, gave your bicep a tender squeeze as he went by, and leaned down to whisper, “it’s good to see you,” at the shell of your ear, giving you goosebumps.

Once he was gone, the tavern suddenly felt emptier, the sound of George Thorogood singing about drinking alone pounding much louder as you stared down at the glass in your hand.

You finished your drink and then you made the trek back home, hugging yourself against the crisp night breeze, wondering how you would occupy your time for the next couple hours before you found sleep.

—------

The roar of their two engines cut through the dry June night like a knife, affording no illumination but their headlights and the moon. Steve had replaced his leather jacket with his own MC leather that said TAZ on the front from one of his saddlebags, bare flesh of his arms exposed to show the scattering of tattoos there as he gripped the handlebars. Both riders wore clear safety glasses to protect their eyes from the wind and the kamikazee bugs.

Snipes Junkyard loomed menacingly in the expanse of desert, shrouded in cobalt night. Heaps of twisted metal wreckage, smashed cars all piled on top of each other, and a high fence made of corrugated metal with curls of razor wire along the top ridge.

There was a group of bikes parked out front when they arrived and two of the Coffin Kings Prospects, Riot and Krebs, guarded the gate to the place.

Both new arrivals put their helmets on the end of their handlebars and tucked their safety glasses into their front pocket as they approached.

“What are we walking into?” Hopper asked, and Riot was already shaking his head in answer.

“The underground tunnels were breached,” he said, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind his ear. “Crater isn’t happy.”

Crater was a Hawkeye native who got his nickname because of the chicken pock scars that covered his cheeks and jaw. He was also President of one of the other MC’s in town called the Skull Crushers.

When tensions were high among the gangs, there was always a good chance someone would pull a gun or start punching, so Steve and Hopper shared a weary look, bracing themselves before entering.

—------

Just as you were about to step up onto your block, you caught sight of someone coming out of the mini mart that you lived above. A side door led up a flight of narrow stairs, and the top room was all yours; it was the size of a tin can, but it was shelter and you were grateful.

Through the soft glow of the front window, you saw Donna’s husband Ned behind the counter with his half-moon reading spectacles on and a novel open in front of him. Which reminded you to make sure you brought some material to entertain you on your shift the next night.

Somewhere not too far off in the distance, a group of coyotes yipped their excited whines.

The person who’d just come out paused on the sidewalk to light a smoke, and you sank around the corner of the building to watch the guy in the jeans, leather, and thick boots stroll over to put some gas in the tank of his Harley. Bulkier than the one Steve rode, this one was glossy obsidian with chrome pipes and a sissy bar in back, as if he usually had a rider with him. His hair was unruly, long and dark, and once you caught a glimpse of his profile from the dim beam above the pumps, you knew right away that it was Eddie Munson.

You thought about getting his attention to say hello, but then realized that your social battery was tapped for the day. The cigarette dangled from his mouth when he took off, and you waited until he was down the street before darting to the stairs of your apartment.

—-----

A few hours later, Steve’s left hand with the PAIN held a black payphone receiver to his ear while the other hand rolled the numbers on the rotary dial. His knuckles were freshly spit and bleeding, since one of the Skull Crushers had come at him during a misunderstanding at the meet earlier, and he was forced to lay the guy out. He felt wired, like rest had somehow become his enemy, something he ran from as it tracked him ruthlessly.

A woman who went by the name Lorelei picked up on the second ring.

“It’s me,” he coughed and tasted that familiar copper tang. “It’s Steve. Are you busy?”

It was almost 4 in the morning, but Steve had been a regular customer for a few months and, also, she didn’t mind his company. He wasn’t like her other customers; he didn’t want the typical things from her.

His hand haphazardly bandaged with a red handkerchief; he hugged it to his chest when he knocked at the door of room 8 at the Rosebud Motel. When it opened, Lorelei stood there with a silk, periwinkle kimono wrapped snug around her curves, and motioned him in. There were two lamps on in the room, both of their shades draped with floral scarves, and a candle burned on the nightstand, smelling of essential oils, bergamot and lavender. She didn’t live at the Rosebud, but she did stay a few nights in a row there when she was working.

Steve's relationship history thus far had been a blur of endless disconnect, a series of hit and runs that left his heart empty and his eyes vacant. It was easy for a guy in a motorcycle club to get laid; their parties were always crawling with eager pussy. But after a certain age, that wasn’t what he craved anymore. He often worried that the parental dynamic he’d witnessed growing up, or lack thereof, had fucked him up to the point that he would never be able to have a normal relationship with a girl he liked.

A while ago he’d given up on love, figured that he was broken. But he still had urges, and making them transactional helped him to disengage further.

“What are you in the mood for?” Lorelei hooked a finger into his belt loop and pulled him closer, searching his face. “Same as last time, hmm?”

Steve lowered his head, internal exhaustion making him dizzy. He held her arm, thumbing the delicate material of her robe. “Not tonight,” he swallowed thickly. “Just the stuff that…comes after.”

Nodding that she understood, she cupped his chin so he would look at her. “Will three hours be enough?” One look at him told her what he needed was 24 at the least, but three was all she had to give.

Over the years, Steve had come to realize that his insomnia was somehow cured when he could sleep next to someone. To roll over and have them there, to hold them. Alone, his mind raced, and nightmares plagued the inside of his eyelids. With Lorelei, they mostly slept side by side, and the weight and familiarity of her was somehow enough to calm his nervous system down to a reasonable level.

“Come,” she sat him on the edge of the bed and knelt to unlace his boots. He wrestled to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, ready to pluck some bills out, but she put her hand up to stop him.

“After, okay? I trust you,” she whispered, tugging off the first boot by the heel, rubbing the ball of his foot a little before moving to the next shoe.

Steve’s head bobbed on his neck, and then he rolled it back to center, eyes heavy.

He always refused to undress fully, and Lorelei suspected it had something to do with how vulnerable it made him feel, but she never asked questions. He scooted up to find the pillow with his head, and by the time she crawled in next to him and put her hand on his thigh, he was out.

-------

Thank you to my darling readers who love biker Steve!

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington series #Steve Harrington fic #Stranger Things fic #biker!steve #biker!steve harrington #Ring of Fire

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buckymorelikefuckme · 2 days

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omg ok it’s my turn for one of these (eep!) i’m glad i had this tiny bit sitting in a draft bc i think it kinda works?? or at least i hope it does 😅 pls forgive me if it does not k thenks bye ♥️

who doesn’t love a handsy backpack?

words: 316

warnings / tags: mentions of smut so pls **18+ ONLY** biker ari, menace reader (a lil bit hehe), kind of reckless driving so definitely don’t do that irl pls & thank.

What had started out as a pleasant cruise through town at dusk has veered into something else entirely.

Ari suggested the ride because of how comfortably brisk the weather was, how it would be nice to see the sunset out in the open. You agreed easily, a happy grin on your beautiful face as you wandered off to the front door to put your leather jacket on. He followed with his own content smile, wondering how he got so lucky.

Of course, now he’s wondering if maybe he’s cursed. Normally you keep your hands safely on his waist or hips, chin tucked over his shoulder. Yet, for whatever reason, this evening you’ve chosen to let your touch drift off on a journey.

Your hands glide down Ari’s thighs, pausing to squeeze the toned muscles through the denim of his jeans, before slowly working their way back upward. Your touch enters dangerous territory without a single moment of hesitation, lightly cupping Ari’s groin.

The tease of more makes Ari tip his head back a little into your space, makes his head swim with scenarios of what you two could get up to. It’s risky and exciting and has him hoping you’ll continue to test the limit.

The warmth of you along his back is a constant, incessant reminder. Has his mind wandering recklessly to the night before, when your warm body was pressed against his front as he fucked you hard and deep. He’d had you wrapped up in his embrace, chest to chest, his face tucked into your neck as he groaned and grunted at the tight grip of your pussy. He can almost still feel your fingernails still biting into the skin on his back and hear your whimpers in his ear.

And fuck, okay, he has to get his mind back in the present or he’ll crash his bike with both of you on it.

djsksjdj I GUESS???????? idfk but thank you ro bby for sending me this ilysm 🥹 also my first ari drabble YAY we cheer!!!

#I TRIED??????#ari levinson fic #ari levison x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson smut

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seraph5 · 1 year

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“Balia conmigo, Ignacio!”

Finally got to finish this one! So nice to have time/headspace to dedicate to these two finally 😤

Image ID: There are four digital illustrations side by side showing Lalo and Nacho dancing together. There is a playful push and pull in the way that they are gripping, turning and dancing around each other. As though, even as they dance, there is a subtle power struggle. In the first image they are swinging around, Lalo kicking his feet out and Nacho stepping around them holding Lalos hand and arm tight. The next image Nacho has slid closer drawing Lalo into him, releasing Lalos hand to reach out over his shoulder and into the air. Lalo is nuzzling his face, one hand stretching back, fingers spread, the other wrapped firmly around Nachos chest. In the third image Lalo is turning and Nacho is following his lead, faces still pressed close together, blush blooming across their cheeks. In the final image Nacho is pushing Lalo back and off balance, gripping him by the hip and taking control. Lalo’s expression is softened in the final image. Nacho has somehow slipped through his defences and taken him off guard.

In all images Lalo wears a light blue shirt speckled with dark blue and gold spots, darker blue denim jeans with his signature round buckle belt and tan leather boots. Nacho is wearing his deep red shirt with black collar, uncharacteristically tucked into tight black jeans with black zip up biker boots. He is also wearing a thick gold chain, snake earring, beaded bracelet, leather bracelet and silver signet ring.

#myart #nacho varga #nacho #ignacio varga #lalo #eduardo lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca #better call saul #lacho #bcs art #lacho fanart #described

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joannasteez · 2 months

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tanks of blood (1) - circa '09

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: this chapter contains detailed explicit content and alcohol. mentions of violence. the perspective changes oddly towards the end but who gives af, this is for funsies authors note: been sitting on this first chapter for a hot minute. its a flashback! just a little establishment of feelings and dynamics. word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini i suck at keeping up who wants tags for what. but let me know if you want tags for just this story, roman stuff, cody or everything.

circa '09—

pensacola summers are muggy. sticky thick air that binds to the skin. and even beyond this nasty little inconvenience, pensacola night life rages with a thundering sort of spirit. wood floors groaning under worn shoes, and the walls bleeding with a little taste of everything that's been spilled onto them—overflowed shots of smooth vodka, ice cold tequila cocktails, crisp foamy beer, and the poor stain of some too-slow-to-swing-back assholes blood — till the bitterness steeps into the grain. and this here is no real complaint, because the dross of it is the essence. the thing that stokes the fire of the night till it's a bursting flame.

and stubbs' dive bar is a staple for all the no good, almost-there-degenerates of pensacola, florida. for not so humble street royalty. but stubbs' dive is only popular because the guys made it that way, what with the vicious rumbling of their dyna's and their cruisers. stainless steel a smooth sharp glisten under the moonlight. and they are as rowdy as their engines, a dirty heavy symphony bordering impatience always. with a mounting lust for the grime of life, inherited surely, from the fathers and uncles and elder brothers who they bore their names from.

but maybe its nature. the heat of the day simmering quieter men to act upon deep seated urges till their thoughts roam fiery and less ashamed. and maybe thats why randy orton does what he does, acting upon desire with a selfishness, like it's a right born to him. but your indulgence is no better. intrigue rife in your skin till its heating your cheeks. his broad fingers warm, adjusting the pool stick you bend over so prettily to angle with. and if randy is nothing else he is, easy. goes about everything with a deftness that tugs your younger curiosities. so when he touches, just for the sake of touching—because all forbidden things are so damn appealing—the fearlessness in him radiates. excites the skin till its fluttering wild. pulsing. a quick shiver through the spine. the soft of your leg slipping against his rough jeans.

"easy on the back end here. don't underestimate that hit".

you jitter. his breath warm over exposed skin. "don't underestimate this stick up your ass if i miss this".

"a little pain is still a good time", his voice low and rumbling. seducing. free hand traveling lower, from the back end of the pool stick to the tender skin of your waist. the easy slip of his playful touch hidden by the shadows covering the back corner of the dimly lit bar. his thumb stroking soft. forcing from you deeper breaths, for the sake of even a little control.

"randy", you warn.

"call the pocket sweetheart".

his thumb feels good, in that forbidden way that urges blood to rush and desire to simmer. untamed and existing messily against your skin. threatening to cause an undoing chaos. he would hate this, and you should too.

"left corner pocket".

his fingers curl in, more similar to a deep kneading till it's caught firm, just above the denim band of your skirt. and it's a small show of the fire in his fingers, of the possibilities, choosing a tenderness that compels you closer to acting on mere curiosity. and then he's off you. your hand forcing the pool stick to clack against the cue ball. the eight ball falling into the pocket despite his teasing. your heart hammering, refusing to still. hand out as you wait. a hundred dollar bill, ever the simple prize—carrying the weight of such palpable tension—slips in your grasp. and when all six feet and five inches of him move in to crowd your body, you feel the swell of heat that breaks off him. a lulling force that makes breathing hard. and he doesn't speak as you pocket the money. the low sit of his eyes —mischief in them not so dissimilar to a viper— sharp.

and the others are too rowdy and liquored up to notice, and maybe for both of your sakes it's best. because he would hate this. could possibly even become violent over it.

randy's thumb, the one that'd so sweetly slipped over your skin, raises to do the same to your cheek till its sweeping over and under to your chin. skimming easy to line your bottom lip. plump and glossed and tempting. and he's considering you, the burn in your eyes, attempting to decipher whether the heat of them is fear, desire, or a mixture of the two.

"randy", you warn again.

because you were spoken for. even if the words were silent, known only through secret but not so secret tongue kisses and lingering stares. through wind rushing rides on the back of his dyna and the burdening curl in of his fingers. possession like a nail, screwing into the skin.

randy's thumb leaves your lip, swiping off a streak of the glossy balm. a sugary cherry on his tongue. your blood beating in your ears, fingers twitching, small and inching towards something that feels like neediness. he knew what he was doing. but he grins, surrendering with silence to the natural order of things. to unspoken rules and terms of engagement. he stalks away, taking with him that burdening heat. the sensation of his touch lingering as your lip tenses through your teeth. eyes floating away and else where to forget that small bout of rebellion against the quiet but ever present force of him. of roman.

maybe a shot will help the uneasy heat in your belly? or perhaps make it worse? liquid courage possessing its own bursting flame of possibility. no. tequila would be no good. a step in a worser direction. randy's viper eyes still slipping slow over your curves and balmy brown skin, watching the swing of your hips with a quiet admiration, bordering the thick edges of lust that threaten to take him in. but he's smart about such quiet desires. settles for sipping at the chilly beer nestled easy between street scarred fingers.

you call the bartender. "water please". fingers running anxious over the bar top.

"still playin' with fire?" the bar loud, the guys and other patrons swelling up the space with laughs and drunk jeers, but nothing stops the recognition of that voice. slightly lisped and ever playful. cody rhodes, oddly dashing for the messy biker life and more judging than the worst gossiping grandmother you've ever met. blue eyes piercing. always looking for something.

you sip. "still mindin' my business?"

"if not me, who else?"

"you're such a mom". fingers dipping in to flick the icy water at him. because if cody is nothing else, he's a perpetual pest.

"and you, a child".

"fuck you rhodes".

he snorts. snatching your water to finish it. "it would be fun i'm sure but for my own safety i'm gonna have to pass".

and the music is louder somehow, cody leaving you to step further into the storm of men he'd pulled himself from. their shot glasses empty, scattered and growing still by the hour. voices yelling higher somehow over the hard thumping bass of music. leather littering the bar booth cushions, and any other loose chairs it can find. the worn material sewn with patches, not so dissimilar to tiny precious stones stuck to some grand old crown. and though most of the guys were mere prospects, waiting faithfully for that full patch in, the pensacola streets belonged to them still. riding comfortably off the nobility of their fathers. ripping and running. chaos at their fingertips and mischief in their eyes.

but the warmth of the night is inviting, breezes the skin more than the stiffness of the bar. roman standing at the opening of an alley just next to the building, roughing out words, unintelligible, but the closer you get to him the better the timbre is. his big boy, taking care of business voice, you're sure of it. that slight underscoring of coarseness, even at such a young age, steeping chills into your skin. his eyes cutting up, on you now, sticking to the dip in your hips till they find lips, and then your eyes.

he pulls you in, listening to the call still, touch instinctive. possessive. always claiming your body with a certain finesse. a wide palm stretching along your back till its comfortable, slipping into the back pocket of your skirt. and his head tilts, something slight, like he's taking a reading. and his eyes, black pushing against brown, too silent to be anger but silent enough that its uneasy.

you know that look well. he's annoyed.

the call ends. his phone slipping into the back pocket of worn dark denim jeans.

his nose flares. "you smell like him". like randy. because the six foot five inch mischievous piece of shit decided to crowd your space. and you'd decided against the good sense God gave you to indulge him. his spiced cologne staining your top. roman's fingers firm and only becoming firmer, slipping out till they grip into the soft of your hips. a smolder more than a bursting flame in his eyes. composed in his displeasure. "you make it real easy for him to try my patience".

your eyes roll, feet trailing away. the lamp post a blinding yellow that forces you to see his annoyances too clearly. the side of the bar, away from the street corner and eyes of nosy pensacola pedestrians, is much darker. simple dense bricks and gravely ground.

"you make getting bored very easy".

when you turn he's there. thick chest pressing into yours. easing you into the dampness of the bar's side brick wall. loose tendrils of hair falling against his face, inky and fine. you reach to touch, his own fingers catching yours to fold over them and in between. slipping till his thumb presses your palm. you wrap about his touch there, with soft fingers, void of rebellious intention, before pulling him in by his arms. and he's not so taut here but the wild strength and warmth in him is clear. a radiating heat that lulls you forward. and yes randy's intensity is subduing, maybe even fearfully so, but roman has a familiarity to him. a safety that makes falling into his touch easy.

his thumb finds your cheek. caressing over the apple of it. a sweet trail over your lips, chuckling at the pitiful little kisses you give it, eyes peering up from below your lashes. ever coy and ingratiating. and down it goes, a slow stripe over your throat, before its up and over to rest at your pulse. his nose knocking tender into yours, lips faint. you can nearly taste the beer he's had.

"you're not bored". confident in that fact. lips daintily taking yours. barely a kiss. a peak of his tongue after that forces something desperate and feathered to break from you. "just greedy". thumb smoothing into your pulse. "i gave you a little something for the first time a few weeks ago and now you don't know how to act".

you smile. drunkenly. his scent heady. "so we both agree, this is your fault".

"everything is my fault". his mouth retreating to tender skin. pulling at the gentleness of it. leading with the slip of his tongue till his lips begin to lay claim. a heated suck that's all possession.

you moan. "m'happy you know this".

"if you're happy then fine".

and if not for the kiss itself, you'd hate the crisp hoppy flavor of his tongue, but the slip of it is too comforting to ignore. the light summer breeze and his warmth, swaddling your skin till it's arresting your bones. an excitement dancing your nerves. and he's holding you tightly, a hand splayed against your back, pressing into him as he's pressing you further into coarse brick. the other roughing and kneading its way over and under your skirt, feeling up the exposure of your inner thighs. the heat there revving the pulse in his blood. surely it wouldn't take much to slip between your panties. to touch you firmly till you came. his legs long, stout, angling wider to trap you in.

it reminds him of some few weeks ago. his birthday. the day had been loud and crazy. gift after gift, and who would expect anything less for the prince of pensacola. whose father birthed the bloodline. and so that night had went on, you tucked under him by his own wordless request, lingering eyes and his hands searching for comfort in your skin, till you could no longer avoid the heat of them. and so they'd dug and littered pleasure harshly. a greedy taking. a years long build released suddenly and so terribly blissed. sounds he'd never heard before from you, wanting to hear them now all the time. tremblings in your skin that'd bruised the harsher parts of him to a softness.

the now midnight air streams against your skin, easy but chilling. his touch hot as it fingers past your panties to slip over your slit. and the sudden invasiveness of it is maddening, a sweet rolling over, wet and firm at your clit. your blood taking to a wild thrumming as his tongue licks wide into your mouth. everywhere that he finds himself, embraced over the whole of you, steadied and controlled. a fervor that weakens your knees.

the honk of a car reminds you of where you are. the coarse bricks of the wall he's fastened you to. the too bright lamp post not so far away. the guys, rowdy in the bar still, and the possibility of a passerby.

"were-were outside". your voice rushed and whispered.

"it's dark". the wet glide of a finger pushing patient against lush resistance. lips still working over yours, lapping sweetly, to calm the unease of your nerves. "no one will see us", so sure of himself. stroking gentle through the tight clutch of your pussy. groaning in time with the throbbing take you give his finger. and the intimacy here is odd, exposed to a somewhat weirdly lit street corner, but so very isolated still. your hands burying into the loose knot of his hair, breathing ragged against his mouth. the fear of being found and the thrill of release tugging the nerves beneath your skin. and when he's there, deep and caressing, his lips pulling to smile as you curse into the midnight breeze. "and if you're quiet, no one will hear us either".

roman's teeth pry at the part of your lips, sinking into the plush of the bottom one. steeping his fingers into the soak of you as his urges crash into you with an easy willingness. his ears sweetened by every sound that stretches out. fragile and dainty one moment, and then overtaken by something more feverish and raw the next.

"if my birthday is anything to go by though", his mouth at your ear. breath hot. shivering your spine. "then there ain't no gettin you to just shut up and take it huh?"

your belly coils. wrecks your voice. "fuck you"

"whenever you want".

and his persistence is tiring to the doubtful parts of you. the ones that fear sudden judgement and interruption. white heat over your brows, rising in your cheeks. a second finger slipping in with the first, a deep take as they go, stretching with leisure, as if the night has oh so graciously slowed for this moment. and dammit you wish it did, just a little if it meant holding him against you longer. your nails threatening to break into the muscle of him, running mindless over the leather covering his back. black and worn and familiar, smelling of warm amber wood as it works to soak your skin. a strong silent claim.

but there were always other things.

"yoo!", a voice calls.

it sounded like one of the twins. like jimmy.

but roman continues his ministrations. shushes into your cheek before kissing you to drown your whimpering noises. and you curl into him, figuring his broad body will shield you.

and you're nearly there. blood rushing and the heat sharp. pressure in your core, tight and unrelenting.

but jimmy is closing in. "yoo uce!". step after step, grinding the dirt under his heavy feet. "jey in here going at it. we need them hands".

the moment caves in till its collapsing, and roman slips his fingers from you. annoyed and sucking his teeth. fishing for something in his pockets till he's wiping your arousal away with a tissue. "i'm sorry", jaw twitching. a sharp clacking sounding in his other pocket. fishing again till he pulls out two carved rings. he slips them on, looking at you still, your eyes and your lips, searching for tells of anger.

still, he hasn't moved. doesn't want to leave you.

"it's okay", you break from his eyes. pushing him lightly towards where jimmy's voice calls from. "go".

and your legs, despite the thought-numbing heat, are suddenly cooler now. missing the sweet burn of him as they chill up. a breeze whisking to fill in the absence of him. and the circumstances are annoying. frustration rife in your body as it runs with a shiver. but it seems to be a better deal than toughing it out inside the bar. because even from the outside front of stubbs' you can hear the chaos of it all. screaming voices and wood cracking bangs. a fight of some sort. the inevitable unraveling. because who were the guys if they didn't get themselves into some shit. proud about their leather and proud about their pride. it only ever made for rougher nights, especially after the drinks were poured and savored. words back and forth till a fist flew to silence it all.

in the end it was sure to be wordless and bloody, because the guys had a perpetual hard on for mess. and then came the screeching wheels against asphalt and parked cars blaring their own sirens. stubbs' bar bound to be lit up with blue and red because the cops had a perpetual hard on for the guys. a cycle of bullshit indeed.

you wait by their parked bikes. a uniformed line of black and steel. each styled with crimson red fenders. a pout in your lips because tequila sounds like a good deal. something smooth and clear to eat at the unsettling ball in the pit of your gut.

and the street has a ghostly silence to it. an air that is comfortable in how still it is.

your eyes close and for the first time, you settle into the quiet of the night. the nothingness of it all, sweet and new. no rattling engines or clinking metal. neither were there jarring or jeering voices, threatening to break against the skin. no ruptures of the air from sure fated chaos. just a simple lonely breath. you like this.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #biker au #joannasteez #tanks of blood

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