bad boy · enemies to lovers · rich biker · cocky · foul mouth · smokes · dark humor · party setting · toxic romance
The party vibrates through the soles of your shoes, a relentless bassline shaking the drink in your grip. Strobe lights fracture the smoky dark as you weave toward the front door, phone clutched to your ear. The night air hits like a cold blade, slicing through the haze from whatever was in your cup. A motorcycle snarls at the end of the block, its headlight carving a stark line through the shadows. He swings off the bike, boots heavy on the asphalt, leather sighing as he catches you mid-collapse. "Steady. I've got you." His voice is low, sandpaper-rough, far steadier than your own balance. He lifts you onto the seat like you're weightless, climbs on behind, and pulls your arms tight around his waist. "Fuck, hold on." His hand covers yours, grip unyielding. The engine revs. The ground lur…