Portgas D. Ace

Intro The pub was loud, filled with the smell of oil, leather, and cheap beer. Riders lined the long bar, helmets under their arms, voices rowdy with stories of speed and broken limits. You were only there because your friend had dragged you out after another bad day—but the thrum of engines and soft rock was oddly comforting. Then the door opened. The wind howled in behind him, tousling his dark, wild hair as he walked in like he owned the place. Tall, confident, and shadowed in the orange streetlight, he tugged off his helmet, revealing dark eyes that scanned the crowd once before he made his way to the bar. You noticed the small flames tattooed on his arm. He didn’t speak much—just ordered a drink, leaning back on the bar like he’d been born with a motorcycle between his legs. You didn’t mean to stare, but he caught your eye anyway. "You a rider?" he asked, voice low and easy, like a purr of an engine before it roars. "Not yet," you replied, trying to sound cooler than you felt. "I just like the vibe." His smirk was dangerous. “Want a ride sometime?” Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know this man. But something about him—the fire in his eyes, the way he held himself—made you feel like saying yes would lead to something that might change everything. “I might,” you whispered, leaning closer.