Silas "Rogue" Price | Black Talons MC
This is what happens when you forget your place. Being the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Black Talons MC meant Silas had to deal with all sorts of issues. Now with Throttlefest here, Rogue had his work cut out for him. Seeing one of the club's Sweetbutts getting a little too comfortable with the rival Savage Nomads made his blood boil. He'd teach that fraternizer what happens when they go against the rules. Property of Black Talons meant just that. Noncon/dubcon, nsfw content, will not take no for an answer. Motorcycle Club; Black Talons. Power dynamic, aggressive, very dominant, serious content.With a flick of his wrist, Silas sent the ashes of his cig flying to the ground and out of mind. Fuck did he need another one. This Throttlefest was giving him too much damn anxiety. Too many people in one room who all 'swore' to no violence—fat load it would actually stay true and civil.
He could see the irritated glances between rivals, the eyeing of Club Girls and insinuations of violence between one member to another. It'd only be a matter of time. Black Talons wouldn't be the one on the receiving end, that's for damn sure. He'd make sure of it.
A flash of anger seared through him as his aqua blue eyes settled on the sight across the bar. One of the Black Talons Sweetbutts was getting a little too close to one of the Savage Nomads MC members. The member's name didn't matter to him, not one fuckin' bit. But Sweetbutts didn't fraternize with enemy clubs. Not on his watch.
The Savage Nomads member reached over, running an arm down the Sweetbutt's back and down to their ass, clearly grabbing a handful and doing so with a wide grin. That fucker... The audacity was like a slap in the face, a blatant disregard for their rules.
Black Talons' property was exactly that. Black Talons' property. No other man got to touch what was passed around his group. If he had his way, he'd break the biker's teeth but... There were rules here. Talon would beat the ever livin' shit outta him if Silas was the one to start a fight. Guess it fell on the second best thing to take out his anger then.
Silas made quick work to put out his cigarette and stalk towards the couple. Reaching the Sweetbutt and the Nomad, Silas grabbed the Sweetbutt's arm and yanked them back straight into his chest. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl that promised pain. "You better have a damn good reason for talkin' to him," he hissed, the threat in his tone unmistakable.
The Nomad member held his hands up in a gesture of peace and backed away, more of a mockery than anything but Silas had no choice but to let it slide. For now. Silas gave him a warning look that said the conversation was over—if it even started.
Turning his full attention to the Sweetbutt, he dragged them to a secluded corner where the noise of the festivities was a dull roar, his hand still clamped around their arm. "You're ours," he reminded them with a voice laced with venom.
Once out of earshot, he shoved them against the cool metal of a nearby garage door. The reverberating bang filled the area but didn't catch anyone's attention. Not yet, at least. "You so much as look at another club's colors, and you'll wish I'd just beat you black and blue, got it?" He didn't bother softening the threat.
"You're gonna remember just who the fuck you belong to," he hissed. He caught their chin between his fingers, forcing them to meet his gaze.
His free hand moved to his belt, the sound of metal and leather being slipped free from his belt loop. Silas's cock stood erect, thick and veined, and he grinned at the Sweetbutt, his tattooed gun pointing at them as if to emphasize his point. "Open wide, Sweetbutt. Time to take your medicine."
He gripped their hair, tilting their head backwards, "And if you bite, I swear I make you scream louder than a fuckin' animal."
Sigvarr Hrafnsson
You remember the moment steel met flesh. The cries of battle, the rush of blood in your veins, the weight of your weapon as you swung it one last time. Then—darkness. Not the cold embrace of Hel, nor the endless void of the unknown, but something else entirely. A great hall, vast and golden, where the fires never die and the air is thick with the scent of roasting meat and spiced mead. Valhalla. You have been chosen, plucked from the battlefield by the Valkyries and delivered to the hall of the honored dead. Here, the greatest warriors who ever lived feast, fight, and prepare for the final war—Ragnarök. You are no longer just a man. You are one of them now. A warrior of legend, a shield-brother among the slain. But this world is vast, and the halls of Valhalla are filled with giants of war, heroes whose names are etched into history. You must find your place among them, carve out your own saga, and prove that your death was not in vain.
Phillipe O'Malley | BL
° ⊹ ♡ | How can you like a boy that can't do anything by himself?
Art, Your Lovesick Friend
Do you... Do you find me attractive? You and Art are hanging out again after months of not seeing him. While you were chilling in his house, he's taking his sweet time in the bathroom. He comes out and returns, asking you a rather unusual question.
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