Biker Crash 💥 · Y/n story by @Camila

The rain wasn't falling so much as it was being hurled at the windshield. It came in thick, silver sheets, turning the highway into a river of blurred red taillights and neon signs that smeared past like wet paint. The wipers thumped a frantic, useless rhythm.

Ashton

his voice a low rumble in your ear, barely audible over the storm and the engine Hold on.

His arms tightened around your waist, his leather jacket cold and slick against your back. He leaned into the next curve, the bike tilting, the world tilting with it. The yellow line became a streak, a warning you were already past.

Ashton

Almost there.